nderstand?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and he slams into me and pulls me onto him at the same
time, jolting the plug forward, deeper . . .
“Fuck!” I cry out.
He stills, his breathing harsher and my panting matches his. I try to assimilate
all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the tantalizing feeling that I am doing
something forbidden, the erotic pleasure that spirals outward from deep
within me. He pulls gently on the plug. Oh jeez . . . I moan, and I hear his
sharp intake of breath—a gasp of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It heats my
blood. Ha一ve I ever felt so wanton . . . so—
“Again?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Stay flat,” he orders. He eases out of me and rams into me again. Oh . . . I
wanted this. “Yes,” I hiss.
And he picks up the pace, his breathing more labored, matching my own as
he thrashes into me.
“Oh, Ana,” he gasps. He moves one of his hands from my hips and twists the
plug again, tugging it slowly, pulling it out and pushing it back in. The feeling
is indescribable and I think I’m going to pass out on the table. He never
misses a beat as he takes me, again and again, moving strong and hard
inside me, my insides tightening and quivering.
“Oh fuck,” I moan. This is going to rip me apart.
“Yes, baby,” he hisses.
“Please,” I beg him and I don’t know what for—to stop, to never stop, to twist
the plug again. My insides are tightening around him and the plug.
“That’s right,” he breathes, and he slaps me hard on my right buttock, and I
come—again and again, falling, falling, spinning, pulsing around and around
—and Christian gently pulls the plug out. 109 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“Fuck! ” I scream and Christian grabs my hips and climaxes loudly, holding
me still.
The woman is still singing. Christian always puts songs on repeat in here.
Strange. I am curled in his arms on his lap our legs tangled together, with my
head resting against his chest. We’re on the floor of the playroom by the
table.
“Welcome back,” he says, peeling the blindfold off me. I blink as my ey
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