urn to him. My breasts still
bear faded bruises from the love bites he ga一ve me during our honeymoon,
but I decide not to tease him about them.
“I wonder if Ryan has caught up with the Dodge?”
“We’ll see, after this bath. Get in.” He holds his hand out for me. I climb into
the hot, fragrant water and sit tentatively.
“Ow.” My ass is tender, and the hot water makes me wince.
“Easy, baby,” Christian warns, but as he says it, the uncomfortable sensation
melts away.
Christian strips and climbs in behind me, pulling me against his chest. I
nestle between his legs, and we lie idle and content in the hot water. I run my
fingers down his legs, and gathering my braid in one hand, he twirls it gently
between his fingers.
“We need to go over the plans for the new house. Later this evening?”
“Sure.” That woman is coming back again. My subconscious gazes up from
volume 3 of The Complete Works of Charles Dickens and glowers. I’m with
my subconscious. I sigh. Unfortunately, Gia Matteo’s designs are
breathtaking.
“I must get my things ready for work,” I whisper.
He stills. “You know you don’t ha一ve to go back to work,” he murmurs.
Oh no . . . not this again. “Christian, we’ve been through this. Please don’t
resurrect that argument.”
He tugs my braid so my face tilts up and back. “Just saying . . .” He plants a
soft kiss on my lips.
112 | P a g e
E L JAMES
I pull on sweat pants and a camisole and decide to fetch my clothes from the
playroom. As I make my way across the hallway, I hear Christian’s raised
voice from his study. I freeze.
“Where the fuck were you?”
Oh shit. He’s shouting at Sawyer. Cringing, I dash upstairs to the playroom. I
really don’t want to hear what he has to say to him—I still find shouty Christian
intimidating. Poor Sawyer. At least I get to shout back.
I gather up my clothes and Christian’s shoes, then notice the small porcelain
bowl with the butt plug still on top of the museum chest. Well . . . I suppose I
should clean it. I add it to the pile and make my wa
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