Fifty Shades Freed Read online

  No! Franco II 11 Irim Altci 11, 1 cut

  Ray's hair for years, and he never complained.

  room where I release him and grab the white wooden chair that stands in the

  corner. I place it in front of the sink. When I look at Christian, he's gazing at me

  with ill-disguised amusement, thumbs tucked in the front belt loops of his pants

  but his eyes are smoking hot.

  "Are you going to wash my hair?"

  I nod. He arches one brow in surprise, and for a moment I think he's going to

  backdown. "Okay." Slow l he begins to undo each button of his white shirt, starl-

  ing with the one beneath his throal. Nimble, deli fingers nunc to each button in

  turn until his shin hangs open.

  Oh my ... M im I lau in h lebraio jaunt around ll iron

  Christian holds out a cuff with an "undo this now" gesture, and his mouth

  twitches in that challenging, sexy way he has.

  Oh, cufflinks. I take his proffered wrist and remove the first one, a platinum

  disc with his initials engraved in a simple italic script — and then remove its

  matching twin s I finish I i h n. and i ni s c d j i n gi c

  placed by something hotter . . . much hotter. I reach up and push his shirt off his

  shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

  "Ready?" I whisper.

  ""For whatever you want, Ana."

  My eyes stray from his eyes to his lips. Parted so that he can inhale more

  deeply. Sculptured, chiseled, whatever, it is a beautiful mouth and he knows ex-

  aclly whai lo do w ith il. I find m> self leaning up to kiss him.

  "No," he says and places both of his hands on my shoulders. "Don't. If you

  do that, I'll never get my hair cut."

  Oh!" want this." lie continues. And hi-- e- es arc round and raw for some in-

  explicable reason. Il"s disarming.

  "Why?" I whisper.

  He stares at rac I i i or. "Bee nisc it 11 make me

  feel cherished."

  My heart practically lurches lo a hall. Oh. Christian . . . my Fifty. And before

  I know it I've circled him in my arms, and I kiss his chest before mizzling my

  cheek into his lickh chest hair.

  "Ana. My Ana." he whispers. 1 le wraps his arms around me and we stand im-

  Even if he is an overbearing, megalomaniac arse, he's my overbearing megaloma-

  niac arse in need of a lifetime dose ofTLC. I lean back without releasing him.

  "You really want me to do this?"

  He nods and gives me his shy smile. I grin back at him and step out of his

  "Then sit," I repeat.

  lie dutifully does, sitting with his back to the sink. I take off my shoes and

  kick them over lo where his shin lies crumpled on the bathroom floor. From the

  shower ! retrieve his Chanel shampoo. We nought it in France.

  "Would sir like this?" I hold it up in both hands like I'm selling it on QVC.

  1 1 I ll 1 1 ' 111 I I 1 L I I I I II 1 I 1

  you," I add in a vv hisper. slipping out ol'mv telcv ision presenter mode.

  "Please." He grins.

  I grab a small towel off the towel warmer. Mrs. Jones sure knows how to

  keep the towels super-soft.

  "Lean forward." I order and Christian complies. Draping die towel around his

  shoulders, 1 then turn on the taps and fill die sink \ ilh a mi. of warm water.

  "Lean back." Oh. I like being in charge. Christian leans back, but he's too

  tall. He shifts the seat forward then tilts back the entire chair until the top rests

  against the sink. Perfect distance, i 1c iips hack his head Bold eyes gaze up at me,

  and I smile. Taking one of th rinkii gla kc po the vanity, I dip it into

  the water and tip it over Christian's head, soakiim his hair. 1 repeat the process,

  leaning over him.

  "You smell so good, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs and closes his eyes.

  As I methodically wet his hair, I freely gaze at him. Holy cow. Will I ever tire

  of this? Long dark lashes fan across his cheeks: his lips part a little, creating a

  small, dark diamond shape, and, he inhales softly. I hum . . . how I long to poke

  my tongue —

  1 splash water into his eyes. Shit! "Sorry!"

  He grabs the corner of the towel and laughs as he wipes the water out of his

  eyes.

  "Hey, I know I'm an arse, but don't drown me."

  I lean down and It I i i Don't tempt n

  He curls his hand behind m head and shifts so that he captures my lips with

  Ins. lie kisses me hrielly. making a low contented sound in his throat. The noise

  connects to the muscles deep in my belly. It's a ver> scdueth c sound. He releases

  me and lies back obediently, gazing up at me with expectation. For a moment he

  looks vulnerable, like a child. It tugs at my heart.

  I squirt some shampoo into my palm and massage it into his scalp, beginning

  at his temples and working over the top of his head and down the sides, circling

  my fingers rhythmic n II I is eyes agaii I m 1 t s that low humming

  "That feels good." he sa>s aftei a moment and relaxes beneath the firm touch

  of my fingers.

