Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed Read online

  What if I’d never met Christian? I’d be holed up in my apartment, talking it through with Ethan, completely freaked by my encounter with Jack, knowing I would have to face the sleazeball again on Friday. As it is, there’s every chance I’ll never set eyes on him again. But who will I work for now? I frown. I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, do I even have a job?

  “Evening, Gail,” Christian says as he comes back into the great room, dragging me from my thoughts. Heading straight to the fridge, he pours himself a glass of wine.

  “Good evening, Mr. Grey. Dinner in ten, sir?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Christian raises his glass.

  “To ex-military men who train their daughters well,” he says and his eyes soften.

  “Cheers,” I mutter, raising my glass.

  “What’s wrong?” Christian asks.

  “I don’t know if I still have a job.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Do you still want one?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you still have one.”

  Simple. See? He is master of my universe. I roll my eyes at him and he smiles.

  MRS. JONES MAKES A mean chicken potpie. She has left us to enjoy the fruits of her labors, and I feel much better now I’ve had something to eat. We are sitting at the breakfast bar, and despite my best cajoling, Christian won’t tell me what Barney has found on Jack’s computer. I drop the subject, and decide to tackle instead the thorny issue of José’s impending visit.

  “José called,” I say nonchalantly.

  “Oh?” Christian turns to face me.

  “He wants to deliver your photos on Friday.”

  “A personal delivery. How accommodating of him,” Christian mutters.

  “He wants to go out. For a drink. With me.”

  “I see.”

  “And Kate and Elliot should be back,” I add quickly.

  Christian puts his fork down, frowning at me.

  “What exactly are you asking?”

  I bristle. “I’m not asking anything. I’m informing you of my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see José, and he wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at my place, but if he does, I should be there, too.”

  Christian’s eyes widen. He looks dumbfounded.

  “He made a pass at you.”

  “Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was drunk, you saved the day—it won’t happen again. He’s no Jack, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Ethan’s there. He can keep him company.”

  “He wants to see me, not Ethan.”

  Christian scowls at me.

  “He’s just a friend.” My voice is emphatic.

  “I don’t like it.”

  So what? Jeez, he’s irritating sometimes. I take a deep breath. “He’s my friend, Christian. I haven’t seen him since his show. And that was too brief. I know you don’t have any friends, apart from that god-awful woman, but I don’t moan about you seeing her,” I snap. Christian blinks, shocked. “I want to see him. I’ve been a poor friend to him.” My subconscious is alarmed. Are you stamping your little foot? Steady now!

  Gray eyes blaze at me. “Is that what you think?” he breathes.

  “Think about what?”

  “Elena. You’d rather I didn’t see her?”

  “Exactly. I’d rather you didn’t see her.”

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  “Because it’s not my place to say. You think she’s your only friend.” I shrug in exasperation. He really doesn’t get it. How did this turn into a conversation about her? I don’t even want to think about her. I try to steer us back to José. “Just as it’s not your place to say if I can or can’t see José. Don’t you see that?”

  Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think. Oh, what is he thinking?

  “He can stay here, I suppose,” he mutters. “I can keep an eye on him.” He sounds petulant.

  Hallelujah!

  “Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too …” I trail off. Christian nods. He knows what I’m trying to say. “It’s not like you haven’t got the space.” I smirk.

  His lips turn up slowly. “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

  “Most definitely, Mr. Grey.” I get up just in case his palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them into the dishwasher.

  “Gail will do that.”

  “I’ve done it now.” I stand up and gaze at him. He’s watching me intently.

  “I have to work for a while,” he says apologetically.

  “Cool. I’ll find something to do.”

  “Come here,” he orders, but his voice is soft and seductive, his eyes heated. I don’t hesitate to walk into his arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his barstool. He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to him, and just holds me.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers into my hair.

  “Okay?”

  “After what happened with that fucker? After what happened yesterday?” he adds, his voice quiet and earnest.

  I gaze into dark, serious, eyes. Am I okay? “Yes,” I whisper.

  His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished, and loved all at once. It’s blissful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his intoxicating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways—my Fifty.

  “Let’s not fight,” he murmurs. He kisses my hair and inhales deeply. “You smell heavenly as usual, Ana.”

  “So do you,” I whisper and kiss his neck.

  All too soon he releases me. “I should only be a couple of hours.”

  I WANDER LISTLESSLY THROUGH the apartment. Christian is still working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt of my own, and I’m bored. I don’t want to read. If I sit still, I’ll recall Jack and his fingers on me.

  I check out my old bedroom, the subs’ room. José can sleep here—he’ll like the view. It’s about eight fifteen, and the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the city twinkle below me. It’s glorious. Yes, José will like it here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang José’s pictures of me. I’d rather he didn’t. I am not keen on looking at myself.

  Back down the hallway I find myself outside the playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle. Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the door opens. How strange. Feeling like a child playing hooky and straying into the forbidden forest, I walk in. It’s dark. I flick the switch and the lights under the cornice light up with a soft glow. It’s as I remember it. A womblike room.

  Memories of the last time I was in here flash through my mind. The belt … I wince at the recollection. Now it hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside the door. Tentatively I run my fingers over the belts, the floggers, the paddles, and the whips. Sheesh. This is what I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gazing around at all the apparatuses.

  Beside me is the bench, above that the assortment of canes. So many! Surely one is enough? Well, the less said about that, the better. And the large table. We never tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the chesterfield, and I move over to sit on it. It’s just a couch, nothing extraordinary about it—nothing to fasten anything to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep in there?

