stands and strolls casually
over to the iPod dock.
How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so
cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of
the muscles of his back under his T-shirt as he reaches down and changes
the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing
about watching me.
Oh, I like this song.
Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes locked on mine as he moves
around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.
Suddenly, I feel very exposed.
“Exposed? Vulnerable?” he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my
unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod. 367 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
Why doesn’t he touch me?
“Good,” he murmurs. “Hold out your hands.” I can’t look away from his
mesmerizing eyes. I do as I’m bid, and Christian pours a little oily liquid onto
each palm from a small clear bottle. It’s scented—a rich, musky, sensuous
scent that I can’t place.
“Rub your hands.” I squirm beneath his hot, hea一vy gaze. “Keep still,” he
warns.
Oh my.
“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself.”
Holy cow.
“Start at your throat and work down.”
I hesitate.
“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.”
The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his
desire.
The sweet voice sings that there’s nothing sweet about her. I place my hands
against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my breasts. The oil
makes them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.
“Lower,” Christian murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn’t touch me.
My hands cup my breasts.
“Tease yourself.”
Oh my. I tug gently on my nipples.
“Harder,” Christian urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching
me. “Like I would,” he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep
in my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my nipples, feeling them
stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.
“Yes. Like that. Again.”
Closing my eyes I pull
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