  "Yes it does." I kiss his forehead once more.

  "I like it w I e l ralch my scal| it i i i I 1 1

  closed, but his expression one of blissful contentment no trace of his vulnerabil-

  ity remains. Jeez, how much his mood has changed, and I lake comfort knowing

  it's me that's done this.

  "Head up," I command and he obex s. I [mm a girl could get used to this. I

  > i 1 tlii i ( mi i the I of his h craping i> nail nto In- ilp

  lie leans back, and I rinse off die lather, using die glass. This time 1 manage

  not to splash him.

  "Once more?" I ask.

  "Please." His exes duller open and his serene gaze finds mine. I grin down at

  "'Coming right up, Mr. Grey."

  "'For rinsing." I sax when ha- look turns quizzical.

  I repeat the process with the shampoo, listening to his even deep breaths.

  Once he's all lathered up. I lake another moment to appreciate the fine face of nn

  husband. I cannot resist him. Tended;.. I caress his check, and he opens his eyes,

  watching me almost sleepiK through his long lashes. Leaning forward I plant a

  soft, chaste kiss on his lips, i Ic smiles, closes his ex c .. and breathes out a sigh of

  Jeez. Who would have though! after our argument this afternoon he could be

  this relaxed? Without sex? I lean right over him.

  "Hmm," he murmurs appreciate clx as mx breasts brush his face. Resisting

  the urge to shimmy, I pull the plug so the sudsy water drains away. His hands

  move to my hips and around to my behind.

  x ( i lulling lh li li lull iia I i- hsappioval.

  "Don't forget I'm deaf," he says, keeping his exes closed as lie runs his

  hands down past my behind and starts to hitch up my skirt. I swat his arm. I'm en-

  joying playing handi . c He grin I g nd In ish, like I've caught him doing

  something illicit th li , secret! n ud ol

  I reach lor die glass again, but this tune use the water from die neighboring

  sink to carefully rinse all die shampoo from his hair. I continue to lean over him.

  and h I i 111 i i i 1 n i I i ii i buk rind forward,

  up and down . . . back and forth . . . hmm. I w i 1 Ie gro s low m his throat.

  "There. All rinsed."

  "Good," he declares. His fingers lighten on m> behind, and all at once he sits

  up, his soaked hair dripping all over him. He pul
ls me down onto his lap, his

  hands moving from my behind up to the nape of my neck, then to my chin,

  holding me in place. I gasp with surprise and his lips are on mine, his tongue hot

  and hard in my mouth. My fingers curl around his wet hair, and drops of water

  run down my arms; and as he deepens the kiss, his h : iir bathes my lace. His hand

  moves from my chin down to the top button of my blouse.

  "'Enough of this primping. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and

  we can do it in here or in the bedroom. You decide."

  Christian's eyes bl e. hot an nil >l romis; his hail h ipping water onto us

  both. My mouth goes dry.

  "What's it to be, Anastasia?" he asks as he holds in his lap.

  "You're wet," I respond.

  lie bends his he h nl mi ng his pit I lit II down the front of

  my blouse. I squeal ami try to wriggle ol'l'him. lie lightens his grip around me.

  "Oh, no you don't, baby." he murmurs. When he raise-, his head he's grinning

  salaeiously at me. and I am Miss Wei Blouse 20! I. My top is soaked and totally

  see-through. I'm wet . . . everywhere.

  around one vvel nipple. I squirm

  "Answer me, Ana. Here or the bedroom?"

  "Here," I whisper frantically. To hell with the haircut— I'll do it later. He

  smiles slowly, his lips curling into a sensuous smile lull of licentious promise.

  "Good choice, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs against my lips. He releases my chin

  and his hand moves to my knee. It glides smoothly up my leg, lifting im skirl and

  skating over my skin, making me tingle. His lips trail soft kisses from the base of

  my ear along my jaw.

  "Oh, what shall 1 do to you?" he whispers. I lis lingers halt at my stocking

  tops. "I like these," he says. He runs a fingei underneath die top and skims it

  around to my inner thigh, i gasp and squirm once more in his lap.

  He groans, low in his throat. "If I'm going to fuck you seven shades of

  Sunday, I want you to keep still."

  "Make im 1 li i,.' j a i. t i o ui I c h

  Christian inhales sharply. He narrows his eyes and regards me with a hot,

  hoo k expri ssion

  "Oh. Mrs. drey. You have only to ask." lbs hand moves from my slocking

  tops up to my panties. "Let's divest you of these." He tugs gently and I shift to

  help him. His breath, hisses through his teeth as I do.

  "Keep still," he grumbles.

  I'm helping." 1 pout, and h i II I

  "Still," he growls. He slides my panties down my legs and off. Tugging my

  skirt up so that it's bunched around my hips, he moves both hands to my waist

  and lift* me. lie still has m panties in his hand.

