Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (105 page)

Wandering to the great wall of glass, I look out on a sleeping Seattle. The lights twinkle and wink beneath Christian’s castle in the sky, or should I say fortress? I press my forehead against
the cool window—it’s a relief. I have so much to think about after all the revelations of yesterday. I place my back against the glass and slide down onto the floor. The great room is cavernous in the dark, the only light coming from the three lamps above the kitchen island.

Could I live here, married to Christian? After all that he’s done here? All the history this place holds for him?

Marriage. It’s almost unbelievable and completely unexpected. But then, everything about Christian is unexpected. My lips smirk with irony of this reality. Christian Grey, expect the unexpected—fifty shades of fucked-up.

My smile fades. I look like his mother. This wounds me deeply, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn’t want to tell me. But certainly he can’t remember much of his mother. I wonder once more if I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

I shake my head. I feel world-weary, but I’m enjoying the calm serenity of the great room and its beautiful works of art—cold and austere, but in their own way, still beautiful in the shadows and surely worth a fortune. Could I live here? For better, for worse? In sickness and in health? I close my eyes, lean my head back against the glass, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single hair on my body stand to attention.
Christian! Holy fuck—what’s happened?
I am on my feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away, my heart thumping with fear.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian’s bedside light comes to life. He’s tossing and turning, writhing in agony.
No!
He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound lances through me anew.

Shit—a nightmare!

“Christian!” I lean over him, grab his shoulders, and shake
him awake. He opens his eyes, and they are wild and vacant, scanning quickly around the empty room before coming back to rest on me.

“You left, you left, you must have left,” he mumbles—his wide-eyed stare becoming accusatory—and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

“I’m here.” I sit down on the bed beside him. “I’m here,” I murmur softly in an effort to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

“You were gone,” he whispers rapidly. His eyes are still wild and frightened, but he seems to be calming.

“I went to get a drink. I was thirsty.”

He closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them again, he looks so desolate.

“You’re here. Oh, thank God.” He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me down on the bed beside him.

“I just went for a drink,” I murmur.

Oh, the intensity of his fear … I can feel it
. His T-shirt is drenched in sweat, and his heart is pounding as he hugs me close. He’s gazing at me as if reassuring himself that I am really here. I gently stroke his hair and then his cheek.

“Christian, please. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” I say soothingly.

“Oh, Ana,” he breathes. He grasps my chin to hold me in place, and then his mouth is on mine. Desire sweeps through him, and unbidden my body responds—it’s so tied and attuned to him. His lips are at my ear, my throat, then back at my mouth, his teeth gently pulling at my lower lip, his hand traveling up my body from my hip to my breast, dragging my T-shirt up. Caressing me, feeling his way through the dips and shallows of my skin, he elicits the same familiar reaction, his touch sending shivers through me. I moan as his hand cups my breast and his fingers tighten over my nipple.

“I want you,” he murmurs.

“I’m here for you. Only you, Christian.”

He groans and kisses me once more, passionately, with a fervor and desperation I’ve not felt from him before. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug and he helps me pull it off over his head. Kneeling between my legs, he hastily pulls me upright and drags my T-shirt off.

His eyes are serious, wanting, full of dark secrets—exposed. He cups his hands around my face and kisses me, and we sink down into the bed once more, his thigh between both of mine so that he’s half lying on top of me. His erection is rigid against my hip through his boxer briefs. He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it’s like a bucket of cold water on my libido. Fuck. I can’t do this. Not now.

“Christian … Stop. I can’t do this,” I whisper urgently against his mouth, my hands pushing on his upper arms.

“What? What’s wrong?” he murmurs and starts kissing my neck, running the tip of his tongue lightly down my throat.
Oh …

“No, please. I can’t do this, not now. I need some time, please.”

“Oh, Ana, don’t overthink this,” he whispers as he nips my earlobe.

“Ah!” I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows, betraying me. This is so confusing.

“I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please.” He rubs his nose against mine, and his quiet heartfelt plea moves me and I melt.

Touch him. Touch him while we make love. Oh my
.

He rears up over me, gazing down, and in the half-light from the dimmed bedside light, I can tell that he’s waiting for my decision, and he’s caught in my spell.

I reach up and tentatively place my hand on the soft patch of hair over his sternum. He gasps and scrunches his eyes closed as if in pain, but I don’t take my hand away this time. I move it up to his shoulders, feeling the tremor run through him. He groans, and I pull him down to me and place both my hands on his back, where I’ve never touched him before, on his shoulder
blades, holding him to me. His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.

He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and biting me, before trailing his nose up my chin and kissing me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving over my body once more. His lips move down … down … down to my breasts, worshipping as they go, and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying the flex and ripple of his finely honed muscles, his skin still damp from his nightmare. His lips close over my nipple, pulling and tugging, so that it rises to greet his glorious skilled mouth.

I groan and run my fingernails across his back. And he gasps, a strangled moan.

“Oh, fuck, Ana,” he chokes, and it’s a half cry, half groan. It tears at my heart, but also deep inside me, tightening all the muscles below my waist. Oh, what I can do to him! I’m panting now, matching his tortured breaths with my own.

