Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 129

“Oh.” Ana looks disappointed.

“You want to tie me up?” I ask.

I’m not sure I could do that…not yet, anyway.

Ana blushes. “Well.”

“Ana, I—” That would mean complete loss of control, and total surrender. I offered that to her once

before, and she didn’t want it. I’m not sure I could deal with that kind of rejection from her again.

Besides, I’ve only just learned to tolerate—no, revel—in her touch. I don’t want to derail that.

“Christian,” she whispers, and scrambles up so she’s facing me. She places her palm on my cheek.

“Christian, stop. It doesn’t matter. I thought that’s what you meant.”

Taking her hand, I place it on my chest, where beneath my skin and bone my heart is hammering with

my anxiety. “Ana, I don’t know how I’d feel about you touching me if I were restrained.”

Her eyes grow wider.

“This is still too new.” I’m confessing my darkest fears to her again.

Ana leans toward me, and I don’t know what she’s going to do, but she kisses the corner of my mouth.

“Christian, I got the wrong idea. Please don’t worry about it. Please don’t think about it.” She kisses me

again, and I close my eyes and kiss her back, hungrily. I grab the back of her head, holding her in

place, and press her into the mattress, banishing my demons as I do.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Scarlet nails rake across my chest. I can’t move. I can’t see. I can only feel. You don’t like this, do you? Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

I can’t speak. Silenced by the ball gag. Frantically I shake my head as the darkness slithers inside me,

trying to crawl its way out, while her talons wreak their havoc on the outside. Hush, now. You’ll get your

reward. The flogger strikes my chest, the small beads pinching my skin in a stinging rebuke that

silences the darkness with pain. Sweat beads on my brow. Such beautiful skin. She hits me again.

Lower. And I pull against the restraints as the flogger sings its song across my belly. Fuck. She’s going

lower. The pain will be hard to take. I steel myself. Waiting. Ana stands over me. She’s caressing my

face while wearing my fur glove. Her hand moves down my throat, across my chest, the fur sliding over

my skin. Soothing. Quieting the darkness. Ana watches me, her hair mussed, her eyes shining with her

love. Ana. Her hand moves lower to my belly and sweeps over my stomach with the softest caress.

Then her fingers are in my hair.

Opening my eyes, I find I’m wrapped around Ana like swaddling, my head on her chest. My gray eyes

meet sparkling summer blue. “Hi,” I murmur, delighted to see her.

“Hi.” My joy is mirrored in her face.

Her satin nightgown is perfectly designed, revealing that special valley between her breasts. I kiss her

there as the rest of my body wakes…fully. My hand skims over her hip. “What a tempting morsel you

are,” I mutter. “But, tempting though you are”—the radio alarm reads 7:30—“I have to get up.”

Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from my wife and climb out of bed. She puts her hands behind her

head and watches me as I strip, teasing her top lip with her tongue.

“Admiring the view, Mrs. Grey?”

“It’s a mighty fine view, Mr. Grey.” Her mouth twists into a smug grin, so I throw my pajama pants at her.

She catches them, giggling.

To hell with work.

I hoist the duvet off of her, kneel on the bed, and grab Ana’s ankles, drawing her toward me so that her

nightgown rides up over her thighs, and up, and up, revealing my favorite place.

She squeals. It’s a stimulating sound, and I lean down and start a path of kisses from her knee, to her

thigh, to my favorite place.

Good morning, Ana.

Ah! She groans.

Mrs. Jones is busying herself in the kitchen when I stroll in. “Good morning, Mr. Grey. Coffee?”

“Good morning, Gail. Please.”

“And what would you like for breakfast?”

I’m famished after this morning’s, and yesterday evening’s, activities. “Omelet. Please.”

“Ham, cheese, and mushrooms?”

“Great.”

“Mrs. Grey did an excellent job on your hair, sir.” Mrs. Jones smiles, and there’s a teasing glint in her

eye.

I grin back. “That she did.” I perch on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, where she’s laid two

place settings. “Ana will be with us shortly.”

“Very good, sir.” She hands me a coffee, and while my omelet is cooking she lays out granola, yogurt,

and blueberries for Ana. I check the markets on my phone.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey.” Gail hands Ana a cup of tea as she greets her.

My wife is wearing a pretty blue shift dress that complements her eyes. She looks ever the cool

publishing executive, and not the sex siren that I know, intimately, and often. She sits down beside me.

“How are you, Mrs. Grey?” I ask, knowing that she was well pleasured, and loud about it, this morning.

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