Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

you—” His voice is barely a whisper.
    “It didn’t,” I manage to say.
    “But it could have. I’ve died a thousand deaths today thinking about what might have happened. I was so mad, Ana. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. I can’t remember being this angry . . . except—” He stops again.
    “Except?” I prompt.
    “Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there.”
    Oh. I don’t want to think about that.
    “You were so cold this morning,” I murmur. My voice cracks on the last word as I remember the hideous feeling of rejection in the shower. His hands move to the nape of my neck, loosening their grip on me, and I take a deep breath. He pulls my head back.
    “I don’t know how to deal with this anger. I don’t think I want to hurt you,” he says, his eyes wide and wary. “This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly and—” He stops, lost for words I think, or too afraid to say them.
    “You were worried you’d hurt me?” I finish his sentence for him, not believing that he’d hurt me for a minute, but relieved, too. A small vicious part of me feared it was because he didn’t want me anymore.
    “I didn’t trust myself,” he says quietly.
    “Christian, I know you’d never hurt me. Not physically, anyway.” I clasp his head between my hands.
    “Do you?” he asks, and there’s skepticism in his voice.
    “Yes. I knew what you said was an empty, idle threat. I know you’re not going to beat the shit out of me.”
    “I wanted to.”
    “No you didn’t. You just thought you did.”
    “I don’t know if that’s true,” he murmurs.
    “Think about it,” I urge, wrapping my arms around him once more and nuzzling his chest through the black T-shirt. “About how you felt when I left. You’ve told me often enough what that did to you. How it altered your view of the world, of me. I know what you’ve given up for me. Think about how you felt about the cuff marks on our honeymoon.”
    He stills, and I know he’s processing this information. I tighten my arms around him, my hands on his back, feeling his taut toned muscles beneath his T-shirt. Gradually, he relaxes as the tension slowly ebbs away.
    Is this what’s been worrying him? That he’ll hurt me? Why do I have more faith in him than he has in himself? I don’t understand, surely we’ve moved on. He’s normally so strong, so in control, but without that, he’s lost. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty—I’m sorry . He kisses my hair, I turn my face up to his, and his lips find mine, searching, taking, giving, begging—for what, I don’t know. I just want to feel his mouth on mine, and I return his kiss passionately.
    “You have such faith in me,” he whispers after he breaks away.
    “I do.” He strokes my face with the back of his knuckles and the tip of his thumb, gazing intently into my eyes. His anger has gone. My Fifty is back from wherever he’s been. It’s good to see him. I glance shyly up and smirk.
    “Besides,” I whisper, “you don’t have the paperwork.”
    His mouth drops open in amused shock, and he clutches me to his chest again.
    “You’re right. I don’t.” He laughs.
    We stand in the middle of the great room, locked in our embrace, just holding each other.
    “Come to bed,” he whispers, after heaven knows how long.
    Oh my . . .
    “Christian, we need to talk.”
    “Later,” he urges softly.
    “Christian, please. Talk to me.”
    He sighs. “About what?”
    “You know. You keep me in the dark.”
    “I want to protect you.”
    “I’m not a child.”
    “I am fully aware of that, Mrs. Grey.” He runs his hands down my body and cups my backside. Flexing his hips, he presses his growing erection into me.
    “Christian!” I scold. “Talk to me.”
    He sighs once more with exasperation. “What do you want to know?” His voice is resigned as he releases me. I baulk— I didn’t mean you had to let me go . Taking my hand, he reaches down to pick up my e-mail from the floor.
    “Lots of things,” I mutter, as I let him lead me to the couch.
    “Sit,” he orders. Some things never change, I muse, doing as I’m told. Christian sits beside me, and leaning forward, puts his head in his hands.
    Oh no. Is this too hard for him? Then he sits up, rakes both hands through his hair, and turns to me, at once expectant and reconciled to his fate.
    “Ask me,” he says simply.
    Oh. Well, that was easier than I thought. “Why the additional security for your family?”
    “Hyde was a