Текст книги "Fifty Shades Freed"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

“Steady, baby,” Christian warns.

As we drive back into Portland, an idea occurs to me.

“Have you planned lunch?” I ask Christian tentatively.

“No. You’re hungry?” He sounds hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Where do you want to go? It’s your day, Ana.”

“I know just the place.”

I pull up near the gallery where José exhibited his work and park right outside the Le Picotin restaurant where we went after José’s show.

Christian grins. “For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that dreadful bar you drunk dialed me from.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To check the azaleas are still alive.” He arches a sardonic brow.

I blush. “Don’t remind me! Besides . . . you still took me to your hotel room.” I smirk.

“Best decision I ever made,” he says, his eyes soft and warm.

“Yes. It was.” I lean over and kiss him.

“Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?” Christian asks.

“Supercilious? I thought he was fine.”

“He was trying to impress you.”

“Well, he succeeded.”

Christian’s mouth twists in amused disgust.

“Shall we go see?” I offer.

“Lead on, Mrs. Grey.”

After lunch and a quick detour to the Heathman to pick up Christian’s laptop, we return to the hospital. I spend the afternoon with Ray, reading aloud from one of

the manuscripts I’ve been sent. My only accompaniment is the sound of the machinery keeping him alive, keeping him with me. Now that I know he’s making

progress, I can breathe a little easier and relax. I’m hopeful. He just needs time to get well. I’ve got time—I can give him that. I wonder idly if I should try calling

Mom again, but decide to do it later. I hold Ray’s hand loosely as I read to him, squeezing it occasionally, willing him to be well. His fingers feel soft and warm

beneath my touch. He still has the indentation on his finger where he wore his wedding ring—even after all this time.

An hour or two later, I don’t know how long, I glance up to see Christian, laptop in hand, standing at the end of Ray’s bed with Nurse Kellie.

“It’s time to go, Ana.”

Oh. I clasp Ray’s hand tightly. I don’t want to leave him.

“I want to feed you. Come. It’s late.” Christian sounds insistent.

“I’m about to give Mr. Steele a sponge bath,” Nurse Kellie says.

“Okay.” I concede. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

I kiss Ray on his cheek, feeling his unfamiliar stubble beneath my lips. I don’t like it. Keep getting better, Daddy. I love you.

“I thought we’d dine downstairs. In a private room,” Christian says, a gleam in his eye as he opens the door to our suite.

“Really? Finish what you started a few months ago?”

He smirks. “If you’re very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”

I laugh. “Christian, I don’t have anything dressy to wear.”

He smiles, holds out his hand, and leads me into the bedroom. He opens the wardrobe to reveal a large white dress bag hanging inside.

“Taylor?” I ask.

“Christian,” he replies, forceful and wounded at once. His tone makes me laugh. Unzipping the bag, I find a navy satin dress and ease it out. It’s gorgeous—fitted

with thin straps. It looks small.

“It’s lovely. Thank you. I hope it fits.”

“It will,” he says confidently. “And here”—he picks up a shoebox—“shoes to match.” He gives me a wolfish smile.

“You think of everything. Thank you.” I stretch up and kiss him.

“I do.” He hands me yet another bag.

I gaze at him quizzically. Inside is a black strapless bodysuit with a central panel of lace. He caresses my face, tilts my chin, and kisses me.

“I look forward to taking this off you later.”

Fresh out of my bath, washed, shaved and feeling pampered, I sit on the edge of the bed and start up the hair dryer. Christian wanders into the bedroom. I think

he’s been working.

“Here, let me,” he says, pointing to the chair in front of the dressing table.

“Dry my hair?”

He nods. I blink at him.

“Come,” he says, regarding me intently. I know that expression, and I know better than to disobey. Slowly and methodically he dries my hair, one lock at a time.

He’s obviously done this before . . . often.

“You’re no stranger to this,” I murmur. His smile is reflected in the mirror, but he says nothing and continues to brush through my hair. Hmm . . . it’s very

relaxing.