  "Sit. Astride me," he orders lari I ni into nn sss I shift straddling

  him. and regard him pay. ocali el . Wing it on. Fifty!

  "Mrs. Grey," he warns "Are you goading me?" He gazes at me, amused but

  aroused. It's a seductive combination.

  "Yes. What are you going to do about it?"

  His ees light | I II ud I feel his arousal

  beneath mc Clas| ur hands togel behind u i i '

  Oh! I comply obediently and, he deftly binds my wrists together with nn

  panties.

  "My panties? Mr. Grey, you have no shame," I admonish.

  tense and hot. Putting his hands around my waist, he shifts me so I am sitting a

  want to bend forward and lick the drips off, but it's trickier now that I am

  restrained.

  Christian caresses both of m thighs and -Kan-, his hands down to my knees.

  Gently he pushes them further apart and widens his own legs, holding me in that

  "I don't think we need this," he says. He starts methodically undoing each

  and darker as he finishes the task, taking his own sweet time about it. My pulse

  quickens and my breathing shallows. 1 can't believe it — he's hardly touched mc,

  and I feel like this — hot, bothered . . . ready. I want to squirm. He leaves my damp

  blouse hanging opei nu ng both It nds h ires i ci \ ith his lingers

  his thumb skimming across my bottom lip. Suddenly, he thrusts his thumb into

  my mouth.

  "Suck he ordei ii liispei ressing the ' i t mouth around him

  and do exactly that. Oh ... 1 like this game. He tastes good. What else would I

  like to suck? The muscles in m belly clench at the thought. His lips part when I

  scrape nn teeth and bite the soft pad of his thumb.

  He groans and slowly extracts his wet thumb from my mouth and trails it

  down my chin, down my throat, over my sternum. He hooks it into the cup of my

  bra and yanks the cup down, freeing my breast.

  Christian's gaze never leaves mine. He's watching each reaction that his

  touch elicits from me, and I'm watching him. It's hot. Consuming. Posscsshe. 1

  love it. He mirrors his actions with his other hand so both my breasts are free and,

  cupping them gently, he skims each thumb «ncr a nipple, circling slowly, teasing

  and taunting each one so [hat they harden and distend beneath his skillful touch. I

  try, I really try not to move, but my nipples are hotwired to my groin, so I moan

  and throw my head h I I 11 m e nd rrcn ring to the sweet, sweet

  "Shh." Christian i i is at odds v ith ll easing, even-tempo

  rhythm of his wickc II! II 11 ne breast, he reaches

  up behind me and splays his hand around the nape of my neck. Leaning forward,

  he takes m; now bereft nipple into his mouth and sticks hard. Ins wet hair tickling

  me. At the same time, his thumb stops skimming across my other elongated

  nipple. Instead, he takes it between his thu tb am fori inget aid tugs and twists it

  gently.

  "Ah! Christian! 1 gi n i t I ' i 1 on his 1 But te doesn't slop. He

  continues the slow, leisurely, agonizing tease. And my body is burning as the

  pleasure takes a darker turn.

  gets a brief respite as his words caress my skin, and it's like he's calling to a deep.

  time, the pleasure is aln loleral \ gloudh.I rithc on his lap, trying

  to find some precious friction against his pants I pull uselessly against my re-

  straining panties, itching to touch him, but I'm lost — lost in this treacherous

  ""Please." ! whisper, pleading, and pleasure Hies through my body, from no

  neck, right down to my legs, to my toes, tightening all in its wake.

  "You have such beautiful breasts, Ana." He groans. "One day I'll fuck them."

  Winn the hell doc thai meun'.' Opening m eyes. 1 gape down at him as he

  suckles me, my skin singing under his touch. 1 no longer feel my sodden blouse,

  his wet hair . . . nothing except the burn. And it burns deliciously hot and low,

  deep inside me, and all thought evaporates as my body tightens and clenches . - .

  ready, reaching . . . pining for release. And he doesn't stop — teasing, pulling.

  dri ing mc wild. I want ... I want . . .

  "Let go," he breathes — and I do, loudly, my orgasm convulsing through my

  body, and he stops h s torture md i| 11 i and mc clutching me

  to him as my body spirals dow n I'rom my climax \ hen I open my eyes, he is gaz-

  ing down at me where I rest against his chest.

  "God, I love to watch you come, Ana." His voice is full of wonder.

  "That was . . ." Words fail me.

  "I know." lie leans forward and kisses mc. his hand slill at the nape of my

  neck, holding mc just so, angling my head so he can kiss me deeply — with love,


  I am lost in his kiss.

  He pulls away to draw breath, his eyes the color of a tropical storm.

