Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

in a chestnut veil around us, and I move my head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but doesn’t try to stop me.
    “So, you want to play rough?” I ask, skimming my crotch over his.
    His mouth opens and he inhales sharply.
    “Yes.” He hisses, and I release him.
    “Wait.” I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Christian must have left it here. It’s cool and sparkling—too cool to have been sitting here for long—and I wonder when he came to bed.
    As I take a long draught, Christian trails his fingers in small circles up my thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake before he cups and squeezes my naked behind. Hmm.
    Taking a leaf from his impressive repertoire, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring clear cool water into his mouth.
    He drinks. “Very tasty, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs, sporting a boyish and playful grin.
    After placing the glass back on the bedside table, I remove his hands from my backside and pin them by his head once more.
    “So I’m supposed to be unwilling?” I smirk.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m not much of an actress.”
    He grins. “Try.”
    I lean down and kiss him chastely. “Okay, I’ll play,” I whisper, trailing my teeth along his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble beneath my teeth and my tongue.
    Christian makes a low, sexy sound in his throat and moves, tossing me onto the bed beside him. I cry out in surprise, then he’s on top of me, and I start to struggle as he makes a grab for my hands. Roughly, I place my hands on his chest, pushing with all my might, trying to move him, while he endeavors to pry my legs apart with his knee.
    I continue pushing at his chest— Jeez he’s heavy —but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t freeze as he once might have. He’s enjoying this! He attempts to grab my wrists, and finally captures one, despite my valiant attempts to twist it free. It’s my sore hand, so I surrender it to him, but grab his hair with my other hand and pull hard.
    “Ah!” He yanks his head free and gazes down at me, his eyes wild and carnal.
    “Savage,” he whispers, his voice laced with salacious delight.
    In response to this one whispered word, my libido explodes, and I stop acting. Again I struggle in vain to wrest my hand out of his hold. At the same time I try to hook my ankles together, and attempt to buck him off me. He’s too heavy. Gah! It’s frustrating and hot.
    With a groan, Christian captures my other hand. He holds both my wrists in his left hand, and his right travels leisurely—insolently, almost—down my body, fondling and feeling as it goes, tweaking my nipple on the way.
    I yelp in response, pleasure spiking short, sharp, and hot from my nipple to my groin. I make another fruitless attempt to buck him off, but he’s just too on me.
    When he tries to kiss me I jerk my head to the side so he can’t. Promptly his insolent hand moves from the hem of my T-shirt up to my chin, holding me in place as he runs his teeth along my jaw, mirroring what I did to him earlier.
    “Oh, baby, fight me,” he murmurs.
    I twist and writhe, trying to free myself from his merciless hold, but it’s hopeless. He’s much stronger than me. He’s gently biting at my lower lip as his tongue tries to invade my mouth. And I realize I don’t want to resist him. I want him—now, like I always do. I stop fighting and fervently return his kiss. I don’t care that I haven’t brushed my teeth. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be playing some game. Desire, hot and hard, surges through my bloodstream, and I’m lost. Unhooking my ankles, I wrap my legs around his hips and use my heels to push his pajamas down over his behind.
    “Ana,” he breathes, and he kisses me everywhere. And we’re no longer wrestling, but all hands and tongues and touch and taste, quick and urgent.
    “Skin,” he murmurs hoarsely, his breathing labored. He drags me up and tugs off my T-shirt in one swift move.
    “You,” I whisper while I’m upright, because it’s all I can think of to say. I seize the front his pajamas and yank them down, freeing his erection. I grab and squeeze him. He’s hard. The air whistles through his teeth as he inhales sharply, and I revel in his response.
    “Fuck,” he murmurs. He leans back, lifting my thighs, tipping me down onto the bed as I pull and squeeze him tightly, running my hand up and down him. Feeling a bead of moisture on his tip, I swirl it around with my thumb. As he lowers me to the mattress, I slip my