When we step into the elevator on our way to dinner, we are not alone. Christian looks delicious in his signature white linen shirt, black jeans and jacket. No tie.

The two women inside shoot admiring glances at him and less generous ones at me. I hide my smile. Yes, ladies, he’s mine. Christian takes my hand and pulls me

close as we travel in silence down to the mezzanine level.

It’s busy, full of people dressed up for the evening, sitting around chatting and drinking, starting their Saturday night. I am grateful that I fit in. The dress hugs me,

skimming over my curves and holding everything in place. I have to say, I feel . . . attractive wearing it. I know Christian approves.

At first, I think we’re heading for the private dining room where we first discussed the contract, but he leads me past that doorway and on to the far end where he

opens the door to another wood paneled room.

“Surprise!”

Oh, my. Kate and Elliot, Mia and Ethan, Carrick and Grace, Mr. Rodriguez and José, and my mother and Bob are all there raising their glasses. I stand gaping at

them, speechless. How? When? I turn in consternation to Christian, and he squeezes my hand. My mom steps forward and wraps her arms around me. Oh, Mom!

“Darling, you look beautiful. Happy birthday.”

“Mom!” I sob, embracing her. Oh Mommy. Tears stream down my face despite the audience, and I bury my face in her neck.

“Honey, darling. Don’t cry. Ray will be okay. He’s such a strong man. Don’t cry. Not on your birthday.” Her voice cracks, but she maintains her composure.

She grasps my face in her hands and with her thumbs wipes away my tears.

“I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, Ana! How could I? Seventeen hours of labor is not something you easily forget.”

I giggle through my tears, and she smiles.

“Dry your eyes, honey. Lots of people are here to share your special day.”

I sniffle, not wanting to look at anyone else in the room, embarrassed and thrilled that everyone has made such an effort to come and see me.

“How did you get here? When did you arrive?”

“Your husband sent his plane, darling.” She grins, impressed.

And I laugh. “Thank you for coming, Mom.” She wipes my nose with a tissue as only a mother would. “Mom!” I scold, composing myself.

“That’s better. Happy birthday, darling.” She steps aside while everyone lines up to hug me and wish me happy birthday.

“He’s doing well, Ana. Dr. Sluder is the one of the best in the country. Happy birthday, Angel.” Grace hugs me.

“You cry all you want to, Ana—it’s your party.” José embraces me.

“Happy birthday, darling girl.” Carrick smiles, cupping my face.

“S’up babe? Your old man will be fine.” Elliot enfolds me in his arms. “Happy birthday.”

“Okay.” Taking my hand, Christian pulls me from Elliot’s embrace. “Enough fondling my wife. Go fondle your fiancée.”

Elliot grins wickedly at him and winks at Kate.

A waiter I hadn’t noticed before presents Christian and me with glasses of pink champagne.

Christian clears his throat. “This would be a perfect day if Ray were here with us, but he’s not far away. He’s doing well, and I know he’d like you to enjoy

yourself, Ana. To all of you, thank you for coming to share my beautiful wife’s birthday, the first of many to come. Happy birthday, my love.” Christian raises his

glass to me amid a chorus of happy birthdays, and I have to fight again to keep my tears at bay.

I watch the animated conversations around the dinner table. It’s strange to be cocooned in the bosom of my family, knowing the man I consider my father is on a

life support machine in the cold clinical environs of the ICU. I’m detached from the proceedings but grateful that they’re all here. Watching the sparring between

Elliot and Christian, José’s ready warm wit, Mia’s excitement and her enthusiasm for the food, Ethan slyly watching her. I think he likes her . . . though it’s hard to

tell. Mr. Rodriguez is sitting back, like me, enjoying the conversations. He looks better. Rested. José is very attentive to him, cutting his food, keeping his glass

filled. Having his surviving parent come so close to death has made José appreciate Mr. Rodriguez more . . . I know.