  " Now I 'm going to fuck you, hard," he murmurs.

  Holy cow. Grabbing me around the waist, he lifts me from his thighs down to

  the edge of his knees and reaches with Ins right hand tin the button on the waist-

  band of his navy pants. He runs the lingers of his left hand up and dow n my thigh,

  stopping at m xk cl i icntly. We're face to

  one of the most intimate times we've had — me sitting on his lap, staring into his

  beautiful gray eyes. It makes mc led wanton, but also so connected to him — I am

  not embarrassed or shy. This is Christian, my husband, my lover, my overbearing

  megalomaniac, my Fifty — the love of my life. He reaches for his zipper, and my

  He smirks. "You like?" he whispers.

  "Hmm," I murmur appreciatively. He wraps his hand around himself and

  moves it up and down . . . Oh mi I gaze up at him through my lashes. Fuck, he's

  "You're biting your lip, Mrs. Grey."

  "That's because I'm hungry."

  "Hungry'.'" His mouth opens in surprise, and Ins eves w iden a fraction.

  "Hmm ..." I agree and lick my lips.

  He gives mc his enigmatic smile and hue- his lowet hp as he continues to

  stroke himself. Why is she sight of my husband pleasuring himself such a turn-on?

  "I see. You should have eaten your dinner." His tone is mocking and censori-

  ous at once. "But maybe I can oblige." He puts his hands on my waist. "Stand,"

  he says softly, and I know what he's going to do. I get to my feet, my legs no

  longer shaking.

  "Kneel."

  I do as I'm told and kneel down on the cool tiled floor of the bathroom. He

  slides (brv aid on the seat of the chair.

  "Kiss me," he iillers holding hi- erection I glance up al him, and he runs his

  tongue over his top teeth. It's arousing, very arousing, to see his desire, his naked

  desire for me and my mouth. Leaning forward, my eyes on his, I kiss the tip of his

  erection. I watch him inhale sharply and clench his teeth. Christian cups the side

  of my head, and I run m tongue o or the tip. lasting the small bead of dew on the

  end. Hmm ... he tastes good. His mouth drops open further as he gasps and I

  pounce, pulling him into my mouth and sucking hard.

  "Ah — " The air hisses through his teeth, and he flexes his hips forward,

  thrusting into my mouth. But I don't stop. Sheathing my teeth behind my lips, I

  push down and then pull up on him. He moves both hands so that he fully cups

  my head, burying his lingers in m hair and slow 1 eases himself in and out of my

  mouth, his bicithin | i i til I twirl m ngue ai raid his

  I I 11 tit i | 11

  "Jesus, Ana." He sighs and screws his eyes tightly. He's lost and it's heady,

  t I tit l I he s thrilled.

  And very slowly I draw my lips back, so it's just my teeth.

  "Ah' Chiislnn t >i in I ning li rd he gral me and pulls mc up

  "'Enough!" he i I I i I i h mds with one tug

  on my panties. I flex my wrists and stare from under my lashes into scorching

  eyes that gaze back at me with love and longing and lust. And 1 realize it's me

  that wants to fuck him sewn shades of Sunday. I want him badly I want to watch

  him come apart beneath me. I grab his erection and scoot over him. Placing my

  other hand on his shoulder, very gently and slowly, I ease myself onto him. He

  makes a guttural, feral noise deep in his throat and. reaching up, pulls off my

  blouse leiting it fill to the door. I lis hands move to my hips.

  "Still," he rasps, his hands digging into my flesh. "Please, let me savor this.

  I stop. Oh my. . . he feels so g o i side mi lie i i ,scs my face, his eyes

  wide and wild, his lips parted as he hreathes. He Ilexes beneath me and I moan.

  "This is my favorite place," he whispers. "Inside you. Inside my wife."

  Oh luck Chrisiiai I cannot hold back "1 ingei glide nlo his wet hair, my

  lips seek his, and I start to move. Up and down on my toes, savoring him, savor-

  ing mc. He groans loudlv. and his hands arc in mv hair and: around my back, and

  his tongue invades m; mouth greedily, taking all thai I willingly give. After all

  our arguing today, my frustration with him, his with me — we still have this. We

  will always have this. 1 love him so much- it's almost overw helming. His hands

  move to my backside and he controls me, moving me up and down, again and

  again, at his pace — his hot, slick tempo.

  "Ah," 1 groan helplessly into his mouth as I'm carried away.

  "Yes. Yes, Ana." lie hisses, and I rain kisses or. ins face, his chin, his jaw, his

  neck. "Baby," he breathes, capturing my mouth once more.

  "Oh, Christian, I love you. I will always love you." I'm breathless, wauling

  him to know, wanting him to be sure of me after our battle of wills today.

