Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

going to take this slow, Mrs. Grey. I want to feel all of you.” He lifts me, and with exquisite, frustrating, slow ease, lowers me onto him. I feel each blessed inch of him fill me.
    “Ah—” I moan incoherently as I reach out to clasp his arms. I try to lift myself off him for some welcome friction, but he holds me in place.
    “All of me,” he whispers and tilts his pelvis, pushing himself into me all the way. I throw my head back and let out a strangled cry of pure pleasure.
    “Let me hear you,” he murmurs. “No—don’t move, just feel.”
    I open my eyes, my mouth frozen in a silent Ah! And he’s gazing at me, hooded, licentious gray eyes into dazed blue. He shifts, rolling his hips, but holds me in place.
    I groan. His lips are at my throat, kissing me.
    “This is my favorite place. Buried in you,” he murmurs against my skin.
    “Please, move,” I plead.
    “Slow, Mrs. Grey.” He flexes his hips again and pleasure radiates through me. I cup his face and kiss him, consuming him.
    “Love me. Please, Christian.”
    His teeth skim my jaw up to my ear. “Go,” he whispers, and he lifts me up and down. My inner goddess is unleashed, and I push him down on the ground and start to move, savoring the feeling of him inside me . . . riding him . . . riding him hard. With his hands around my waist he matches my rhythm. I have missed this . . . the heady feeling of him beneath me, inside me . . . the sun on my back, the sweet smell of fall in the air, the gentle autumnal breeze. It’s a heady fusion of senses: touch, taste, smell, and the sight of my beloved husband beneath me.
    “Oh, Ana.” He groans, eyes closed, head back, mouth open.
    Ah . . . I love this. And inside, I’m building . . . building . . . climbing . . . higher. Christian’s hands move to my thighs, and delicately his thumbs press at their apex, and I explode around him over and over and over and over, and I collapse, sprawled on his chest as he cries out in turn, letting go and calling out my name with love and joy.
    He cuddles me against his chest, cradling my head. Hmm. Closing my eyes, I savor the feel of his arms around me. My hand is on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as it slows and calms. I kiss and nuzzle him, and marvel briefly that not long ago he would not have let me do this.
    “Better?” he whispers. I raise my head. He’s grinning broadly.
    “Much. You?” My answering grin reflects his.
    “I’ve missed you, Mrs. Grey.” He’s serious for a moment.
    “Me, too.”
    “No more heroics, eh?”
    “No,” I promise.
    “You should always talk to me,” he whispers.
    “Back at you, Grey.”
    He smirks. “Fair point well made. I’ll try.” He kisses my hair.
    “I think we’re going to be happy here,” I whisper, closing my eyes again.
    “Yep. You, me and . . . Blip. How do you feel, incidentally?”
    “Fine. Relaxed. Happy.”
    “Good.”
    “You?”
    “Yeah, all those things,” he murmurs.
    I look up at him, trying to gauge his expression.
    “What?” he asks.
    “You know, you’re very bossy when we have sex.”
    “Are you complaining?”
    “No. I’m just wondering . . . you said you missed it.”
    He stills, gazing at me. “Sometimes,” he whispers.
    Oh. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that,” I murmur and kiss him lightly on his lips, curling around him like a vine. Images of us together, in the playroom; the Tallis, the table, on the cross, shackled to the bed . . . I love his kinky fuckery—our kinky fuckery. Yes. I can do that stuff. I can do that for him, with him. I can do that for me. My skin tingles as I remember the riding crop.
    “I like to play, too,” I murmur, and glancing up, I’m treated to his shy smile.
    “You know, I’d really like to test your limits,” he whispers.
    “My limits for what?”
    “Pleasure.”
    “Oh, I think I’d like that.” My inner goddess drops into a dead faint.
    “Well, maybe when we get home,” he whispers, leaving that promise hanging between us.
    I nuzzle him once more. I love him so.

    It’s been two days since our picnic. Two days since the promise of well, maybe when we get home was made. Christian is still treating me like I’m made of glass. He still won’t let me go to work, so I have been working from home. I put the stack of query letters I’ve been reading aside on my desk and sigh. Christian and I haven’t been back in the playroom since I safe worded. And