mine, his chest hair against my cheek . . . this man I love, this selfdoub一ting,
beautiful man, the man I could ha一ve lost through my own
recklessness. I feel empty and aching at the thought but grateful that he’s
here, still here—despite everything that’s happened.
He has some explaining to do, but right now I want to revel in the feel of his
comforting, protective arms around me. And in that moment it occurs to me;
any explanations on his part ha一ve to come from him. I can’t force him—he’s
got to want to tell me. I won’t be cast as the nagging wife, constantly trying to
wheedle information out of her husband. It’s just exhausting. I know he loves
me. I know he loves me more than he’s ever loved anyone, and for now,
that’s enough. The realization is liberating. I stop crying and step back.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod.
“Good. Let me look at you,” he says, and for a moment I don’t know what he
means. But he takes my hand and examines the arm I fell on when Jack hit
me. There are bruises on my shoulder and scrapes at my elbow and wrist.
He kisses each of them. He grabs a washcloth and shower gel from the rack,
and the sweet familiar scent of jasmine fills my nostrils.
“Turn around.” Gently, he proceeds to wash my injured arm, then 453 | P a g
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Fifty Shades Freed
my neck, my shoulders, my back, and my other arm. He turns me sideways,
and traces his long fingers down my side. I wince as they skate over the
large bruise at my hip. Christian’s eyes harden and his lips thin. His anger is
palpable as he whistles through his teeth.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I murmur to reassure him.
Blazing gray eyes meet mine. “I want to kill him,” he whispers. “I nearly did,”
he adds cryptically. I frown then shiver at his bleak expression. He squirts
more shower gel on the washcloth and with tender, aching gentleness, he
washes my side and my behind, then, kneeling, moves down my legs. He
pauses to examine my bruised knee. He lips brush over the bruise before he
returns to washing my legs and my
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