Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (90 page)

I’m already lost and he’s barely touched me. He raises his hand to my face, and his fingers move down my chin, the column of my throat, my sternum, searing me with his touch, to the first button of my blue blouse.

“I want to see you,” he breathes and dexterously undoes the button. Bending, he plants a soft kiss on my parted lips. I am panting and eager, aroused by the potent combination of his captivating beauty, his raw sexuality in the confines of this cabin, and the gentle sway of the boat. He stands back.

“Strip for me,” he whispers, eyes burning.

Oh my
. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking my eyes off his, I slowly undo each button, savoring his scorching gaze. Oh, this is heady stuff. I see his desire—it’s evident on his face … and elsewhere.

I let my shirt fall to the floor and reach for the button on my jeans.

“Stop,” he orders. “Sit.”

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and in one fluid movement he’s on his knees in front of me, undoing the laces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling each off, followed by my socks. He picks up my left foot and raising it, plants a soft kiss on the pad of my big toe, then grazes his teeth against it.

“Ah!” I moan as I feel the effect in my groin. He stands in one smooth move, holds his hand out to me, and pulls me up off the bed.

“Continue,” he says and stands back to watch me.

I ease the zipper of my jeans down and hook my thumbs in the waistband as I sashay then slide the denim down my legs. A soft smile plays on his lips, but his eyes remain dark.

And I don’t know if it’s because he made love to me this morning, and I mean really made love to me, gently, sweetly, or if it was his impassioned declaration—
yes … I do
—but I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I want to be sexy for this man. He deserves sexy—he makes me feel sexy. Okay, it’s new to me, but I’m learning under his expert tutelage. And then again, so much is new to him, too. It balances the seesaw between us, a little, I think.

I am wearing some of my new underwear—a white lacy thong and matching bra—a designer brand with a price tag to match. I step out of my jeans and stand there for him in the lingerie he’s paid for, but I no longer feel cheap. I feel his.

Reaching behind I unhook my bra, sliding the straps down my arms, and drop it on top of my blouse. Slowly, I slip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles, and step out of them, surprised by my grace.

Standing before him, I am naked and unashamed, and I know it’s because he loves me. I no longer have to hide. He says nothing, just gazes at me. All I see is his desire, his adoration even, and something else, the depth of his need—the depth of his love for me.

He reaches down, lifts the hem of his cream-colored sweater, and pulls it over his head, followed by his T-shirt, revealing his
chest, never taking his bold gray eyes off mine. His shoes and socks follow before he grasps the button of his jeans.

Reaching over, I whisper, “Let me.”

His lips purse briefly into an
ooh
shape, and he smiles. “Be my guest.”

I step toward him, slip my fearless fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, and tug so he’s forced to take a step closer to me. He gasps involuntarily at my unexpected audacity, then smiles down at me. I undo the button, but before I unzip him I let my fingers wander, tracing his erection through the soft denim. He flexes his hips into my palm and closes his eyes briefly, relishing my touch.

“You’re getting so bold, Ana, so brave,” he whispers and clasps my face with both hands, bending to kiss me deeply.

I put my hands on his hips—half on his cool skin and half on the low-slung waistband of his jeans. “So are you,” I murmur against his lips as my thumbs rub slow circles on his skin, and he smiles.

“Getting there.”

I move my hands to the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper. My intrepid fingers move through his pubic hair to his erection, and I grasp him tightly.

He makes a low sound in his throat, his sweet breath washing over me, and he kisses me again, lovingly. As my hand moves over him, around him, stroking him, squeezing him tightly, he puts his arms around me, his right hand flat against the middle of my back and his fingers spread. His left hand is in my hair, holding me to his mouth.

“Oh, I want you so much, baby,” he breathes, and steps back suddenly to remove his jeans and boxers in one swift, agile move. He is a fine, fine sight in or out of clothes, every single inch of him.

He is perfect.
His beauty is desecrated only by his scars
, I think sadly. And they run so much deeper than his skin.

