Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (43 page)

Kate and Mia are waxing lyrical about Paris.

“Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks innocently, distracting me from my jealous reverie.

“No, but I’d love to go.” I know I’m the only one at the table who has never left the USA.

“We honeymooned in Paris.” Grace smiles at Mr. Grey, who grins back at her.

It’s almost embarrassing to witness. They obviously love each other deeply, and I wonder for a brief moment what it must be like to grow up with both one’s parents in situ.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Mia agrees. “In spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris,” Mia states firmly.

“I think Anastasia would prefer London,” Christian says softly.

Oh … he remembered
. He places his hand on my knee—his fingers traveling up my thigh. My whole body tightens in response.
No … not here, not now
. I flush and shift, trying to pull away from him. His hand clamps down on my thigh, stilling me. I reach for my wine in desperation.

Little Miss European Pigtails returns, all coy glances and swaying hips, with our entrées: beef Wellington, I think. Fortunately, she gives us our plates and then leaves, although she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close the dining room door.

“So what was wrong with the Parisians?” Elliot asks his sister. “Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?”

“Ugh, no they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”

I splutter into my wine.

“Anastasia, are you okay?” Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.

Humor has returned to his voice.
Oh, thank heavens
. When I
nod, he pats my back gently and only removes his hand when he knows I’ve recovered.

The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green beans. It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good humor for the rest of the meal. I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so heartily. The conversation flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing one another. Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into fluent French. We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells her in equally fluent French what she’s done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. She has a very infectious laugh, and soon we’re all in stitches.

Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the north of Seattle. I glance up at Kate, and she’s hanging on every word Elliot says, her eyes glowing with lust or love. I haven’t quite worked out which yet. He grins down at her, and it’s as if an unspoken promise passes between them.
Laters, baby
, he’s saying, and it’s hot, freaking hot. I flush just watching them.

I sigh and peek up at Fifty Shades. I could stare at him forever. He has light stubble over his chin, and my fingers itch to scratch it and feel it against my face, against my breasts … between my thighs. I blush at the direction of my thoughts. He peers down at me and raises his hand to pull at my chin.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he murmurs huskily. “I want to do that.”

Grace and Mia clear our dessert glasses and head to the kitchen, while Mr. Grey, Kate, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in Washington State. Christian, feigning interest in their conversation, puts his hand once more on my knee, and his fingers travel up my thigh. My breathing hitches and I press my thighs together in a bid to halt his progress. I can see him smirk.

“Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” he asks me quite openly.

I know I’m meant to say yes, but I don’t trust him. Before I can answer, however, he’s on his feet and holding his hand out to me. I place my hand in his, and I feel all the muscles clench deep in my belly, responding to his dark, hungry gaze.

“Excuse me,” I say to Mr. Grey, and follow Christian out of the dining room.

He leads me through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Mia and Grace are stacking the dishwasher. European Pigtails is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to show Anastasia the backyard,” Christian says innocently to his mother. She waves us out with a smile as Mia heads back to the dining room.

We step out onto a gray flagstone patio area lit by recessed lights in the rock. There are shrubs in gray stone tubs and a chic metal table and chairs set up in one corner. Christian walks past those, up some steps, and onto a vast lawn that leads down to the bay … oh my—it’s beautiful. Seattle twinkles on the horizon and the cool, bright May moon etches a sparkling silver path across the water toward a jetty where two boats are moored. Beside the jetty stands a boathouse. It is so picturesque, so peaceful. I stand and gape for a moment.

Christian pulls me behind him, and my heels sink into the soft grass.

“Stop, please.” I am stumbling in his wake.

He stops and gazes at me, his expression unfathomable.

“My heels. I need to take my shoes off.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, and he bends down and scoops me over his shoulder. I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind.

“Keep your voice down,” he growls.

Oh no … this is not good
. My subconscious is quaking at the knees. He’s mad about something—could be José, Georgia, no panties, biting my lip. Jeez, he’s easy to rile.

“Where are we going?” I breathe.

“Boathouse,” he snaps.

I hang on to his hips as I’m tipped upside down, and he strides purposefully in the moonlight across the lawn.

