. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go back to sleep, then.”
“Good.” He pulls the duvet over me and kisses my forehead once more.
“Sleep.”
And because I’m so groggy from the night before, relieved that he’s back,
and emotionally fatigued by our early-morning encounter, I do exactly as I’m
told. As I drift off I’m curious though grateful, given the nasty taste in my
mouth, to know why he hasn’t deployed his usual coping mechanism and
leapt on me to ha一ve his wicked way.
“There’s some orange juice for you here,” Christian says, and my eyes flutter
open again. I ha一ve had the most restful two hours of sleep I can remember,
and I wake refreshed, my head no longer throbbing. The orange juice is a
welcome sight—as is my husband. He’s in his sweats. And I’m momentarily
zapped back to the Heathman Hotel and the first time I ever woke up with
him. His gray tank top is damp with his sweat. Either he’s been working out
in the basement gym or he’s been for a run, but he shouldn’t look this good
after a workout. 203 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“I’m going to take a shower,” he murmurs and disappears to the bathroom. I
frown. He’s still distant. He’s either distracted by all that’s happened, or still
mad, or . . . what? I sit up and reach for the orange juice, drinking it down too
quickly. It’s delicious, ice cold, and it makes my mouth a much better place. I
clamber out of bed, anxious to close the distance—real and metaphysical—
between my husband and me. I glance quickly at the alarm. It’s eight o’clock.
I strip off Christian’s Tshirt and follow him into the bathroom. He’s in the
shower, washing his hair, and I don’t hesitate. I slip in behind him and he
stiffens the moment I wrap my arms around him—my front to his wet,
muscular back. I ignore his reaction, holding him tightly, and press my cheek
flat against him, closing my eyes. After a moment, he shifts so we are both
under the cascade of hot water and carries on washing his hair.
本章未完，点击下一页继续阅读。