“What’s wrong, Ana?” he murmurs and gently strokes my cheek with his knuckles.

“Nothing. Love me, now.”

He pulls me into his arms, kissing me, twisting his hands into my hair. Our tongues entwined, he walks me backward to the bed and gently lowers me onto it, following me down so that he’s lying by my side.

He runs his nose along my jawline as my hands move to his hair.

“Do you have any idea how exquisite your scent is, Ana? It’s irresistible.”

His words do what they always do—flame my blood, quicken my pulse—and he trails his nose down my throat, across my breasts, kissing me reverentially as he does.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and softly suckles.

I moan as my body bows off the bed.

“Let me hear you, baby.”

His hand trails down to my waist, and I glory in the feel of his touch, skin to skin—his hungry mouth at my breasts and his skilled long fingers caressing and stroking me, cherishing me. Moving over my hips, over my behind, and down my leg to my knee, and all this time he’s kissing and sucking my breasts.

Grasping my knee, he suddenly hitches my leg up, curling it over his hips, making me gasp, and I feel rather than see his responding grin against my skin. He rolls over so that I am astride him and hands me a foil packet.

I shift back, taking him in my hands, and I just can’t resist him in all his glory. I bend and kiss him, taking him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him, then sucking hard. He groans and flexes his hips so that he’s deeper in my mouth.

Mmm … he tastes good
. I want him inside me. I sit up and gaze at him; he’s breathless, mouth open, watching me intently.

Hurriedly I tear open the condom and unroll it over him. He holds out his hands for me. I take one and with my other hand, position myself over him, then slowly claim him as mine.

He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes.

The feel of him in me … stretching … filling me
—I moan softly—
it’s divine
. He places his hands on my hips and moves me up, down, and pushes into me.
Oh … it’s so good
.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, and suddenly he sits up so we’re nose to nose, and the sensation is extraordinary—so full. I gasp, grabbing his upper arms as he clasps my head in his hands and gazes into my eyes—his intense and gray, burning with desire.

“Oh, Ana. What you make me feel,” he murmurs and kisses me passionately with fervent ardor. I kiss him back, dizzy with the delicious feeling of him buried deep inside me.

“Oh, I love you,” I murmur. He groans as if pained to hear my whispered words and rolls over, taking me with him without breaking our precious contact, so that I’m lying beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist.

He stares down at me with adoring wonder, and I am sure I mirror his expression as I reach up to caress his beautiful face. Very slowly, he starts to move, closing his eyes as he does and moaning softly.

The gentle sway of the boat and the peace and quiet tranquility of the cabin are broken only by our mingled breaths as he moves slowly in and out of me, so controlled and so good—it’s heavenly. He puts his arm over my head, his hand on my hair, and he caresses my face with the other as he bends to kiss me.

I’m cocooned by him as he loves me, slowly moving in and out, savoring me. I touch him—sticking to the boundaries—his arms, his hair, his lower back, his beautiful behind—and my breathing accelerates as his steady rhythm pushes me higher and higher. He’s kissing my mouth, my chin, my jaw, then nibbling my ear. I can hear his staccato breaths with each gentle thrust of his body.

My body starts to quiver.
Oh … This feeling that I now know so well … I am close … Oh …

“That’s right, baby … give it up for me … Please … Ana,” he murmurs and his words are my undoing.

“Christian,” I call out, and he groans as we both come together.

M
ac will be back soon,” he murmurs.

“Hmm.” My eyes flicker open to meet his soft gray gaze. Lord, his eyes are an amazing color—especially here, out on the sea—reflecting the light bouncing off the water through the small portholes into the cabin.

“As much as I’d like to lie here with you all afternoon, he’ll need a hand with the dinghy.” Leaning over, Christian kisses me tenderly. “Ana, you look so beautiful right now, all mussed up and sexy. Makes me want you more.” He smiles and rises from the bed. I lie on my stomach, admiring the view.

“You ain’t so bad yourself, Captain.” I smack my lips in admiration and he grins.

