ull of wonder.
“That was . . .” Words fail me.
“I know.” He leans forward and kisses me, his hand still at the nape of my
neck, holding me just so, angling my head so he can kiss me deeply—with
love, with reverence.
I am lost in his kiss.
He pulls away to draw breath, his eyes the color of a tropical storm.
“Now I’m going to fuck you, hard,” he murmurs.
163 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
Holy cow. Grabbing me around the waist, he lifts me from his thighs down to
the edge of his knees and reaches with his right hand for the button on the
waistband of his na一vy pants. He runs the fingers of his left hand up and down
my thigh, stopping at my stocking tops each time. He’s watching me intently.
We’re face to face and I’m helpless, trussed up in my bra and by my panties,
and this has to be one of the most intimate times we’ve had—me sitting on
his lap, staring into his beautiful gray eyes. It makes me feel wanton, but also
so connected to him—I am not embarrassed or shy. This is Christian, my
husband, my lover, my overbearing megalomaniac, my Fifty—the love of my
life. He reaches for his zipper, and my mouth goes dry as his erection
springs free.
He smirks. “You like?” he whispers.
“Hmm,” I murmur appreciatively. He wraps his hand around himself and
moves it up and down . . . Oh my. I gaze up at him through my lashes. Fuck,
he’s so sexy.
“You’re biting your lip, Mrs. Grey.”
“That’s because I’m hungry.”
“Hungry?” His mouth opens in surprise, and his eyes widen a fraction.
“Hmm . . .” I agree and lick my lips.
He gives me his enigmatic smile and bites his lower lip as he continues to
stroke himself. Why is the sight of my husband pleasuring himself such a
turn-on?
“I see. You should ha一ve eaten your dinner.” His tone is mocking and
censorious at once. “But maybe I can oblige.” He puts his hands on my waist.
“Stand,” he says softly, and I know what he’s going to do. I get to my feet, my
legs no longer shaking.
“Kneel.”
I do as I’m told and kneel down on the cool tiled floor of
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