Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

wiggle, and his hands move to my behind and squeeze, then back to my hips.
    I open my eyes. And Mia is gaping at me in horror. Shit . . . Am I that bad? I reach down to hold Christian’s hands. They’re hairy. Fuck! They’re not his. I whirl around, and towering over me is a blond giant with more teeth than is natural and a leering smile to showcase them.
    “Get your hands off me!” I scream over the pounding music, apoplectic with rage.
    “Come on, sugar, it’s just some fun.” He smiles, holding his apelike hands up, his blue eyes gleaming under the pulsing ultraviolet lights.
    Before I know what I’m doing, I slap him hard across the face.
    Ow! Shit . . . my hand. It stings. “Get away from me!” I shout. He gazes down at me, cupping his red cheek. I thrust my uninjured hand in front of his face, spreading my fingers to show him my rings.
    “I’m married, you asshole!”
    He shrugs rather arrogantly and gives me a halfhearted, apologetic smile.
    I glance around frantically. Mia is at my right, glaring at Blond Giant. Kate is lost in the moment doing her thing. Christian is not at the table. Oh, I hope he’s gone to the restroom. I step back into a front I know well. Oh shit. Christian puts his arm around my waist and moves me to his side.
    “Keep your fucking hands off my wife,” he says. He’s not shouting, but somehow he can be heard over the music.
    Holy shit!
    “She can take care of herself,” Blond Giant shouts. His hand moves from his cheek where I’ve slapped him, and Christian hits him. It’s like I’m watching it in slow motion. A perfectly timed punch to the chin that moves at such speed, but with so little wasted energy, Blond Giant doesn’t see it coming. He crumples to the floor like the scumbag he is.
    Fuck.
    “Christian, no!” I gasp in panic, standing in front of him to hold him back. Shit, he’ll kill him. “I already hit him,” I shout over the music. Christian doesn’t look at me. He’s glaring at my assailant with a malevolence I’ve not seen before flaring in his eyes. Well, maybe once before after Jack Hyde made a pass at me.
    The other dancers move outward like a ripple in a pond, clearing space around us, keeping a safe distance. Blond Giant scrambles to his feet as Elliot joins us.
    Oh no! Kate is with me, gaping at all of us. Elliot grasps Christian’s arm as Ethan appears, too.
    “Take it easy, okay? Didn’t mean any harm.” Blond Giant holds his hands up in defeat, beating a hasty retreat. Christian’s eyes follow him off the dance floor. He does not look at me.
    The song changes from the explicit lyrics of “Sexy Bitch” to a pulsing techno dance number where a woman sings with an impassioned voice. Elliot looks down at me, then across at Christian, and releasing Christian, pulls Kate into a dance. I put my arms around Christian’s neck until he finally makes eye contact, his eyes still blazing—primal and feral. A glimpse of a brawling adolescent. Holy shit.
    He scrutinizes my face. “Are you okay?” he asks finally.
    “Yes.” I rub my palm, trying to dispel the sting, and bring my hands down to his chest. My hand is throbbing. I have never slapped anyone before. What possessed me? Touching me wasn’t the worst crime against humanity. Was it?
    Yet deep down I know why I hit him. It’s because I instinctively knew how Christian would react seeing some stranger pawing me. I knew he’d lose his precious self-control. And the thought that some stupid nobody could derail my husband, my love, well, it makes me mad. Really mad.
    “Do you want to sit down?” Christian asks over the pulsing beat.
    Oh, come back to me, please.
    “No. Dance with me.”
    He looks at me impassively, saying nothing.
    Touch me . . . the woman sings.
    “Dance with me.” He’s still mad. “Dance. Christian, please.” I take his hands. Christian glares after the guy, but I start to move against him, weaving myself around him.
    The throng of dancers has circled us once more, although there’s now a two-foot exclusion zone around us.
    “You hit him?” Christian asks, standing stock-still. I take his fisted hands.
    “Of course I did. I thought it was you, but his hands were hairier. Please dance with me.”
    As Christian gazes at me, the fire in his eyes slowly changes, evolves into something else, something darker, something hotter. Suddenly, he grabs my wrists and pulls me flush against him, pinning my hands behind my back.
    “You wanna dance? Let’s