Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (168 page)

“What happened with that guy on the dance floor?”

“He was feeling me up.”

“I opened my eyes and you’d hit him.”

I shrug. “Well, I knew Christian would go thermonuclear, and that could potentially ruin your evening.” I’m still processing how I feel about Christian’s behavior. At the time, I was worried that it could have been worse.

“Our evening,” she clarifies. “He is rather hot-headed, isn’t he?” Kate adds dryly, staring at Christian as he collects my coat.

I snort and smile. “You could say that.”

“I think you handle him well.”

“Handle?” I frown. Do I
handle
Christian?

“Here.” Christian holds my coat open for me so that I can put it on.

“WAKE UP, ANA.” CHRISTIAN
is shaking me gently. We’ve arrived back at the house. Reluctantly I open my eyes and stagger from the minivan. Kate and Elliot have disappeared, and Taylor is standing patiently beside the vehicle.

“Do I need to carry you?” Christian asks.

I shake my head.

“I’ll fetch Miss Grey and Mr. Kavanagh,” Taylor says.

Christian nods, then leads me to the front door. My feet are throbbing, and I stumble after him. At the front door he bends down, grasps my ankle, and gently pries off first one shoe, then the other.
Oh, the relief
. He straightens and gazes down at me, holding my Manolos.

“Better?” he asks, amused.

I nod.

“I had delightful visions of these around my ears,” he murmurs, staring down wistfully at my shoes. He shakes his head and, taking my hand once more, leads me through the darkened house and up the stairs to our bedroom.

“You’re wrecked, aren’t you?” he says softly, staring down at me.

I nod. He starts to unbuckle the belt on my trench coat.

“I’ll do it,” I mutter, making a halfhearted attempt to brush him off.

“Let me.”

I sigh. I had no idea I was this tired.

“It’s the altitude. You’re not used to it. And the drinking, of course.” He smirks, divests me of my coat, and throws it on one of the bedroom chairs. Taking my hand, he leads me into the bathroom.
Why are we going in here?

“Sit,” he says.

I sit on the chair and close my eyes. I hear him as he messes around with bottles on the vanity unit. I am too tired to open my eyes to find out what he’s doing. A moment later he tips my head back, and I open my eyes in surprise.

“Eyes closed,” Christian says.
Holy crap
, he’s holding a cotton ball! Gently, he wipes it over my right eye. I sit stunned as he methodically removes my makeup.

“Ah. There’s the woman I married,” he says after a few wipes.

“You don’t like makeup?”

“I like it well enough, but I prefer what’s beneath it.” He kisses my forehead. “Here. Take these.” He puts some Advil into my palm and hands me a glass of water.

I look and pout.

“Take them,” he orders.

I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told.

“Good. Do you need a private moment?” he asks sardonically.

I snort. “So coy, Mr. Grey. Yes, I need to pee.”

He laughs. “You expect me to leave?”

I giggle. “You want to stay?”

He cocks his head to one side, his expression amused.

“You are one kinky son of a bitch. Out. I don’t want you to watch me pee. That’s a step too far.” I stand and wave him out of the bathroom.

WHEN I EMERGE FROM
the bathroom, he’s changed into his pajama bottoms. Hmm … Christian in PJs. Mesmerized, I gaze at his abdomen, his muscles, his happy trail. It’s distracting. He strides over to me.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks wryly.

“Always.”

“I think you’re slightly drunk, Mrs. Grey.”

“I think, for once, I have to agree with you, Mr. Grey.”

“Let me help you out of what little there is of this dress. It really should come with a health warning.” He turns me around and undoes the single button at the neck.

“You were so mad,” I murmur.

“Yes. I was.”

“At me?”

“No. Not at you.” He kisses my shoulder. “For once.”

I smile.
Not mad at me
. This is progress. “Makes a nice change.”

