leans back and gazes
down at me, his lips curled in an arrogant, I-so-own-you smile. Pursing my
lips, I strive to appear unaffected by his touch. He is so artful at perting me
from anything painful, or anything he doesn’t want to address. And you let
him, my subconscious pipes up unhelpfully, gazing over her copy of Jane
Eyre.
“What was mind-blowing, Anastasia?” he prompts, a wicked gleam in his
eye.
“You want the list?” I ask.
“There’s a list?” He’s pleased.
Oh, this man is exhausting. “Well, the handcuffs,” I mumble, my mind
catapulted back to our honeymoon.
He furrows his brow and grasps my hand, tracing the pulse point on my wrist
with his thumb.
“I don’t want to mark you.”
Oh . . .
His lips curl in a slow carnal smile.
“Come home.” His tone is seductive.
“I ha一ve work to do.”
“Home,” he says, more insistent.
We gaze at each other, molten gray into bewildered blue, testing each other,
testing our boundaries and our wills. I search his eyes for some
understanding, trying to fathom how this man can go from raging control
freak to seductive lover in one breath. His eyes grow larger and darker, his
intention clear. Softly, he caresses my cheek.
“We could stay here.” His is voice low and husky.
Oh no. My inner goddess gazes longingly down at the wooden table. No. No.
No. Not in the office.
“Christian, I don’t want to ha一ve sex here. Your mistress has just been in this
room.”
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Fifty Shades Freed
“She was never my mistress,” he growls, his mouth flattening into a grim line.
“That’s just semantics, Christian.”
He frowns, his expression puzzled. The seductive lover has gone.
“Don’t overthink this, Ana. She’s history,” he says dismissively. I sigh . . .
maybe he’s right. I just want him to admit to himself that he cares for her. A
chill grips my heart. Oh no. This is why it’s important to me. Suppose I do
something unforgivable. Suppose I don’t conform. Will I be history, too? If he
can turn like this, when he was so concerned and upset when Leila was ill .
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