  As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This feels so illicit, as if I’m trespassing, which of course I am. But if he wants to marry me, well …

  Holy fuck, what’s all this? An array of instruments and bizarre implements—I don’t have a clue what they are, or what they’re for—are carefully laid out in the display drawer. I pick one up. It’s bullet-shaped with a sort of handle. Hmm … what the hell do you do with that? My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. There are four different sizes! My s
calp prickles and I glance up.

  Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Hi.” I smile nervously, and I know my eyes are wide and that I’m deathly pale.

  “What are you doing?” he says softly, but there’s an undercurrent in his tone.

  Oh shit. Is he mad? I flush. “Er … I was bored and curious,” I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said he’d be two hours.

  “That’s a very dangerous combination.” He runs his index finger across his lower lip in quiet contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and my mouth is dry.

  Slowly he enters the room and closes the door quietly behind him, his eyes liquid gray fire. Oh my. He leans casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is deceptive. My inner goddess doesn’t know whether it’s fight-or-flight time.

  “So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you.”

  “The door was open … I—” I gaze at Christian as I hold my breath and blink, uncertain as ever of his reaction or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he’s amused, but it’s difficult to tell. He places his elbows on the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

  “I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He scowls momentarily, as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible lapse in judgment. I frown—it’s not like him to be forgetful.

  “Oh?”

  “But now here you are, curious as ever.” His voice is soft, puzzled.

  “You’re not mad?” I whisper, using my remaining breath.

  He cocks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in amusement.

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “I feel like I’m trespassing … and you’re always mad at me.” My voice is quiet, though I’m relieved. Christian’s brow creases once more.

  “Yes, you’re trespassing, but I’m not mad. I hope that one day you’ll live with me here, and all this”—he gestures vaguely around the room with one hand—“will be yours, too.”

  My playroom …? I gape at him—that’s a lot to take in.

  “That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”

  Oh, that’s true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.

  “You were playful. I like playful Christian.”

  “Do you, now?” He arches an eyebrow, and his lovely mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!

  “What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.

  “Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a butt plug,” he says gently.

  “Oh …”

  “Bought for you.”

  What? “For me?”

  He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.

  I frown. “You buy new, er … toys … for each submissive?”

  “Some things. Yes.”

  “Butt plugs?”

  “Yes.”

  Okay … I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely that’s uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t know if it’s something I want to do. I examine it once more and place it back in the drawer.

  “And this?” I take out a long, black, rubbery object made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight bubbles in total.

  “Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.

  Oh! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me … there! I had no idea.

  “They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-orgasm,” he adds matter-of-factly.

  “This is for me?” I whisper.

  “For you.” He nods slowly.

  “This is the butt drawer?”

  He smirks. “If you like.”

  I close it quickly, feeling myself turning red as a stoplight.

  “Don’t you like the butt drawer?” he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my shock.

  “It’s not top of my Christmas card list,” I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He grins.

  “Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators.”

  I shut the drawer quickly.

  “And the next?” I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarrassment.

  “That’s more interesting.”

  Oh! Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my eyes off his beautiful but rather smug face. Inside there are an assortment of metal items and some clothespins. Clothespins! I pick up a large metal cliplike device.

  “Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and moves casually around so that he’s beside me. I put it back immediately and choose something more delicate—two small clips on a chain.

  “Some of these are for pain, but most are for pleasure,” he murmurs.

  “What’s this?”

  “Nipple clamps—that’s for both.”

  “Both? Nipples?”

  Christian smirks at me. “Well, there are two clamps, baby. Yes, both nipples, but that’s not what I meant. These are for both pleasure and pain.”

  Oh. He takes it from me.

  “Hold out your little finger.”

  I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It’s not too harsh.

  “The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking them off that they are at their most painful and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the thought.

  “I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian smiles.

  “Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”

  I nod shyly and put the clips back in the drawer. Christian leans forward to pull out two more.

  “These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to inspect.

  “Adjustable?”

  “You can wear them very tight … or not. Depending on your mood.”

  How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.

  “This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.

  “That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”

  “For?”

  He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your hand. Palm up.”

  I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel over my palm.

  “Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than just pain. In fact, it tickles.

  “Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs lasciviously.

  Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase.

  “There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.

  “Clothespins?” I whisper.

  “You can do a great deal with a clothespin.” His eyes burn.

  I lean against the drawer so it closes.

  “Is that all?” Christian looks amused.

  “No …” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps … it appears to be attached to a ball.

  “Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.

  “Soft limit,” I mutter.

  “I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

  “Have you worn one of these?” I ask.

&nb
sp; He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”

  “To mask your screams?”

  He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”

  Oh?

  “It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”

  I swallow.

  “You sound like you miss it.”

  “It’s what I know,” he murmurs. His eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has changed, as if he’s at confessional.

  “You have power over me. You know you do,” I whisper.

  “Do I? You make me feel … helpless.”

  “No!” Oh, Fifty … “Why?”

  “Because you’re the only person I know who could really hurt me.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.

  “Oh, Christian … that works both ways. If you didn’t want me—” I shudder, glancing down at my twisting fingers. Therein lies my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn’t so … broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I murmur, reaching up with both hands to run my fingers through his sideburns and gently stroke his cheeks. He leans his face into my touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.

  “Have we finished show-and-tell?” he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

  “Why? What did you want to do?”

  He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

  “Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is soft but wary.

  “So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls down at me.

  “What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.

  I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.

  “Christian, I’m fine.”