I gaze at Mom. She’s in her element, charming, witty, and warm. I love her so much. I must remember to tell her. Life is so precious, I realize that now.

“You okay?” Kate asks in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

I nod and clasp her hand. “Yes. Thanks for coming.”

“You think Mr. Megabucks could keep me away from you on your birthday? We got to fly in the helicopter!” She grins.

“Really?”

“Yes. All of us. And to think Christian can fly it.”

I nod.

“That’s kinda hot.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

We grin.

“Are you staying here tonight?” I ask.

“Yes. We all are, I think. You knew nothing about this?”

I shake my head.

“Smooth, isn’t he?”

I nod.

“What did he get you for your birthday?”

“This.” I hold up my bracelet.

“Oh, cute!”

“Yes.”

“London, Paris . . . ice cream?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I can guess.”

We laugh, and I blush, recalling Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.

“Oh . . . and an R8.”

Kate spits her wine rather unattractively down her chin, making us both laugh some more.

“Over the top bastard, isn’t he?” She giggles.

For dessert I am presented with a sumptuous chocolate cake blazing with twenty-two silver candles and a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Grace watches

Christian singing with the rest of my friends and family, and her eyes shine with love. Catching my eye, she blows me a kiss.

“Make a wish,” Christian whispers to me. In one breath I blow out all the candles, fervently willing my father better. Daddy, get well. Please get well. I love you

so.

At midnight, Mr. Rodriguez and José take their leave.

“Thank you so much for coming.” I hug José tightly.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Glad Ray’s heading in the right direction.”

“Yes. You, Mr. Rodriguez, and Ray have to come fishing with Christian in Aspen.”

“Yeah? Sounds cool.” José grins before he leaves to fetch his father’s coat, and I crouch down to say good-bye to Mr. Rodriguez.

“You know Ana, there was a time . . . well, I thought you and José . . .” His voice fades, and he gazes at me, his dark gaze intense but loving.

Oh no.

“I’m very fond of your son, Mr. Rodriguez, but he’s like a brother to me.”

“You would have made one fine daughter-in-law. And you do. To the Greys.” He smiles wistfully and I blush.

“I hope you’ll settle for friend.”

“Of course. Your husband is a fine man. You chose well, Ana.”

“I think so,” I whisper. “I love him so.” I hug Mr. Rodriguez.

“Treat him good, Ana.”

“I will,” I promise.

Christian closes the door to our suite.

“Alone at last,” he murmurs, leaning back against the door, watching me.

I step toward him and run my fingers over the lapels of his jacket. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday. You really are the most thoughtful, considerate, generous husband.”

“My pleasure.”

“Yes . . . your pleasure. Let’s do something about that,” I whisper. Tightening my hands around his lapels, I pull his lips to mine.

After a communal breakfast, I open all my presents then give a series of cheery good-byes to all the Greys and the Kavanaghs who will be returning to Seattle via

Charlie Tango. My mom, Christian, and I head up to the hospital with Taylor driving since the three of us would not fit into my R8. Bob has declined to visit, and

I’m secretly glad. It’d be just too weird, and I’m sure Ray wouldn’t appreciate Bob seeing him at anything less than his best.

Ray looks much the same. Hairier. Mom is shocked when she sees him, and together we cry a little more.

“Oh, Ray.” She squeezes his hand and gently strokes his face, and I’m moved to see her love for her ex-husband. I’m glad I have tissues in my purse. We sit

beside him, me holding her hand while she holds his.

“Ana, there was a time when this man was the center of my world. The sun rose and set with him. I’ll always love him. He’s taken such good care of you.”

“Mom—” I choke and she strokes my face and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“You know I’ll always love Ray. We just drifted apart.” She sighs. “And I just couldn’t live with him.” She gazes down at her fingers, and I wonder if she’s

thinking about Steve, Husband Number Three, who we don’t talk about.

“I know you love Ray,” I whisper, drying my eyes. “They’re going to bring him out of his coma today.”