“Yes. It does.” He kisses my other shoulder, then tugs my dress down over my backside and onto the floor. He removes my panties at the same time, leaving me naked. Reaching up, he takes my hand.

“Step,” he commands, and I step out of the dress, holding his hand for balance.

He stands and tosses my dress and panties onto the chair with Mia’s trench coat.

“Arms up,” he says softly. He slips his T-shirt over my head and pulls it down, covering me up. I am ready for bed.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, my minty breath mingling with his.

“As much as I’d love to bury myself in you, Mrs. Grey—you’ve had too much to drink, you’re at nearly eight thousand feet, and you didn’t sleep well last night. Come. Get into bed.” He pulls back the duvet and I climb in. He covers me up and kisses my forehead once more.

“Close your eyes. When I come back to bed, I’ll expect you to be asleep.” It’s a threat, a command … it’s Christian.

“Don’t go,” I plead.

“I have some calls to make, Ana.”

“It’s Saturday. It’s late. Please.”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Ana, if I come to bed with you now, you won’t get any rest. Sleep.” He’s adamant. I close my eyes and his lips brush my forehead once more.

“Good night, baby,” he breathes.

Images of the day flash through my mind … Christian hauling me over his shoulder in the plane. His anxiety as to whether or not I’d like the house. Making love this afternoon. The bath. His reaction to my dress. Decking Blond Giant—my palm tingles at the memory. And then Christian putting me to bed.

Who would have thought? I grin widely, the word
progress
running around my brain as I drift.

I
am too warm. Christian warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s breathing softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine, his arm around my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough. Hazily my mind wanders through the events of yesterday evening. I drank too much—boy, did I drink too much. I’m amazed Christian let me. I smile as I remember him putting me to bed. That was sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a quick mental inventory of how I’m feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head? Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still red from last night. Sheesh. Idly I think about Christian’s palms when he’s spanked me. I squirm and he wakes.

“What’s wrong?” Sleepy gray eyes search mine.

“Nothing. Good morning.” I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his hair.

“Mrs. Grey, you look lovely this morning,” he says, kissing my cheek, and I light up from within.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It’s like he’s won the World Series or the Super Bowl.

Oh, my Fifty
.

“You make me feel cherished.”

“That’s because you are,” he murmurs, and my heart clenches.

He clasps my hand and I wince. He releases me immediately, alarmed. “The punch?” he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with sudden anger.

“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”

“That fucker!”

I thought we’d dealt with this last night
.

“I can’t bear that he touched you.”

“He didn’t hurt me, he was just inappropriate. Christian, I’m okay. My hand’s a little red, that’s all. Surely you know what that’s like?” I smirk, and his expression changes to one of amused surprise.

“Why, Mrs. Grey, I am very familiar with that.” His lips twist in amusement. “I could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish.”

“Oh, stow your twitching palm, Mr. Grey.” I stroke his face with my injured hand, my fingers caressing his sideburn. Gently I tug the little hairs. It distracts him, and he takes my hand and plants a tender kiss on my palm. Miraculously, the pain disappears.

“Why didn’t you tell me this hurt last night?”

“Um … I didn’t really feel it last night. It’s okay now.”

His eyes soften and his mouth twists. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I deserve.”

“That’s quite a right arm you have there, Mrs. Grey.”

“You’d do well to remember that, Mr. Grey.”

“Oh, really?” He rolls suddenly so that he’s fully on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, holding my wrists above my head. He gazes down at me.

“I’d fight you any day, Mrs. Grey. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of mine.” He kisses my throat.

What?

“I thought you subdued me all the time.” I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.

“Hmm … but I’d like some resistance,” he murmurs, his nose skirting my jaw.

Resistance?
I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his elbows.

“You want me to fight you? Here?” I whisper, trying to contain my surprise. Okay—my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my reaction.

“Now?”

He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile and nods again, slowly.

Oh my …
He’s tense, lying on top of me, and his growing erection is digging tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about? Brawling? Fantasy? Will he hurt me? My inner goddess shakes her head—
Never
.

