d forth, once more. It’s the only point on my body where
he’s touching me, and all the tension, all the anxiety of the day, is
concentrated on this one part of my anatomy. Holy shit . . . it’s intense . . .
and strange . . . the music . . . I begin to build . . . Christian shifts, his hand
still moving against and in me, and I hear a low buzzing noise.
“What?” I gasp.
“Hush,” he soothes, and his lips are on mine, effectively silencing me. I
welcome the warmer, more intimate contact, kissing him voraciously. He
breaks the contact and the buzzing noise gets nearer.
“This is a wand, baby. It vibrates.”
He holds it against my chest, and it feels like a large ball-like object vibrating
against me. I shiver as it moves across my skin, down between my breasts,
across to first one, then the other nipple, and I’m awash with sensation,
tingling everywhere, synapses firing as dark, dark need pools at the base of
my belly.
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Fifty Shades Freed
“Ah,” I groan, while Christian’s fingers continue to move inside me . I’m close
. . . all this stimulation . . . Tilting my head back, I moan loudly and Christian
stills his fingers. All sensation stops.
“No! Christian,” I plead, trying to thrust my hips forward for some friction.
“Still, baby,” he says while my impending orgasm melts away. He leans
forward once more and kisses me.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” he murmurs.
Oh no! Suddenly I understand his game.
“Christian, please.”
“Hush,” he says and kisses me. And he starts to move again—wand, fingers,
thumb—a lethal combination of sensual torture. He shifts so his body
brushes against mine. He’s still dressed, and the soft denim of his jeans
brushes against my leg, his erection at my hip. So tantalizingly close. He
brings me to the brink again, my body singing with need, and stops.
“No,” I mewl loudly.
He plants soft wet kisses on my shoulder as he withdraws his fingers from
me, and moves the wand down. It oscillates over my stomach, my belly, onto
my sex, against my clitoris. F
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