  He moans loudly and wraps his arms around me tightly as he climaxes with a

  mournful sob, and it's enough — enough to push me over the brink once more. I

  clutch my arms around his head and let go, and I come around him, tears spring-

  ing to my eyes because I love him so.

  "Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?"

  lone tear with this 1 imb nd Icii n v hps He is still inside me. He

  shifts, and I wince as he pulls out of me.

  "What's wrong, Ana? Tell mc."

  I sniff. "It's just . . . it's just sometimes I'm overwhelmed by how much I

  love you," I whisper.

  I I I ill i s I nc, I think. "You

  have the same effect on me." he whispers, and kisses me once more. I smile, and

  inside my joy unfurls and stretches lazily.

  "Do I?"

  Ho smirks. "You know you do."

  "Sometimes I know. Not all the time."

  "Back at you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers.

  I grin and gently place feather-light kisses over his chest. I nuzzle his chest

  hair. Christian caresses my hair and runs a hand down my back. He unclasps my

  bra and pulls the strap down one arm. I shift, and he tugs the strap down the other

  arm and drops my bra on the floor.

  "Hmm. Skin on skin," he murmurs appreciatively and folds me in his arms

  again. He kisses my shoulder and runs his nose up to my ear. "You smell like

  heaven, Mrs. Grey."

  "So do you, Mr. Grey." I nuzzle him again and inhale ins Clirislian smell,

  which is now mixed with the heady seem ofse.v 1 could slay w rapped in his arms

  1 ii li i I i ei ii i i i I a Mi 1 back-h

  work, arguing, and bitch slapping. This is where I want to be, and in spite of his

  control frcakery, his megalomania, this is where I belong. Christian buries his

  nose in my hair and Ii I 1 i i i nl i I ind 1 feel his smile.

  And we sit, arms clasped around eacli oilier, saying nothing.

  Eventually reality intrudes.

  "It's late," Christian i - hi lingers m Ihodi ill shoking my back.

  "Your hair still needs cutting."

  lie chuckles. "That it does, Mrs. Grey. Do you have the energy to finish die

  "For you, Mr. Grey, anything." I kiss his chest once more and reluctantly

  "Don't go." Grabbing my hips, he turns me around. He straightens then un-

  does my skirt, letting it drop to the floor. He holds his hand out to me. I take it and

  step out of m skit I II I I garter bell

  "You arc a mighty fine sight, Mrs. Grey." He
sits back in the chair and

  crosses his arms, giv ing me a full and frank appraisal.

  I hold out my hands and twirl for him.

  "God, I'm a lucky i i bil 1 e sa dmh

  He grins. "Put my shirt on and you can cut my hair. Like this, you'll distract

  me, and we'll never get to bed."

  I can't help my answering smile. Know ing that he's watching my every

  move, I sashay over to where we left my shoes and his shirt. Bending slow ly . I

  reach down, pick up his shirt, smell it — hmm — then shrug it on.

  Christian's ey es are round. He's redone his ily and is watching me intently .

  "That's quite a floor show, Mrs. Grey."

  "Do we have any scissors'.'" 1 ask innocently . halting my eyelashes.

  "My study," he croaks.

  "I'll go search." Leaving him, I walk into our bedroom and grab my comb

  from the dressing la el i u ■ K i the main conidor, I

  notice the door to Taylor's office is open. Mrs. Jones is standing just beyond the

  door. I stop, rooted to the spot.

  Taylor is running his fingers down her lace and smiling sweetly at her. Then

  he leans down and kisses her.

  Holy shit! Taylor and Mrs. Jones? I gape in astonishment — I mean, I

  thought . . . well, I kind of suspected. But obviously they are together! I flush,

  feeling like a voyeur, and manage to get my feet to move. I scamper across the

  I walk to his desk.

  Taylor and Mrs. Jones . . . Wow 1 I'm reeling. I always thought Mrs. Jones was

  older than Taylor. Oh, I have to get my head around this. I open the top drawer

  and am immediately distracted when I find a gun. ( hri-nian has a gun!

  A revolver. Holy luck! i had no idea Christian owned a gun. I take it out, slip

  to use it. Ray's pcrpett ni •> i 11 it 1 through my mind.

  you're doing when iv Immllin I it lilt ui back and find the scis-

  sors. Retrieving them quickly . I boll hack to Christian, my head buzzing. Taylor

  and Mrs. Jones ... the revolver . . .

  At the entrance to the great room, I run into Taylor.

  "Mrs. Grey, excuse me " I lis lace reddens as he quickly takes in my attire.

  "Urn, Taylor, hi . . . urn. I'm cutting Christian's hair!" I blurt out, embar-

  rassed. Taylor is as mortified as I am. He opens his mouth to say something then

  closes it quickly and stands aside.

  "After you, ma'am," he says formally. 1 think I'm the color of my old Audi,

  the submissive special. Jeez. ( ould this be more embarrassing?