“Is this what you meant about coming to bed angry?”

He nods once more, his eyes still wary.

Hmm … my Fifty wants to rumble.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he warns.

Compliantly, I release my lip. “I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Grey.” I bat my lashes and squirm provocatively beneath him. This could be fun.

“Disadvantage?”

“Surely you’ve already got me where you want me?”

He smirks and presses his groin into mine once more.

“Good point well made, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers and quickly kisses my lips. Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I’m straddling him. I grab his hands, pinning them to the side of his head, and ignore the protesting ache from my hand. My hair falls in a chestnut veil around us, and I move my head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but doesn’t try to stop me.

“So, you want to play rough?” I ask, skimming my crotch over his.

His mouth opens and he inhales sharply.

“Yes.” He hisses, and I release him.

“Wait.” I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Christian must have left it here. It’s cool and sparkling—too cool to have been sitting here for long—and I wonder when he came to bed.

As I take a long draft, Christian trails his fingers in small circles up my thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake before he cups and squeezes my naked behind. Hmm.

Taking a leaf from his impressive repertoire, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring clear cool water into his mouth.

He drinks. “Very tasty, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs, sporting a boyish and playful grin.

After placing the glass back on the bedside table, I remove his hands from my backside and pin them by his head once more.

“So I’m supposed to be unwilling?” I smirk.

“Yes.”

“I’m not much of an actress.”

He grins. “Try.”

I lean down and kiss him chastely. “Okay, I’ll play,” I whisper, trailing my teeth along his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble beneath my teeth and my tongue.

Christian makes a low, sexy sound in his throat and moves, tossing me onto the bed beside him. I cry out in surprise, then he’s on top of me, and I start to struggle as he makes a grab for my hands. Roughly, I place my hands on his chest, pushing with all my might, trying to move him, while he endeavors to pry my legs apart with his knee.

I continue pushing at his chest—
Jeez, he’s heavy
—but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t freeze as he once might have.
He’s enjoying this!
He attempts to grab my wrists, and finally captures one, despite my valiant attempts to twist it free. It’s my sore hand, so I surrender it to him, but I grab his hair with my other hand and pull hard.

“Ah!” He yanks his head free and gazes down at me, his eyes wild and carnal.

“Savage,” he whispers, his voice laced with salacious delight.

In response to this one whispered word, my libido explodes, and I stop acting. Again I struggle in vain to wrest my hand out of his hold. At the same time I try to hook my ankles together and attempt to buck him off me. He’s too heavy.
Gah!
It’s frustrating and hot.

With a groan, Christian captures my other hand. He holds both my wrists in his left hand, and his right travels leisurely—insolently,
almost—down my body, fondling and feeling as it goes, tweaking my nipple on the way.

I yelp in response, pleasure spiking short, sharp, and hot from my nipple to my groin. I make another fruitless attempt to buck him off, but he’s just too
on me
.

When he tries to kiss me I jerk my head to the side so he can’t. Promptly his insolent hand moves from the hem of my T-shirt up to my chin, holding me in place as he runs his teeth along my jaw, mirroring what I did to him earlier.

“Oh, baby, fight me,” he murmurs.

I twist and writhe, trying to free myself from his merciless hold, but it’s hopeless. He’s much stronger than me. He’s gently biting at my lower lip as his tongue tries to invade my mouth. And I realize I don’t want to resist him. I want him—now, like I always do. I stop fighting and fervently return his kiss. I don’t care that I haven’t brushed my teeth. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be playing some game. Desire, hot and hard, surges through my bloodstream, and I’m lost. Unhooking my ankles, I wrap my legs around his hips and use my heels to push his pajamas down over his behind.

“Ana,” he breathes, and he kisses me everywhere. And we’re no longer wrestling, but all hands and tongues and touch and taste, quick and urgent.