“Good. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s so stubborn. I think you learned it from him.”

I smile. “Have you been talking to Christian?”

“Does he think you’re stubborn?”

“I believe so.”

“I’ll tell him it’s a family trait. You look so good together, Ana. So happy.”

“We are, I think. Getting there, anyway. I love him. He’s the center of my world. The sun rises and sets with him for me, too.”

“He obviously adores you, darling.”

“And I adore him.”

“Make sure you tell him. Men need to hear that stuff just like we do.”

I insist on going to the airport with Mom and Bob to say good-bye. Taylor follows in the R8, and Christian drives the SUV. I’m sorry they can’t stay longer, but

they have to get back to Savannah. It’s a tearful good-bye.

“Take good care of her, Bob,” I whisper as he hugs me.

“Sure will, Ana. And you look after yourself.”

“Will do.” I turn to my mother. “Good-bye, Mom. Thank you for coming,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I love you so much.”

“Oh my darling girl, I love you, too. And Ray will be fine. He’s not ready to shuffle off his mortal coil just yet. There’s probably a Mariners game he can’t miss.”

I giggle. She’s right. I resolve to read the sports pages of the Sunday newspaper to Ray that evening. I watch her and Bob climb the steps into the GEH jet. She

gives me a tearful wave, then she’s gone. Christian wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“Let’s head back, baby,” he murmurs

“Will you drive?”

“Sure.”

When we return to the hospital that evening, Ray looks different. It takes me a moment to realize that the suck and push of the ventilator has vanished. Ray is

breathing on his own. Relief floods through me. I stroke his stubbly face, and taking out a tissue to gently wipe, the spittle from his mouth.

Christian stalks off to find Dr. Sluder or Dr. Crowe for an update, while I take my familiar seat beside his bed to keep a watchful vigil.

I unfold the sports section of the Sunday Oregonian and conscientiously begin reading out the report about the Sounders soccer game against Real Salt Lake. By

all accounts, it was a wild game, but the Sounders were defeated by an own goal from Kasey Keller. I grip Ray’s hand firmly in mine as I read it through.

“And the final score, Sounders 1, Real Salt Lake 2.”

“Hey, Annie, we lost? No!” Ray rasps, and he squeezes my hand.

Daddy!

Tears stream down my face. He’s back. My daddy is back.

“Don’t cry, Annie.” Ray’s voice is hoarse. “What’s happening?”

I take up his hand in both of mine and cradle it against my face. “You’ve been in an accident. You’re in the hospital in Portland.”

Ray frowns, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s uncomfortable with my uncharacteristic display of affection, or that he can’t remember the accident.

“Do you want some water?” I ask, though I’m not sure if I’m allowed to give him any. He nods, bewildered. My heart swells. I stand up and lean over him,

kissing his forehead. “I love you, Daddy. Welcome back.”

He waves his hand, embarrassed. “Me, too, Annie. Water.” I run the short distance to the nurses’ station.

“My dad—he’s awake!” I beam at Nurse Kellie, who smiles back.

“Page Dr. Sluder,” she says to her colleague and hurriedly makes her way around the desk.

“He wants water.”

“I’ll bring him some.”

I skip back to my father’s bed, I feel so light-hearted. His eyes are closed when I reach him, and I immediately worry that he’s slipped back into a coma.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here,” he mutters and his eyes flutter open as Nurse Kellie appears with a jug of ice chips and a glass.

“Hello, Mr. Steele. I’m Kellie, your nurse. Your daughter tells me you’re thirsty.”

In the waiting room, Christian is staring fixedly at his laptop, deep in concentration. He glances up when I close the door.

“He’s awake,” I announce. He smiles, and the tension around his eyes vanishes. Oh . . . I hadn’t noticed before. Has he been tense all this time? He sets his

laptop aside, stands, and embraces me.

“How is he?” he asks as I wrap my arms around him.

“Talking, thirsty, bewildered. He doesn’t remember the accident at all.”

