Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

nowhere he smacks me hard.
    “Ah!” I cry out.
    “Hush now.”
    He gently rubs my behind where he’s hit me. Then he leans over me, his hips digging into my backside, plants a kiss between my shoulder blades and trails kisses across my back. He’s taken his shirt off, so his chest hair tickles my back, and his erection presses against me through the rough fabric of his jeans.
    “Open your legs,” he orders.
    I move my legs apart.
    “Wider.”
    I groan and spread my legs wider.
    “Good girl,” he breathes. He traces his finger down my back, along the crack between my buttocks, and over my anus, which shrinks at his touch.
    “We’re going to have with some fun with this,” he whispers.
    Fuck!
    His finger continues down over my perineum and slowly slides into me.
    “I see you’re very wet, Anastasia. From earlier or from now?”
    I groan and he eases his finger in and out of me, over and over. I push back on his hand, relishing the intrusion.
    “Oh, Ana, I think it’s both. I think you love being here, like this. Mine.”
    I do—oh, I do. He withdraws his finger and smacks me hard once more.
    “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and urgent.
    “Yes, I do,” I whimper.
    He smacks me hard once more so I cry out, then sticks two fingers inside me. He withdraws them immediately, spreading the moisture up over and around my anus.
    “What are you going to do?” I ask, breathless. Oh my . . . is he going to fuck my ass?
    “It’s not what you think,” he murmurs reassuringly. “I told you, one step at time with this, baby.” I hear the quiet spurt of some liquid, presumably from a tube, then his fingers are massaging me there again. Lubricating me . . . there! I squirm as my fear collides with my excitement of the unknown. He smacks me once more, lower, so he hits my sex. I groan. It feels . . . so good.
    “Keep still,” he says. “And don’t let go.”
    “Ah.”
    “This is lube.” He spreads some more on me. I try not to wriggle beneath him, but my heart is pounding, my pulse haywire, as desire and anxiety pump through me.
    “I have wanted to do this to you for some time now, Ana.”
    I groan. And I feel something cool, metallically cool, run down my spine.
    “I have a small present for you here,” Christian whispers.
    An image from our show-and-tell springs to mind. Holy cow . A butt plug. Christian runs it down the parting between my buttocks.
    Oh my.
    “I am going to push this inside you, very slowly.”
    I gasp, anticipation and anxiety charging through me.
    “Will it hurt?”
    “No, baby. It’s small. Once it’s inside you, I’m going to fuck you real hard.”
    I practically convulse. Bending over me, he kisses me once more between my shoulder blades.
    “Ready?” he whispers.
    Ready? Am I ready for this?
    “Yes,” I mutter quietly, my mouth dry. He runs another finger down past my ass and perineum and slips it inside me. Fuck, it’s his thumb. He cups my sex and his fingers gently caress my clitoris. I moan . . . it feels . . . good. And gently, while his fingers and thumb work their magic, he pushes the cold plug slowly into me.
    “Ah!” I groan loudly at the unfamiliar sensation, my muscles protesting at the intrusion. He circles his thumb inside me and pushes the plug harder, and it slips in easily, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m so turned on or if he’s distracted me with his expert fingers, but my body seems to accept it. It’s heavy . . . and strange . . . there!
    “Oh, baby.”
    And I can feel it . . . where his thumb swirls inside me . . . and the plug presses against . . . oh, ah . . . He slowly twists the plug, eliciting a long drawn-out moan from me.
    “Christian,” I mumble, his name a garbled mantra, as I adjust to the sensation.
    “Good girl,” he murmurs. He runs his free hand down my side until it reaches my hip. Slowly he withdraws his thumb, and I hear the telltale sound of his zipper opening. Grasping my other hip, he pulls me back and parts my legs further, his foot pushing against mine. “Don’t let go of the table, Ana,” he warns.
    “No,” I gasp.
    “Something rough? Tell me if I’m too rough. Understand?”
    “Yes,” I whisper, and he slams into me and pulls me onto him at the same time, jolting the plug forward, deeper . . .
    “Fuck!” I cry out.
    He stills, his breathing harsher and my panting matches his. I try to assimilate all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the