Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

me expression I have been perfecting over the last couple of days. He sighs, putting his newspaper down. “I want this arsonist caught and out of our lives.”
    “Oh.” That seems fair enough, but I’m surprised by his bluntness.
    “I’ll have Welch’s balls on a platter if he lets anything like that happen again.” A shiver runs down my spine at his menacing tone. He gazes at me impassively, and I don’t know if he’s daring me to be flippant or what. I do the only thing I can think of to ease the sudden tension between us and raise the camera and snap another photograph.

    “Hey, sleepyhead, we’re home,” Christian murmurs.
    “Hmm,” I mumble, reluctant to leave my tantalizing dream of Christian and me on a picnic blanket at Kew Gardens. I am so tired. Travelling is exhausting, even in first class. We’ve been up for more than eighteen hours straight, I think—in my fatigue I’ve lost track. I hear my door open, and Christian is leaning over me. He unbuckles my seat belt and lifts me into his arms, waking me.
    “Hey, I can walk,” I protest sleepily.
    He snorts. “I need to carry you over the threshold.”
    I put my arms around his neck. “Up all thirty floors?” I give him a challenging smile.
    “Mrs. Grey, I am very pleased to announce that you’ve put on some weight.”
    “What?”
    He grins. “So if you don’t mind, we’ll use the elevator.” He narrows his eyes at me, though I know he’s teasing.
    Taylor opens the doors to the Escala lobby and smiles. “Welcome home Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey.”
    “Thanks, Taylor,” says Christian.
    I give Taylor the briefest of smiles and watch him head back to the Audi where Sawyer waits at the wheel.
    “What do you mean I’ve put on weight?” I glare at Christian. His grin broadens, and he clasps me closer to his chest as he carries me across the lobby.
    “Not much,” he assures me but his face darkens suddenly.
    “What is it?” I try to keep the alarm in my voice under control.
    “You’ve put on some of the weight you lost when you left me,” he says quietly as he summons the elevator. A bleak expression crosses his face.
    His sudden, surprising anguish tugs at my heart. “Hey.” I curl my fingers around his face and into his hair, pulling him toward me. “If I hadn’t gone, would you be standing here, like this, now?”
    His eyes melt, the color of a storm cloud, and he smiles his shy smile, my favorite smile. “No,” he says and steps into the elevator still holding me. He leans down and kisses me gently. “No, Mrs. Grey, I wouldn’t. But I would know I could keep you safe, because you wouldn’t defy me.”
    He sounds vaguely regretful . . . Shit.
    “I like defying you.” I test the waters.
    “I know. And it’s made me so . . . happy.” He smiles down at me through his bemusement.
    Oh, thank heavens. “Even though I’m fat?” I whisper.
    He laughs. “Even though you’re fat.” He kisses me again, more heated this time, and I fist my fingers in his hair, holding him against me, our tongues twisting in a slow sensual dance with each other. When the elevator pings to a halt at the penthouse, we are both breathless.
    “Very happy,” he murmurs. His smile is darker now, his eyes hooded and full of salacious promise. He shakes his head as if to recover himself and carries me into the foyer.
    “Welcome home, Mrs. Grey.” He kisses me again, more chastely this time, and gives me the patented-Christian-Grey-full-gigawatt smile, his eyes dancing with joy.
    “Welcome home, Mr. Grey.” I beam, my heart answering his call, brimming with my own joy.
    I think Christian’s going to put me down, but he doesn’t. He carries me through the foyer, across the corridor, into the great room, and deposits me on the kitchen island where I sit with my legs dangling. He retrieves two champagne flutes from the kitchen cupboard and a bottle of chilled champagne from the fridge—our favorite Bollinger. He deftly opens the bottle, not spilling a drop, pours the pale pink champagne into each glass, and hands one to me. Taking up the other, he gently parts my legs and moves forward to stand between them.
    “Here’s to us, Mrs. Grey.”
    “To us, Mr. Grey,” I whisper conscious of my shy smile. We clink glasses and take a sip.
    “I know you’re tired,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against mine. “But I’d really like to go to bed . . . and not to sleep.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “It’s our first night