e cry out—more in
surprise than anything else—
but I can still hear the hiss of his breath forced through his clenched teeth.
“Yessss,” he breathes close to my ear. He stills, then swivels his hips once,
pushing deeper, making me groan.
“I need you,” he growls, his voice low and husky. He runs his teeth along my
jaw, nipping and sucking, and then he’s kissing me again, hard. I wrap my
legs and arms around him, cradling and holding him hard against me,
determined to wipe out whatever’s worrying him, and he starts to move . . .
move like he’s trying to climb inside me. Over and over, frantic, primal,
desperate, and before I lose myself in the insane rhythm and pace he’s
setting, I briefly wonder once more what’s driving him, worrying him. But my
body takes over, obliterating the thought, climbing and building so I am
awash with sensation, meeting him thrust for thrust. Listening to his harsh
breathing, labored and fierce at my ear. Knowing that he’s lost in me. . . I
groan loudly, panting. It’s so erotic—his need, his need for me. I am reaching
. . . reaching . . . and he’s driving me higher, overwhelming me, taking me,
and I want this. I want this so much . . . for him and for me.
“Come with me,” he gasps, and he rears up over me so I ha一ve to break my
hold around him.
“Open your eyes,” he orders. “I need to see you.” His voice is urgent,
implacable. My eyes flicker open momentarily, and the sight of him above
me—his face taut with ardor, his eyes raw and glowing with need. His
passion and his love is my undoing, and on cue I come, throwing my head
back as my body pulses around him.
“Oh, Ana,” he cries and he joins my climax, driving into me, then stilling and
collapsing onto me. He rolls over so that I’m sprawled on
67 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
top of him, and he’s still inside me. As I surface from my orgasm and my
body steadies and calms, I want to make some quip about being objectified
and oppressed, but hold my tongue, uncertain of his mood. I glance up from
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