His hand travels south, over my belly, down to my sex—and his fingers are on me, then in me. I groan as he moves his fingers around inside me, in that way, and I push my pelvis up to welcome his touch.

“Ana,” he breathes. He suddenly releases me and sits up; he removes his boxer briefs and leans over to the bedside table to grab a foil packet. His eyes are a blazing gray as he passes me the condom. “You want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no,” he murmurs.

“Don’t give me a chance to think, Christian. I want you, too.” I rip the packet open with my teeth as he kneels between my legs, and with trembling fingers I slide it onto him.

“Steady,” he says. “You are going to unman me, Ana.”

I marvel at what I can do to this man with my touch. He stretches out over me, and for now my doubts are pushed down and locked away in the dark, scary depths at the back of my mind. I’m intoxicated with this man, my man, my Fifty Shades. He shifts suddenly, completely taking me by surprise, so I am on top.
Whoa
.

“You—take me,” he murmurs, his eyes glowing with a feral intensity.

Oh my. Slowly, oh so slowly, I sink down onto him. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he groans. I grab his hands and start to move, reveling in the fullness of my possession, reveling in his reaction, watching him unravel beneath me. I feel like a goddess. I lean down and kiss his chin, running my teeth along his stubbled jaw. He tastes delicious. He clasps my hips and steadies my rhythm, slow and easy.

“Ana, touch me … please.”

Oh
. I lean forward and steady myself with my hands on his chest. And he calls out, his cry almost a sob, and he thrusts deep inside me.

“Ahh,” I whimper and run my fingernails gently over his chest, through the hair there, and he groans loudly and twists abruptly so I am once more beneath him.

“Enough.” He moans. “No more, please.” And it’s a heartfelt plea.

Reaching up, I clasp his face in my hands, feeling the dampness on his cheeks, and pull him down to my lips so that I can kiss him. I curl my hands around his back.

He groans deep and low in his throat as he moves inside me, pushing me onward and upward, but I can’t find my release. My head is too cloudy with issues. I am too wrapped up in him.

“Let go, Ana,” he urges me.

“No.”

“Yes,” he snarls. He shifts slightly and gyrates his hips, again and again.

Jeez … argh!

“Come on baby, I need this. Give it to me.”

And I explode, my body a slave to his, and wrap myself around him, clinging to him like a vine as he cries out my name, and climaxes with me, then collapses, his full weight pressing me into the mattress.

I CRADLE CHRISTIAN IN
my arms, his head on my chest, as we lie in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I run my fingers through his hair as I listen to his breathing return to normal.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he can’t see me.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes at me,” he murmurs, and I hear the trace of humor in his voice.

“You know me well,” I murmur.

“I’d like to know you better.”

“Back at you, Grey. What was your nightmare about?”

“The usual.”

“Tell me.”

He swallows and tenses before he issues a drawn-out sigh. “I must be about three, and the crack whore’s pimp is mad as hell again. He smokes and smokes, one cigarette after another, and he can’t find an ashtray.” He stops, and I freeze as a creeping chill grips my heart.

“It hurt,” he says, “It’s the pain I remember. That’s what gives me nightmares. That, and the fact that she did nothing to stop him.”

Oh no. This is unbearable. I tighten my grip around him, my legs and arms holding him to me, and I try not to let my despair choke me. How could anyone treat a child like that? He raises his head and pins me with his intense gray gaze.

“You’re not like her. Don’t ever think that. Please.”

I blink back at him. It’s very reassuring to hear. He puts his head on my chest again, and I think he’s finished, but he surprises me by continuing.

“Sometimes in the dreams she’s just lying on the floor. And I think she’s asleep. But she doesn’t move. She never moves. And I’m hungry. Really hungry.”

Oh, fuck
.

“There’s a loud noise and he’s back, and he hits me so hard, cursing the crack whore. His first reaction was always to use his fists or his belt.”

“Is that why you don’t like to be touched?”

He closes his eyes and hugs me tighter. “That’s complicated,” he murmurs. He nuzzles me between my breasts, inhaling deeply, trying to distract me.

“Tell me,” I prompt.

He sighs. “She didn’t love me. I didn’t love me. The only touch I knew was … harsh. It stemmed from there. Flynn explains it better than I can.”

“Can I see Flynn?”

He raises his head to look at me. “Fifty Shades rubbing off on you?”

“And then some. I like how it’s rubbing off right now.” I wriggle provocatively underneath him and he smiles.

“Yes, Miss Steele, I like that, too.” He leans up and kisses me. He gazes at me for a moment.

“You are so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know each other then. I can look after you. You can look after me. We can have kids if you want. I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever. Please think about it.”

“I will think about it, Christian. I will,” I reassure him, reeling once more.
Kids? Jeez
. “I’d really like to talk to Dr. Flynn, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything for you, baby. Anything. When would you like to see him?”

“Sooner rather than later.”

“Okay. I’ll make the arrangements in the morning.” He glances at the clock. “It’s late. We should sleep.” He shifts to switch off his bedside light and pulls me against him.

I glance at the alarm clock. Crap, it’s three forty-five.

He curls his arms around me, his front to my back, and nuzzles my neck. “I love you, Ana Steele, and I want you by my side, always,” he murmurs as he kisses my neck. “Now go to sleep.”

I close my eyes.