  "Thank you." I mutter and dash dow n the hallw a . ( 'nip! Will I ever get used

  to the fact that we're not alone? I dash into the bathroom, breathless.

  1 I i _ Chrisliai i ng in I til f ih i i i ling my

  hi neatly piled besid

  "Ijust ran into Taylor."

  "Oh." Christian frowns. "Dressed like that."

  Oh shit! "That's not Taylor's fault."

  (. hrislian's frown deepens. "No. But still."

  "I'm dressed."

  "I don't know who was more embarrassed, me or him." I try my distraction

  technique. "Did you know he and Gail are . . . well, together?"

  Christian laughs. "Yes, of course I knew."

  "And you never told me?"

  "I thought you knew, too."

  "No."

  "Ana. they 're adults. They live under the same roof. Both unattached. Both

  I Hush I'eelh _ i i 1 hi! I iny noticed

  "Well, it' you pat ii like dial . . 1 iusl thought Gail was older than Taylor."

  "She is, but not b much." I Ic gazes at me. perplexed. "Some men like older

  women—" He stops abruptly and his eyes widen.

  I scowl at him. "I know that," I snap.

  Christian looks contrite, lie smiles fondly at me. Yes! I distraction tech-

  nique successful! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me — but at what cost? Now

  the unmentionable Mrs. Robinson is looming over us.

  "That reminds me," he says, brightly.

  "What?" I mutter petulantly. Grabbing the chair, 1 turn it to face the mirror

  above the sinks. "Sit." I order. Christian regards mc wiih indulgent amusement,

  but does as he's told a I ia i n in the chaii I stall to comb through his

  now merely damp hair.

  "I was thinking « c could corn en the looms o or the garages for them at the

  new place." Christian continues "Make it a home 'Then maybe Taylor's daughter

  could stay with him more often." He watches me carefully in the mirror.

  "Why doesn't she stay here?"

  "Perhaps you should offer. But we'd have to behave ourselves."

  Christian's hrovv furrows. "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Perhaps that's why Taylor hasn't asked. Have you met her?"

  "Yes. She's a sweet thing. Shy. Very pretty. I pay for her schooling."

  (Hi! ! stop combing and stare ai him in the mirror.

  "I had no idea."

  He shrugs. "Seemed the least I could do. Also, it means he won't quit."

  "I'm sure he likes working for you."

  C hrislian stares ai me blankly then siting-.. '"I don't know."

  "I think he's very fond of you, Christian." I resume combing and glance at

  hint. His exes don't leac mine.

  "You think?"

  "Yes. I do."

  He snorts a dismissive yet content sound as if he's secretly pleased that his

  "Good. Will you talk to Gia about the rooms over the garage?"

  "Yes, of course." I don't feci the same irritation I did before at the mention of

  her name. My subconscious nods sagely at me. lev . . . we 'lone good today. My

  inner goddess gloats. Now she'll leave my husband alone and not make him

  uncomtortablc.

  I am ready to cut ( hrislian" s hair. "You Hire about this'.' Your hist chance io

  "Do your worst, Mrs. Grey. I don't have to look at me, you do."

  He shakes his head exasperated. "It's just a pretty face, baby."

  "And behind il is a cry pretty man." I kiss his temple. "My man."

  He grins shyly.

  Lilting the first lock, I comb it upward and snare it between my index and

  middle finger. 1 put the comb in m mouth, lake the scissors and make the first

  snip, it t t in 111 I

  sighing contentedly as I continue. Occasionally he opens his eyes, and I catch him

  watching me intently. He doesn't touch me while 1 work, and I'm grateful. His

  touch is . . . distracting.

  Fifteen minutes later, I'm done.

  "Finished." I'm pleased wilh the res nil. He looks as hoi as ever, his hair still

  floppy and sexy . . . just a bit shorter.

  Christian gazes at himself in the mirror, looking pleasantly surprised. He

  grins. "Great job, Mrs. Grey." He turns his head from side to side and snakes his

  ami around me. Pulling me to him. lie kisses ami nuzzles my belly.

  "Thank you," he says.

  "My pleasure." I bend and kiss him briefly.

  "It's late. Bed." He gives my behind a playful slap.

  "Ah! I should clean up in here." There is hair all over the floor.

  Christian frowns, as if the thought would never have occurred to him. "Okay,

  I'll get the broom," he says wryly. "1 don't want you embarrassing the staff with

  our lack of appropriate attire."

  "Do you know w here the bi oom is?" I ask innocently.

  This slops Christian in his iraeks. "I 'm . . . no."