I watch him move about the cabin as he dresses. This man who has just made such sweet love to me again. I can hardly believe my good fortune. I can’t quite believe that he’s mine. He sits down beside me to put on his shoes.

“Captain, eh?” he says dryly. “Well, I am master of this vessel.”

I cock my head to one side. “You are master of my heart, Mr. Grey.”
And my body … and my soul
.

He shakes his head incredulously and bends to kiss me. “I’ll be on deck. There’s a shower in the bathroom if you want one. Do you need anything? A drink?” he asks solicitously, and all I can do is grin at him. Is this the same man? Is this the same Fifty?

“What?” he says, reacting to my stupid grin.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Christian?”

His lips twitch with a sad smile.

“He’s not very far away, baby,” he says softly, and there’s a touch of melancholy in his voice that makes me instantly regret asking the question. But he shakes it off. “You’ll see him soon enough”—he smirks at me—“especially if you don’t get up.” Reaching over, he smacks me hard on my behind so I yelp and laugh at the same time.

“You had me worried.”

“Did I, now?” Christian’s brow creases. “You do give off some mixed signals, Anastasia. How’s a man supposed to keep up?” He leans down and kisses me again. “Laters, baby,” he adds, and with a dazzling smile, he gets up and leaves me to my scattered thoughts.

WHEN I SURFACE ON
deck, Mac is back on board, but he disappears onto the upper deck as I open the saloon doors. Christian is on his BlackBerry.
Talking to whom?
I wonder. He wanders over and pulls me close, kissing my hair.

“Great news … good. Yeah … Really? The fire escape stairwell? … I see … Yes, tonight.”

He hits the “end” button, and the sound of the engines firing up startles me. Mac must be in the cockpit above.

“Time to head back,” Christian says, kissing me once more as he straps me into my lifejacket.

THE SUN IS LOW
in the sky behind us as we make our way back to the marina, and I reflect on a wonderful afternoon. Under Christian’s careful, patient tuition, I have now stowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker, as well as learned to tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheepshank. His lips were twitching throughout the lesson.

“I may tie you up one day,” I mutter crabbily.

His mouth twists with humor. “You’ll have to catch me first, Miss Steele.”

His words bring to mind him chasing me around the apartment, the thrill, and then the hideous aftermath. I frown and shudder. After that, I left him.

Would I leave him again now that he’s admitted he loves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I ever leave him again—no matter what he did to me? Could I betray him like that? No. I don’t think I could.

He’s given me a more thorough tour of this beautiful boat, explaining all the innovative designs and techniques, and the high-quality materials used to build it. I remember the interview when I first met him; I picked up then on his passion for ships. I thought his love was only for the ocean-going freighters his company builds—not for super-sexy, sleek catamarans, too.

And, of course, he’s made sweet, unhurried love to me. I shake my head, remembering my body bowed and wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional lover, I’m sure—though, of course, I have no comparison. But Kate would have raved more if it was always like this; it’s not like her to hold back on details.

But how long will this be enough for him? I just don’t know, and the thought is unnerving.

Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his arms for hours, it seems, in comfortable, companionable silence as
The Grace
glides closer and closer to Seattle. I have the wheel, Christian advising on adjustments every so often.

“There is poetry of sailing as old as the world,” he murmurs in my ear.

“That sounds like a quote.”

I sense his grin. “It is. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.”

“Oh … I adore
The Little Prince
.”

“Me, too.”

IT IS EARLY EVENING
as Christian, his hands still on mine, steers us into the marina. There are lights winking from the boats, reflecting off the dark water, but it is still light—a balmy, bright evening, an overture for what is sure to be a spectacular sunset.

A crowd gathers on the dockside as Christian slowly turns the boat around in a relatively small space. He does it with ease and
reverses smoothly into the same berth we left earlier. Mac jumps on to the dock and ties
The Grace
securely to a bollard.

“Back again,” Christian murmurs.

“Thank you,” I murmur shyly. “That was a perfect afternoon.”

Christian grins. “I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us.”