Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

sag simultaneously with relief.
    “Well done, Mrs. Grey. Good driving.” Christian gently strokes my face with his fingertips, and I jump at the contact, inhaling deeply. I had no idea I was holding my breath.
    “Does this mean you’ll stop complaining about my driving?” I ask. He laughs—a loud cathartic laugh.
    “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
    “Thank you for letting me drive your car. Under such exciting circumstances, too.” I try desperately to keep my voice light.
    “Maybe I should drive now.”
    “To be honest, I don’t think I can climb out right now to let you sit here. My legs feel like Jell-O.” Suddenly I’m shuddering and shaking.
    “It’s the adrenaline, baby,” he says. “You did amazingly well, as usual. You blow me away, Ana. You never let me down.” He touches my cheek tenderly with the back of his hand, his face full of love, fear, regret—so many emotions at once—and his words are my undoing. Overwhelmed, a strangled sob escapes from my constricted throat, and I start to cry.
    “No, baby, no. Please don’t cry.” He reaches over and, despite the limited space we have, pulls me over the handbrake console to cradle me in his lap. Smoothing my hair off my face, he kisses my eyes, then my cheeks, and I curl my arms around him and sob quietly into his neck. He buries his nose in my hair and wraps me in his arms, holding me tight and we sit, neither of us saying anything, just holding each other.
    Sawyer’s voice startles us. “The unsub has slowed outside Escala. He’s casing the joint.”
    “Follow him,” Christian snaps.
    I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and take a deep steadying breath.
    “Use my shirt.” Christian kisses my temple.
    “Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed by my crying.
    “What for? Don’t be.”
    I wipe my nose again. He tips my chin up and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “Your lips are so soft when you cry, my beautiful, brave girl,” he whispers.
    “Kiss me again.”
    Christian stills, one hand on my back, the other on my behind.
    “Kiss me,” I breathe, and I watch his lips part as he inhales sharply. Leaning across me, he takes the BlackBerry out of its cradle, and tosses it onto the driver’s seat beside my sandaled feet. Then his mouth is on me as he moves his right hand into my hair, holding me in place, and lifts his left to cradle my face. His tongue invades my mouth, and I welcome it. Adrenaline turns to lust streaking through my body. I clasp his face, running my fingers over his sideburns, relishing the taste of him. He groans at my fevered response, low and deep in his throat, and my belly tightens swift and hard with carnal desire. His hand moves down my body, brushing my breast, my waist, and down to my backside. I shift fractionally.
    “Ah!” he says and breaks away from me, breathless.
    “What?” I mutter against his lips.
    “Ana, we’re in a car lot in Seattle.”
    “So?”
    “Well, right now I want to fuck you, and you’re shifting around on me . . . it’s uncomfortable.”
    My craving spirals out of control at his words, tightening all my muscles below my waist once more.
    “Fuck me then.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. I want him. Now. That car chase was exciting. Too exciting. Terrifying . . . and the fear has jump-started my libido. He leans back to gaze at me, his eyes dark and hooded.
    “Here?” His voice is husky.
    My mouth goes dry. How can he turn me on with one word? “Yes. I want you. Now.”
    He tilts his head to one side and stares at me for a few moments. “Mrs. Grey, how very brazen,” he whispers, after what feels like an eternity. His hand tightens around my hair at my nape, holding me firmly in place, and his mouth is on mine again, more forcefully this time. His other hand skims down my body, down over my behind and lower still to my mid-thigh. My fingers curl into his overlong hair.
    “I’m so glad you’re wearing a skirt,” he murmurs as he slips his hand beneath my blue and white patterned skirt to caress my thigh. I squirm once more on his lap and the air hisses between his teeth.
    “Keep still,” he growls. He cups my sex with his hand, and I still immediately. His thumb brushes over my clitoris, and my breath catches in my throat as pleasure jolts like electricity deep, deep, deep inside me.
    “Still,” he whispers. He kisses me once more as his thumb circles gently around me through the sheer fine lace of my designer underwear. Slowly he eases two