  1 laugh. "I'll go."

  this day could have ended I « as so mad ai him earlier, and he with me. How am I

  own company. I am not h
im. I need to head this off at the pass. Perhaps I should

  have a safe word kn I i I 1 i i i i ering lot when he's

  ing ii a Ig e. Perhap ill lie ord lould be arse I find the thought

  very appealing.

  "What?" he sa s as he climbs into bed beside me wearing only his pajama

  "Nothing. Just an idea."

  i lere goes nothing. "Chi islian. 1 don"! think I wan' to run a company."

  He props himself up on his elbow and gaze-, down at me. "Why do you say

  that?"

  "Because it's not something 1 hat has ever appealed to me."

  "You're more than capable, Anastasia."

  "I like to read hooks. Chrislian. Running a company will lake mc away from

  that."

  "You could be die creali c head."

  I frown.

  "You see," he continues, "running a successful company is all about embra-

  cing the talent of the individuals you have at your disposal. If that's where your

  talents and your inlcresis | 1C . then you slructui e die company to enable that. Don't

  dismiss il out of hand. Anaslasia. You're a very capable w oman. 1 think you could

  do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it."

  Whoa'. I low

  "I'm also worried it will take up too much of my time."

  Christian frowns.

  "Time I could devote to you." 1 deploy my secret weapon.

  His gaze darkens. "I know what you're doing," he murmurs, amused.

  "You're trying io distract mc from die issue ai hand. You always do that. Just

  don't dismiss the idea, Ana. Think about it. That's all I ask." He leans down and

  kisses mc chastely, then skims his thumb down my check. Tins argument is going

  to run and run. I smile up at him — and something he said earlier today pops un-

  bidden into my mind.

  "C an I ask you something'. 1 " My voice is sofl. tentative.

  "Earlier today you said if I was angry with you, I should take it out on you in

  bed. What did you mean?"

  He stills. "What did you think I meant?"

  Holy shit! 1 should just say it. "That you wanted me to tie you up."

  His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Urn ... no. That's not what I meant at

  all."

  ' i ill hsippotntmcnt

  "You want to tie me up?" he asks, obviously reading my expression cor-

  rectly. He sounds shocked. I blush.

  >s, and something dark cr

  "Christian," I whisper, alarmed. I move so that I am lying on my side,

  propped up on my elbow like him. I caress his face. His eyes are large ami fearful.

  I Ic shakes his head sadly.

  Shit! "Christian, stop. It doesn't matter. I thought that's what you meant."

  He takes my hand ami pi on his pia I !. irl Fuck! What is il?

  My scalp prickles. It's like he's confessing something deep and dark.

  Fuck. It was just a question, and I realize that he's come a long way, but he

  still has a long way to go. Oh. Fifty. Fifty. Fifty. Anxiety grips my heart. I lean

  o er and he freezes, but I plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

  think about it." I kiss him. He closes his eyes, groans and reciprocales. pushing

  me down into the mattress, his hands clasping my chin. And soon we're lost . . .

  lost in each other again.

  Chapter Nine

  When I wake before t lie alarm lire following morning. Christian is wrapped

  around me like ivy, his head on my chest, his arm around my waist, and his leg

  between mine. And he's on my side of the bed. It's always the same, if we argue

  the night before, this is how he ends up, coiled around me, making me hot and

  bothered.

  Oh, Fifty. He is so needy on some level. Who would have thought? The fa-

  miliar vision of Christian as a dirty, wretched little boy haunts me. Gently, I

  stroke his shorter hair and my melancholy recedes. He stirs, and his sleepy eyes

  meet mine. He blinks a couple of times as he wakes.

  "Hi," he murmurs and smiles.

  "Hi." I love waking to that smile.

  lie nuzzles my breasts and hums appreciatively Jeep m his Ihroal. liis hand

  travels down from m_ « aisi. skimming o er the eool salin of my nightgown.

  "What a tempting morsel you arc," he mutters. ""Bui. templing though y ou

  are," he glances at the alarm, "1 have to get up." He stretches out, untangles him-

  self from me, and rises.

  1 lie back, put my hands behind my head, and enjoy the show — Christian

  stripping for his shower. He is perfect. I wouldn't change a hair on his head.

  "Admiring lite view. Mrs. Cirey'. 1 "' ( hrislian arches a sardonic brow at inc.

  "It's a mighty fine iew . Mr. ( irey ."

  1 Ic grins and throws his pajama pants at me so they almost land on my face,

  but I catch them in lit ; _i ing like ; choolgirl Villi i w icked grin, he pulls

  the duvet off, puts one knee on the bed. grabs my ankles, and drags me toward

  him so that my nightdress rides up. I squeal, and he crawls up my body, trailing

  t| iiil n in inJ my . . . oh . . . Chiisiiuu:

  "Good morning, Mrs. (irey." Mrs. Jonas greets inc. 1 (lush, embarrassed remem-

  i ng h i i ill I t i in I t i I i

  "Good morning." I respond as she hands inc a cap often. 1 sit on the bar stool

  beside my husband, who just looks radiant: freshly showered, his hair damp,

  wearing a crisp white shirt and that silver-gray tie. My favorite tie. I have fond

  "How are you, Mrs. ( irey 7" he asks, his eyes warm.

