Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

Standing, Christian steps toward me, and my body is bathed in his warmth once more though he doesn’t touch me. After a moment he grasps my chin, tilts my head up, and kisses me chastely.
    “Some music and toys, I think. You look beautiful like this, Mrs. Grey. I may take a moment to admire the view.” His voice is soft. Everything clenches deep inside.
    After a moment, maybe two, I hear him pad quietly to the museum chest and open one of the drawers. The butt drawer? I have no idea. He takes something out and places it on the top, followed by something else. The speakers spring to life, and after a moment the strains of a single piano playing a soft, lilting melody fill the room. It’s familiar—Bach, I think—but I don’t know what piece it is. Something about the music makes me apprehensive. Perhaps because the music is too cool, too detached. I frown, trying to grasp why it unsettles me, but Christian grasps my chin, startling me, and tugs gently so that I release my bottom lip. I smile, trying to reassure myself. Why do feel uneasy? Is it the music?
    Christian runs his hand from my chin, along my throat, and down my chest to my breast. Using his thumb he pulls on the cup, freeing my breast from the restraint of my bra. He makes a low, appreciative humming noise in his throat and kisses my neck. His lips follow the path of his fingers to my breast, kissing and sucking all the way. His fingers move to my left breast, releasing it from my bra. I moan as he skates his thumb across my left nipple, and his lips close around my right, tugging and teasing gently until both nipples are long and hard.
    “Ah.”
    He doesn’t stop. With exquisite care, he slowly increases the intensity on each. I pull fruitlessly against my restraints as sharp pleasure spikes from my nipples to my groin. I try to squirm but I can hardly move, and it makes the torture all the more intense.
    “Christian,” I plead.
    “I know,” he murmurs his voice hoarse. “This is what you make me feel.”
    What ? I groan, and he begins again, subjecting my nipples to his sweet agonizing touch over and over—taking me closer.
    “Please,” I mewl.
    He makes a low primal sound in his throat, then stands, leaving me bereft, breathless, and squirming against my restraints. He runs his hands down my sides, one pausing on my hip while the other travels down my belly.
    “Let’s see how you’re doing,” he croons softly. Gently, he cups my sex, brushing his thumb across my clitoris and making me cry out. Slowly, he inserts one, then two fingers inside me. I groan and thrust my hips forward, eager to meet his fingers and the palm of his hand.
    “Oh, Anastasia, you’re so ready,” he says.
    He circles his fingers inside me, around and around, while his thumb strokes my clitoris, back and forth, once more. It’s the only point on my body where he’s touching me, and all the tension, all the anxiety of the day, is concentrated on this one part of my anatomy.
    Holy shit . . . it’s intense . . . and strange . . . the music . . . I begin to build . . . Christian shifts, his hand still moving against and in me, and I hear a low buzzing noise.
    “What?” I gasp.
    “Hush,” he soothes, and his lips are on mine, effectively silencing me. I welcome the warmer, more intimate contact, kissing him voraciously. He breaks the contact and the buzzing noise gets nearer.
    “This is a wand, baby. It vibrates.”
    He holds it against my chest, and it feels like a large ball-like object vibrating against me. I shiver as it moves across my skin, down between my breasts, across to first one, then the other nipple, and I’m awash with sensation, tingling everywhere, synapses firing as dark, dark need pools at the base of my belly.
    “Ah,” I groan while Christian’s fingers continue to move inside me . I’m close . . . all this stimulation . . . Tilting my head back, I moan loudly and Christian stills his fingers. All sensation stops.
    “No! Christian,” I plead, trying to thrust my hips forward for some friction.
    “Still, baby,” he says while my impending orgasm melts away. He leans forward once more and kisses me.
    “Frustrating, isn’t it?” he murmurs.
    Oh no! Suddenly I understand his game.
    “Christian, please.”
    “Hush,” he says and kisses me. And he starts to move again—wand, fingers, thumb—a lethal combination of sensual torture. He shifts so his body brushes against mine. He’s still dressed, and the