“That’s understandable. Now that he’s awake, I want to get him moved to Seattle. Then we can go home, and my mom can keep an eye on him.”

Already?

“I’m not sure he’s well enough to be moved.”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Sluder. Get her opinion.”

“You miss home?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“You haven’t stopped smiling,” Christian says as I pull up outside the Heathman.

“I’m very relieved. And happy.”

Christian grins. “Good.”

The light is fading, and I shiver as I step out into the cool, crisp evening and hand my key to the parking valet. He’s eyeing my car with lust, and I don’t blame

him. Christian puts his arm around me.

“Shall we celebrate?” he asks as we enter the foyer.

“Celebrate?”

“Your dad.”

I giggle. “Oh, him.”

“I’ve missed that sound.” Christian kisses my hair.

“Can we just eat in our room? You know, have a quiet night in?”

“Sure. Come.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the elevators.

“That was delicious,” I murmur with satisfaction as I push my plate away, replete for the first time in ages. “They sure know how to make a fine tarte Tatin here.”

I am freshly bathed and wearing only Christian’s T-shirt and my panties. In the background, Christian’s iPod is on shuffle and Dido is warbling on about white

flags.

Christian eyes me speculatively. His hair is still damp from our bath, and he’s wearing just his black T-shirt and jeans. “That’s the most I’ve seen you eat the

entire time we’ve been here,” he says.

“I was hungry.”

He leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk and takes a sip of his white wine. “What would you like to do now?” His voice is soft.

“What do you want to do?”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “What I always want to do.”

“And that is?”

“Mrs. Grey, don’t be coy.”

Reaching across the dining table, I grasp his hand, turn it over, and skim my index finger over his palm. “I’d like you to touch me with this.” I run my finger up

his index finger.

He shifts in his chair. “Just that?” His eyes darken and heat at once.

“Maybe this?” I run my finger up his middle finger and back to his palm. “And this.” My nail traces his ring finger. “Definitely this.” My finger stops at his

wedding ring. “This is very sexy.”

“Is it, now?”

“It sure is. It says this man is mine.” And I skim the small callous that has already formed on his palm beneath the ring. He leans forward and cups my chin with

his other hand.

“Mrs. Grey, are you seducing me?”

“I hope so.”

“Anastasia, I’m a given.” His voice is low. “Come here.” He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. “I like having unfettered access to you.” He runs a hand up

my thigh to my behind. He grasps the nape of my neck with his other hand and kisses me, holding me firmly in place.

He tastes of white wine and apple pie and Christian. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me while our tongues explore and curl and twist around

each other, my blood heating in my veins. We’re breathless when Christian pulls away.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Bed?”

He pulls back further and tugs my hair so I am looking up at him. “Where would you prefer, Mrs. Grey?”

My inner goddess stops stuffing her face with tarte Tatin. I shrug, feigning indifference. “Surprise me.”

He smirks. “You’re feisty this evening.” He runs his nose along mine.

“Maybe I need to be restrained.”

“Maybe you do. You’re getting mighty bossy in your old age.” He narrows his eyes, but can’t disguise the latent humor there.

“What are you going to do about it?” I challenge.

His eyes glitter. “I know what I’d like to do about it. Depends if you’re up to it.”

“Oh, Mr. Grey, you’ve been very gentle with me these last couple of days. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“You don’t like gentle?”

“With you, of course. But you know . . . variety is the spice of life.” I bat my lashes at him.

“You’re after something less gentle?”

“Something life-affirming.”

He raises his brows in surprise. “Life-affirming,” he repeats, astonished humor in his voice.

I nod. He gazes at me for a moment. “Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers then rises suddenly with me in his arms. I gasp and grab his biceps, fearful that he’ll drop

me. He walks over to the smallest of the three couches and deposits me on to it.

“Wait here. Don’t move.” He gives me a brief hot, intense look and turns on his heel, stalking toward the bedroom. Oh . . . Christian barefoot. Why are his feet

so hot? He’s back a few moments later, taking me by surprise as he leans over me from behind.

