time, and I fist my fingers
in his hair, holding him against me, our tongues twisting in a slow sensual
dance with each other. When the elevator pings to a halt at the penthouse,
we are both breathless.
“Very happy,” he murmurs. His smile is darker now, his eyes hooded and full
of salacious promise. He shakes his head as if to recover himself and,
turning with me in his arms, walks into the foyer.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Grey.” He kisses me again, more chastely this time,
and gives me the full-gigawatt-patented-Christian-Grey smile, his eyes
dancing with joy.
“Welcome home, Mr. Grey.” I beam up at him, my heart answering his call,
brimming with my own joy.
I think Christian’s going to put me down, but he doesn’t. He carries me
through the foyer, across the corridor and into the great room, and deposits
me on the kitchen island where I sit with my legs dangling. He retrieves two
champagne flutes from the kitchen cupboard and a bottle of chilled
champagne from the fridge—our fa一vorite Bollinger. He deftly opens the
bottle, not spilling a drop and pours the pale pink champagne into each glass
and hands one to me. Taking up the other, he gently parts my legs and
moves forward to stand between them.
“Here’s to us, Mrs. Grey.”
“To us, Mr. Grey,” I whisper conscious of my shy smile. We clink glasses and
take a sip.
“I know you’re tired,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against mine.
“But I’d really like to go to bed, and not to sleep.” He kisses the corner of my
mouth. “It’s our first night back here, and you’re really mine.”
His voice drifts off as he plants soft kisses down my throat. It’s only early
evening in Seattle, and I am dog-tired, but desire blooms deep in my belly
and my inner goddess purrs.
81 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
Christian is slumbering peacefully beside me as I stare at the pink and
golden streaks of the new dawn through the vast windows. His arm is draped
loosely over my breasts, and I try to match his breathing in an effort to get
back to sleep, but it’s
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