ine. He nods once as if he’s taking me at my word while I shake
my sandal loose so it falls to the floor, but I know I’ve lost him. He’s distracted
and brooding again, mechanically caressing my foot while he turns away to
gaze out the car window once more.
“Hey. What did you expect?” I ask softly. He glances at me and shrugs.
“I didn’t expect to feel like I do looking at these marks,” he says. What?
Reticent one minute and forthcoming the next? How . . . Fifty! How can I keep
up with him?
“How do you feel?”
He gazes at me, his eyes bleak. “Uncomfortable,” he murmurs. Oh no. I
unbuckle my seatbelt and scoot closer to him, lea一ving my feet in his lap. I
want to crawl into his lap and hold him, and I would, if it were just Taylor in the
front. But knowing Gaston is there cramps my style in spite of the glass. If
only it were darker. I clutch his hands.
“It’s the hickeys I don’t like,” I whisper. “Everything else . . . what you did”—I
lower my voice even further—“with the handcuffs, I
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Fifty Shades Freed
enjoyed that. Well, more than enjoyed. It was mind-blowing. You can do that
to me again anytime.”
He shifts in his seat. “Mind-blowing?” My inner goddess looks up startled
from her Jackie Collins.
“Yes.” I grin. I flex my toes into his hardening crotch and see rather than hear
his sharp intake of breath, his lips parting.
“You should really be wearing your seat belt, Mrs. Grey.” His voice is low, and
I curl my toes around him once more. He gasps and his eyes darken, and he
clasps my ankle in warning. Does he want me stop? Continue? He pauses
and scowls.
What now?
He fishes his ever-present BlackBerry out of his pocket to take an incoming
call and glances at his watch. His frown deepens.
“Barney,” he snaps.
Crap. Work interrupting us again. I try to remove my feet but his hand tightens
on my ankle.
“In the server room?” he says in disbelief. “Did it activate the fire suppression
system?”
Fire! I take my feet off his lap and this time he lets me. I sit back in
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