“I think we’ll dispense with this.” He grabs my T-shirt and drags it over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He pulls my ponytail back and kisses

me.

“Stand up,” he orders against my lips and releases me. I comply immediately. He lays a towel out on the sofa.

Towel?

“Take your panties off.”

I swallow but do as I’m told, discarding them by the sofa.

“Sit.” He grabs my ponytail again and pulls my head back. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”

I nod.

“Say it.” His voice is stern.

“Yes,” I squeak.

He smirks. “Good. So, Mrs. Grey . . . by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” His voice drops to a breathless whisper. Desire streaks through my body

like lightning simply at those words. Oh, my sweet Fifty—on the sofa?

“Bring your knees up,” he commands softly. “And sit right back.”

I rest my feet on the edge of the sofa, my knees up in front of me. He reaches for my left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathroom robes, he ties one end

above my knee.

“Bathrobes?”

“I’m improvising.” He smirks again and fastens the slipknot above my knee and ties the other end of the soft belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa,

effectively parting my legs.

“Don’t move,” he warns and repeats the process with my right leg, tying the second cord to the other finial.

Oh my . . . I am sitting up, splayed out on the sofa, legs spread wide.

“Okay?” Christian asks softly, gazing down at me from behind the sofa.

I nod, expecting him to tie my hands, too. But he refrains. He bends and kisses me.

“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” he murmurs and rubs his nose against mine. “Change of music, I think.” He stands and strolls casually over to

the iPod dock.

How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the

How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the

muscles of his back under his T-shirt as he changes the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing about watching me.

Oh, I like this song.

Christian turns and his eyes lock on mine as he moves around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.

Suddenly, I feel very exposed.

“Exposed? Vulnerable?” he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod.

Why doesn’t he touch me?

“Good,” he murmurs. “Hold out your hands.” I can’t look away from his mesmerizing eyes as I do what he asks. Christian pours a little oily liquid onto each

palm from a small clear bottle. It’s scented—a rich, musky, sensuous scent that I can’t place.

“Rub your hands.” I squirm beneath his hot, heavy gaze. “Keep still,” he warns.

Oh my.

“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself.”

Holy cow.

“Start at your throat and work down.”

I hesitate.

“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.” The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his desire.

The sweet voice sings that there’s nothing sweet about her. I place my hands against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my breasts. The oil makes

them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.

“Lower,” Christian murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn’t touch me.

My hands cup my breasts.

“Tease yourself.”

Oh my. I tug gently on my nipples.

“Harder,” Christian urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching me. “Like I would,” he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep in

my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my nipples, feeling them stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.

“Yes. Like that. Again.”

Closing my eyes I pull hard, rolling and twisting them between my fingers. I moan.

“Open your eyes.”

I blink up at him.

“Again. I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.”

Oh fuck. I repeat the process. This is so . . . erotic.

“Hands. Lower.”

I squirm.

“Keep still, Ana. Absorb the pleasure. Lower.” His voice is low and husky, tempting and beguiling at once.

“You do it,” I whisper.

“Oh, I will—soon. You. Lower. Now.” Christian, exuding sensuality, runs his tongue along his teeth Holy fuck . . . I writhe, pulling on the restraints.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Still.” He rests his hands on my knees, holding me in place. “Come on, Ana—lower.”

My hands glide over my stomach down over my belly.

“Lower,” he mouths, and he is carnality personified.

“Christian, please.”

His hands glide down from my knees, skimming my thighs, toward my sex. “Come on, Ana. Touch yourself.”

My left hand skims over my sex, and I rub in a slow circle, my mouth an O as I pant.

“Again,” he whispers.

I groan louder and repeat the move and tip my head back, gasping.

“Again.”

I moan loudly, and Christian inhales sharply. Grabbing my hands, he bends down, running his nose then his tongue back and forth at the apex of my thighs.

“Ah!”

