Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

heart.
    I squirt some shampoo into my palm and massage it into his scalp, beginning at his temples and working over the top of his head and down the sides, circling my fingers rhythmically. He closes his eyes again and makes that low humming sound again.
    “That feels good,” he says after a moment and relaxes beneath the firm touch of my fingers.
    “Yes it does.” I kiss his forehead once more.
    “I like it when you scratch my scalp with your fingernails.” His eyes are still closed, but his expression one of blissful contentment—no trace of his vulnerability remains. Jeez, how much his mood has changed, and I take comfort knowing it’s me that’s done this.
    “Head up,” I command and he obeys. Hmm—a girl could get used to this. I rub the suds into the back of his hair, scraping my nails into his scalp.
    “Back.”
    He leans back, and I rinse off the lather, using the glass. This time I manage not to splash him.
    “Once more?” I ask.
    “Please.” His eyes flutter open and his serene gaze finds mine. I grin down at him.
    “Coming right up, Mr. Grey.”
    I turn to the sink that Christian normally uses and fill it with warm water.
    “For rinsing,” I say when his look turns quizzical.
    I repeat the process with the shampoo, listening to his even deep breaths. Once he’s all lathered up, I take another moment to appreciate the fine face of my husband. I cannot resist him. Tenderly, I caress his cheek, and he opens his eyes, watching me almost sleepily through his long lashes. Leaning forward I plant a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. He smiles, closes his eyes, and breathes out a sigh of utter contentment.
    Jeez. Who would have thought after our argument this afternoon he could be this relaxed? Without sex? I lean right over him.
    “Hmm,” he murmurs appreciatively as my breasts brush his face. Resisting the urge to shimmy, I pull the plug so the sudsy water drains away. His hands move to my hips and around to my behind.
    “No fondling the help,” I murmur, feigning disapproval.
    “Don’t forget I’m deaf,” he says, keeping his eyes closed, as he runs his hands down past my behind and starts to hitch up my skirt. I swat his arm. I’m enjoying playing hairdresser. He grins, big and boyish, like I’ve caught him doing something illicit that he’s secretly proud of.
    I reach for the glass again, but this time use the water from the neighboring sink to carefully rinse all the shampoo from his hair. I continue to lean over him, and he keeps his hands on my backside, thrumming his fingers back and forward, up and down . . . back and forth . . . hmm. I wiggle. He growls low in his throat.
    “There. All rinsed.”
    “Good,” he declares. His fingers tighten on my behind, and all at once he sits up, his soaked hair dripping all over him. He pulls me down onto his lap, his hands moving from my behind up to the nape of my neck, then to my chin, holding me in place. I gasp with surprise and his lips are on mine, his tongue hot and hard in my mouth. My fingers curl around his wet hair, and drops of water run down my arms; and as he deepens the kiss, his hair bathes my face. His hand moves from my chin down to the top button of my blouse.
    “Enough of this primping. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and we can do it in here or in the bedroom. You decide.”
    Christian’s eyes blaze, hot and full of promise, his hair dripping water onto us both. My mouth goes dry.
    “What’s it to be, Anastasia?” he asks as he holds in his lap.
    “You’re wet,” I respond.
    He bends his head suddenly, running his dripping hair all down the front of my blouse. I squeal and try to wriggle off him. He tightens his grip around me.
    “Oh, no you don’t, baby,” he murmurs. When he raises his head he’s grinning salaciously at me, and I am Miss Wet Blouse 2011. My top is soaked and totally see-through. I’m wet . . . everywhere.
    “Love the view,” he murmurs and leans down to run his nose around and around one wet nipple. I squirm.
    “Answer me, Ana. Here or the bedroom?”
    “Here,” I whisper frantically. To hell with the haircut—I’ll do it later. He smiles slowly, his lips curling into a sensuous smile full of licentious promise.
    “Good choice, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs against my lips. He releases my chin and his hand moves to my knee. It glides smoothly up my leg, lifting my skirt and skating over my skin, making me tingle. His lips trail soft kisses from the base of my