urther apart and widens his own 161 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
legs, holding me in that position. His fingers move to the buttons of my
blouse.
“I don’t think we need this,” he says. He starts methodically undoing each
button on my clinging wet blouse, his eyes never lea一ving mine. They get
darker and darker as he finishes the task, taking his own sweet time about it.
My pulse quickens and my breathing shallows. I can’t believe it—he’s hardly
touched me, and I feel like this—hot, bothered . . . ready. I want to squirm. He
lea一ves my damp blouse hanging open and using both hands, he caresses
my face with his fingers, his thumb skimming across my bottom lip.
Suddenly, he thrusts his thumb into my mouth.
“Suck,” he orders in a whisper, stressing the S. I close my mouth around him
and do exactly that. Oh . . . I like this game. He tastes good. What else would
I like to suck? The muscles in my belly clench at the thought. His lips part
when I scrape my teeth and bite the soft pad of his thumb.
He groans and slowly extracts his wet thumb from my mouth and trails it
down my chin, down my throat, over my sternum. He hooks it into the cup of
my bra and yanks the cup down, freeing my breast. Christian’s gaze never
lea一ves mine. He’s watching each reaction that his touch elicits from me, and
I’m watching him. It’s hot. Consuming. Possessive. I love it. He mirrors his
actions with his other hand so both my breasts are free and, cupping them
gently, he skims each thumb over a nipple, circling slowly, teasing and
taunting each one so that they harden and distend beneath his skillful touch. I
try, I really try not to move, but my nipples are hotwired to my groin, so I moan
and throw my head back, closing my eyes and surrendering to the sweet,
sweet torture.
“Shh.” Christian’s soothing voice is at odds with the teasing, eventempo
rhythm of his wicked fingers. “Still, baby, still.” Releasing one breast, he
reaches up behind me and splays his hand around the nape of my neck.
Leanin
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