I want to touch him, but when I try to move my hands, his fingers tighten around my wrists.

“I’ll restrain these, too. Keep still.”

I groan. He releases me then eases his middle two fingers inside me, the heel of his hand resting against my clitoris.

“I’m going to make you come quickly, Ana. Ready?”

“Yes.” I pant.

He starts to move his fingers, his hand, up and down, rapidly, assaulting both that sweet spot inside me and my clitoris at the same time. Ah! The feeling is

intense—really intense. Pleasure builds and spikes throughout the lower half of my body. I want to stretch my legs, but I can’t. My hands claw at the towel beneath

me.

“Surrender,” Christian whispers.

I explode around his fingers, crying out incoherently. He presses the heel of his hand against my clitoris as the aftershocks run through my body, prolonging the

delicious agony. Vaguely, I’m aware that he’s untying my legs.

“My turn,” he murmurs, and flips me over so I am face down on the sofa with my knees on the floor. He spreads my legs and slaps me hard across my behind.

“Ah!” I yelp and he slams into me.

“Oh, Ana,” he hisses through clenched teeth as he starts to move. His fingers grip me hard around my hips as he grinds into me over and over. And I’m building

again. No . . . Ah . . .

“Come on, Ana!” Christian shouts, and I shatter once more, pulsing around him and crying out as I come.

“Life-affirming enough for you?” Christian kisses my hair.

“Oh, yes,” I murmur, gazing up at the ceiling. I am lying on my husband, my back to his front, both of us on the floor beside the sofa. He’s still dressed.

“I think we should go again. No clothes for you this time.”

“Christ, Ana. Give a man a chance.”

I giggle and he chuckles. “I’m glad Ray’s conscious. Seems all your appetites are back,” he says, not disguising the smile in his voice.

I turn over and scowl at him. “Are you forgetting about last night and this morning?” I pout.

I turn over and scowl at him. “Are you forgetting about last night and this morning?” I pout.

“Nothing forgettable about either of those.” He grins, and when he does, he looks so young and carefree and happy. He cups my behind. “You have a fantastic

ass, Mrs. Grey.”

“So do you.” I arch a brow at him. “Though yours is still under cover.”

“And what are you going to do about that, Mrs. Grey?”

“Why, I’m going to undress you, Mr. Grey. All of you.”

He grins.

“And I think there’s a lot that’s sweet about you,” I murmur, referring to the song still playing on repeat. His smile fades.

Oh no.

“You are,” I whisper. I lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes and tightens his arms around me.

“Christian, you are. You made this weekend so special—in spite of what happened to Ray. Thank you.”

He opens his large, serious gray eyes, and his expression tugs at my heart.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs.

“I know. I love you, too.” I caress his face. “And you’re precious to me, too. You do know that, don’t you?”

His stills, looking lost.

Oh, Christian . . . my sweet Fifty.

“Believe me,” I whisper.

“It’s not easy.” His voice is almost inaudible.

“Try. Try hard, because it’s true.” I stroke his face once more, my fingers brushing against his sideburns. His eyes are gray oceans of loss and hurt and pain. I

want to climb into his body and hold him. Anything to stop that look. When will he realize that he means the world to me? That he’s more than worthy of my love,

the love of his parents—his siblings? I have told him over and over, and yet here we are as Christian gives me his lost, abandoned look. Time. It will just take time.

“You’ll get cold. Come.” He rises gracefully to his feet and pulls me up to stand beside him. I slip my arm around his waist as we wander back into the bedroom.

I won’t push him, but since Ray’s accident, it’s become more important to me that he knows how much I love him.

As we enter the bedroom, I frown, desperate to recover the very welcome lighthearted mood of only a few moments ago.

“Shall we watch TV?” I ask.

Christian snorts. “I was hoping for round two.” And my mercurial Fifty is back. I arch my brow and stop by the bed.

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll be in charge.”

He gapes at me, and I push him onto the bed and quickly straddle him, pinning his hands down beside his head.