down my back.
294 | P a g e
E L JAMES
“You’re quiet,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks down at
me, his expression giving nothing away. “That was fun.” I add. Shit, is
something wrong?
“You confound me, Mrs. Grey.”
“Confound you?”
He shifts so that we’re face to face. “Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s . . .
different.”
“Good different? Or bad different?” I reach up and trail a finger over his lips.
His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question.
Absentmindedly, he purses his lips to kiss my finger.
“Good different,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?” I blush as I say it. Do I really
want to know any more about my husband’s colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic,
sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell
half-moon specs. Do you really want to go there?
“No, Anastasia, you can touch me.” It’s a simple explanation that speaks
volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn’t.
“Mrs. Robinson could touch you.” I murmur the words before my brain
registers what I’ve said. Shit.
He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-withthis?
expression. “That was different,” he whispers. Suddenly I want to know.
“Good different or bad different?”
He gazes at me. Doub一t and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly
he looks like a man drowning. Why did I mention her?
“Bad, I think.” His words are barely audible.
Holy shit!
“I thought you liked it.”
“I did. At the time.”
“Not now?”
He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head. Oh my . . . “Oh,
Christian.” I’m overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me. My lost boy. I
launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his little round
scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And very
slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.
295 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!” Ethan applauds as I head into the
kitche
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