  He smirks. "Eat," he orders. "You didn't eat yesterday."

  Oh, bossy Fifty!

  "That's because you were being an arse."

  Mrs. Jones drops something thai clatters inlo the -.ink. making me jump.

  Christian seems obli ions to the noise. Ignoring her. lie -tares ai me impasshely.

  "Arse or not — eat." His tone is serious. No arguing with him.

  ""Okay! Picking up spoon, eating granola," I mutter like a petulant teenager. I

  reach for the Greek yoghurt and spoon some onto my cereal, followed by a

  handful of blueberries. I glance at Mrs. Jones and she catches my eye. I smile, and

  she responds with a warm smile of her own. She has provided me with my break-

  fast of choice introduced to me on our honeymoon.

  "I may have to go to New York later in the week." Christian's announcement

  interrupts my re eric.

  "Oh."

  "It'll mean an overnight. I want you to come with me."

  "Christian, 1 won't get the time off."

  He gives me his oh-rcall> -but-1'm-llic-boss-stare.

  I sigh. "I know you own the company, but I've been away for three weeks.

  Please. How can you expect me to ran the business if I'm never there? I'll be fine

  here. I'm assuming you'll take Taylor with you, but Sawyer and Ryan will be

  here — " I stop because Christian is grinni 1 m Inn 1 snap

  "Nothing. Just yon." he says.

  I frown. Is he laughing at me? Then a nasty thought pops into my mind.

  "How are you getting to New York?"

  "The company jet, why?"

  "I just wanted to check if you were taking Charlie Tango." My voice is quiet,

  and a shiver runs down my spine. I remember the last time he flew his helicopter.

  That was possibly the low est point in m life. I notice Mrs. Jones has stilled, too. 1

  "I wouldn't fly to New York in Charlie Tango. She doesn't have that kind of

  range. Besides, site won't he back front the engineers lor another two weeks."

  Tha
nk heavens. My smile ;s partly from relief, but also the know ledge that

  the demise of Charli fango ha cupicd a grc ( It stian's thoughts and

  "Well I'm glad she's nearly fixed, but " 1 stop. Can 1 tell him how nervous

  I'll be when he flies next time?

  "What?" he asks as he finishes his omelet.

  "Ana?" he says, more sternly.

  "I just . . . you know. Las; lime you few in her. . J thought, we though;,

  you'd — " 1 can't finish the sentence, and i hristian's expression solicits.

  "Hey." He caresses my lace w ith Ihe back of his knuckles. "Thai w as saboi-

  age." A dark expression crosses his face, and for a moment I wonder if he knows

  who was responsible.

  "I couldn't bear to lose you," I murmur.

  "Five people have been fired because of that, Ana. It won't happen again."

  "Five?"

  I [c nods, ins lace serious.

  Holy crap!

  "That reminds me. There's a gun in your desk."

  He frowns at m i i I nd | I i i i ilory tone though I

  don't mean it that way. "It's Leila's," he says finally.

  "It's fully loaded."

  "How do you know?" His frown deepens.

  "I checked it yesterday."

  He scowls at me. "I don't want you messing with guns. I hope you put the

  I blink at him. in i I i I i ' 10 safety on that re-

  volver. Don't you know anything about guns?"

  His eyes widen. "Um . . . no."

  Taylor coughs discreetly from die entrance. Christian nods at him.

  "We have to go." Christian sa s. 1 Ie stands, distracted, and slips on his gray

  jacket. I follow him into the hallway.

  He has Leila's gun. I am stunned by this news and briefly wonder what's

  happened to her. Is she still in — where is it? East somewhere. New Hampshire? I

  "Good morning. Taylor." C hrislian say s.

  "Good morning, Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey." He nods at us both, but he's careful

  not to look me in the eye. I'm grateful, recalling my state of undress when we

  bumped into each other last night.

  "I am just going to brush. m teeth." 1 mutter. Christian alw ay s brushes his

  teeth be lore breakfast. I don't understand w h> .

  "You should ask Taylor to teach you how to shoot," I say as we travel down in the

  elevator. Christian gazes down at me, amused.

  "Should I now?" he says dryly.

  "Yes."

  "Anastasia I despi i h mom has pal nn ictims of gun

  crime, and my dad is ehemcnlh anligun. I grew up w illi ilieir elhos. I support at

  least two gun control initiatives here in Washington."

  "Oh. Does Taylor carry a gun?"

  Christian's mouth thins.

  "Sometimes."