Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

quiet click and the soft hiss of white noise from the surround-sound speakers as they come to life. A loud twang of a guitar begins a song I don’t know. Christian turns the volume down to background level. A man starts to sing, his voice deep, low, and sexy.
    “A drink first, I think,” Christian whispers, diverting me from the song. “Head back.” I tip my head back. “Further,” he prompts.
    I oblige, and his lips are on mine. Cool crisp wine flows into my mouth. I swallow reflexively. Oh my . Memories flood back of not so long ago—me trussed up on my bed in Vancouver before I graduated with a hot, angry Christian not appreciating my e-mail. Hmm . . . have times changed? Not much. Except now I recognize the wine, Christian’s favorite—a Sancerre.
    “Hmm,” I murmur in appreciation.
    “You like the wine?” he whispers, his breath warm on my cheek. I’m bathed in his proximity, his vitality, the heat radiating from his body, even though he doesn’t touch me.
    “Yes,” I breathe.
    “More?”
    “I always want more, with you.”
    I almost hear his grin. It makes me grin, too. “Mrs. Grey, are you flirting with me?”
    “Yes.”
    His wedding ring clinks against the glass as he takes another sip of wine. Now that is a sexy sound. This time he pulls my head right back, cradling me. He kisses me once more, and greedily I swallow the wine he gives me. He smiles as he kisses me again.
    “Hungry?”
    “I think we’ve already established that, Mr. Grey.”
    The troubadour on the iPod is singing about wicked games. Hmm . . . How apt.
    The microwave pings, and Christian releases me. I sit upright. The food smells spicy: garlic, mint, oregano, rosemary, and lamb, I think. The door to the microwave opens, and the appetizing smell grows stronger.
    “Shit! Christ!” Christian curses, and a dish clatters onto the countertop.
    Oh Fifty! “You okay?”
    “Yes!” he snaps, his voice tight. A moment later, he’s standing beside me once more.
    “I just burned myself. Here.” He eases his index finger into my mouth. “Maybe you could suck it better.”
    “Oh.” Clasping his hand, I draw his finger slowly from my mouth. “There, there,” I soothe, and leaning forward I blow, cooling his finger, then kiss it gently twice. He stops breathing. I reinsert it into my mouth and suck gently. He inhales sharply, and the sound travels straight to my groin. He tastes as delicious as ever, and I realize that this is his game—the slow seduction of his wife. I thought he was mad, and now . . . ? This man, my husband, is so confusing. But this is how I like him. Playful. Fun. Sexy as hell. He’s given me some answers, but I’m greedy. I want more, but I want to play, too. After the anxiety and tension of today, and the nightmare of last night with Jack, this is a welcome diversion.
    “What are you thinking?” Christian murmurs, stopping my thoughts in their tracks as he pulls his finger out of my mouth.
    “How mercurial you are.”
    He stills beside me. “Fifty Shades, baby,” he says eventually and plants a tender kiss at the corner of my mouth.
    “My Fifty Shades,” I whisper. Grabbing his T-shirt, I pull him back to me.
    “Oh no you don’t, Mrs. Grey. No touching . . . not yet.” He takes my hand, pries it off his T-shirt, and kisses each finger in turn.
    “Sit up,” he commands.
    I pout.
    “I will spank you if you pout. Now open wide.”
    Oh shit . I open my mouth, and he pops in a forkful of spicy hot lamb covered in a cool, minty, yogurt sauce. Mmm. I chew.
    “You like?”
    “Yes.”
    He makes an appreciative noise, and I know he’s eating and enjoying, too.
    “More?”
    I nod. He gives me another forkful, and I chew it enthusiastically. He puts the fork down and he tears . . . bread, I think.
    “Open,” he orders.
    This time it’s pita bread and hummus. I realize Mrs. Jones—or maybe even Christian—has been shopping at the delicatessen I discovered about five weeks ago only two blocks from Escala. I chew gratefully. Christian in a playful mood increases my appetite.
    “More?” he asks.
    I nod. “More of everything. Please. I’m starving.”
    I hear his delighted grin. Slowly and patiently he feeds me, occasionally kissing a morsel of food from the corner of my mouth or wiping it off with his fingers. Intermittently, he offers me a sip of wine in his unique way.
    “Open wide, then bite,” he murmurs. I follow his command. Hmm—one of my favorites, stuffed vine