Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

body is burning as the pleasure takes a darker turn.
    “Christian, please,” I whimper.
    “Hmm,” he hums low in his chest. “I want you to come like this.” My nipple gets a brief respite as his words caress my skin, and it’s like he’s calling to a deep, dark part of my psyche that only he knows. When he resumes with his teeth this time, the pleasure is almost intolerable. Moaning loudly, I writhe on his lap, trying to find some precious friction against his pants. I pull uselessly against my restraining panties, itching to touch him, but I’m lost—lost in this treacherous sensation.
    “Please,” I whisper, pleading, and pleasure flies through my body, from my neck, right down to my legs, to my toes, tightening all in its wake.
    “You have such beautiful breasts, Ana.” He groans. “One day I’ll fuck them.”
    What the hell does that mean? Opening my eyes, I gape down at him as he suckles me, my skin singing under his touch. I no longer feel my sodden blouse, his wet hair . . . nothing except the burn. And it burns deliciously hot and low, deep inside me, and all thought evaporates as my body tightens and clenches . . . ready, reaching . . . pining for release. And he doesn’t stop—teasing, pulling, driving me wild. I want . . . I want . . .
    “Let go,” he breathes—and I do, loudly, my orgasm convulsing through my body, and he stops his sweet torture and wraps his arms around me, clutching me to him as my body spirals down from my climax. When I open my eyes, he is gazing down at me where I rest against his chest.
    “God, I love to watch you come, Ana.” His voice is full of wonder.
    “That was . . .” Words fail me.
    “I know.” He leans forward and kisses me, his hand still at the nape of my neck, holding me just so, angling my head so he can kiss me deeply—with love, with reverence.
    I am lost in his kiss.
    He pulls away to draw breath, his eyes the color of a tropical storm.
    “Now I’m going to fuck you, hard,” he murmurs.
    Holy cow. Grabbing me around the waist, he lifts me from his thighs down to the edge of his knees and reaches with his right hand for the button on the waistband of his navy pants. He runs the fingers of his left hand up and down my thigh, stopping at my stocking tops each time. He’s watching me intently. We’re face to face and I’m helpless, trussed up in my bra and by my panties, and this has to be one of the most intimate times we’ve had—me sitting on his lap, staring into his beautiful gray eyes. It makes me feel wanton, but also so connected to him—I am not embarrassed or shy. This is Christian, my husband, my lover, my overbearing megalomaniac, my Fifty—the love of my life. He reaches for his zipper, and my mouth goes dry as his erection springs free.
    He smirks. “You like?” he whispers.
    “Hmm,” I murmur appreciatively. He wraps his hand around himself and moves it up and down . . . Oh my. I gaze up at him through my lashes. Fuck, he’s so sexy.
    “You’re biting your lip, Mrs. Grey.”
    “That’s because I’m hungry.”
    “Hungry?” His mouth opens in surprise, and his eyes widen a fraction.
    “Hmm . . .” I agree and lick my lips.
    He gives me his enigmatic smile and bites his lower lip as he continues to stroke himself. Why is the sight of my husband pleasuring himself such a turn-on?
    “I see. You should have eaten your dinner.” His tone is mocking and censorious at once. “But maybe I can oblige.” He puts his hands on my waist. “Stand,” he says softly, and I know what he’s going to do. I get to my feet, my legs no longer shaking.
    “Kneel.”
    I do as I’m told and kneel down on the cool tiled floor of the bathroom. He slides forward on the seat of the chair.
    “Kiss me,” he utters holding his erection. I glance up at him, and he runs his tongue over his top teeth. It’s arousing, very arousing, to see his desire, his naked desire for me and my mouth. Leaning forward, my eyes on his, I kiss the tip of his erection. I watch him inhale sharply and clench his teeth. Christian cups the side of my head, and I run my tongue over the tip, tasting the small bead of dew on the end. Hmm . . . he tastes good. His mouth drops open further as he gasps and I pounce, pulling him into my mouth and sucking hard.
    “Ah—” The air hisses through his teeth, and he flexes his hips forward, thrusting into my mouth. But I don’t stop. Sheathing my teeth behind my lips, I push down and