“Why?” I sound breathless, bouncing on this shoulder.

“I need to be alone with you.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m going to spank and then fuck you.”

“Why?” I whimper softly.

“You know why,” he hisses.

“I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?” I plead breathlessly.

“Anastasia, I’m in the moment, trust me.”

Holy fuck
.

C
hristian bursts through the wooden door of the boathouse and pauses to flick on some switches. Fluorescents ping and buzz in sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see an impressive cruiser in the dock floating gently on the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he’s carrying me up some wooden stairs to the room above.

He pauses at the doorway and flips another switch—halogens, this time, that are softer, on a dimmer—and we’re in an attic room with sloping ceilings. It’s decorated with a nautical New England theme: navy blues and creams with dashes of red. The furnishings are sparse, just a couple of couches are all I can see.

Christian sets me on my feet on the wooden floor. I don’t have time to examine my surroundings—my eyes can’t leave him. I am mesmerized … watching him like one would watch a rare and dangerous predator, waiting for him to strike. His breathing is harsh, but then he’s just carried me across the lawn and up a flight of stairs. Gray eyes blaze with anger, need, and pure unadulterated lust.

Holy shit
. I could spontaneously combust from his look alone.

“Please don’t hit me,” I whisper, pleading.

His brow furrows, his eyes widening. He blinks twice.

“I don’t want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t.”

His mouth drops open in surprise, and beyond brave, I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn, to the stubble on his chin. It’s a curious mixture of soft and prickly. Slowly closing his eyes, he leans his face into my touch, and his breath hitches in his throat. Reaching up with
my other hand, I run my fingers into his hair. I love his hair. His soft moan is barely audible, and when he opens his eyes, his look is wary, like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing.

Stepping forward so I am flush against him, I pull gently on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, and I kiss him, forcing my tongue between his lips and into his mouth. He groans, and his arms embrace me, pulling me to him. His hands find their way into my hair, and he kisses me back, hard and possessive. His tongue and my tongue twist and turn together, consuming each other. He tastes divine.

He pulls back suddenly, our collective breathing ragged and mingling. My hands drop to his arms, and he glares down at me.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, confused.

“Kissing you.”

“You said no.”

“What?”
No to what?

“At the dinner table, with your legs.”

Oh … that’s what this is all about
.

“But we were at your parents’ dining table.” I stare up at him, completely bewildered.

“No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so—hot.”

His eyes widen, filled with wonder and lust. It’s a heady mix. I swallow instinctively. His hand moves down to my behind. He pulls me sharply against him, against his erection.

Oh my …

“You’re mad and turned on because I said no?” I breathe, astonished.

“I’m mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I’m mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me.” His eyes glitter dangerously, and he’s slowly inching up the hem of my dress.

“I want you, and I want you now. And if you’re not going to let
me spank you—which you deserve—I’m going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours.”

My dress is now barely covering my naked behind. He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks slowly into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. I suppress my moan.

“This is mine,” he whispers aggressively. “All mine. Do you understand?” He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning.

“Yes, yours,” I breathe as my desire, hot and heavy, surges through my bloodstream, affecting … everything. My nerve endings, my breathing. My heart is pounding, trying to leave my chest, the blood thrumming in my ears.

Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once: withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and pushing me down onto the couch so he’s lying on top of me.

“Hands on your head,” he commands through gritted teeth as he kneels, forcing my legs wider, and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out a foil packet, gazing down at me, his expression dark, before shrugging off his jacket so it falls to the floor. He rolls the condom down over his impressive length.

I place my hands on my head, and I know it’s so I won’t touch him. I’m so turned on. I feel my hips moving already up to meet him—wanting him inside me, like this—rough and hard. Oh … the anticipation.

“We don’t have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don’t come, or I will spank you,” he says through clenched teeth.

Holy crap … how do I stop?

With one swift thrust, he’s fully inside me. I groan loudly, gutturally, and revel in the fullness of his possession. He puts his hands on mine on top of my head, his elbows hold my arms out and down, and his legs pinion me. I am trapped. He’s everywhere, overwhelming me, almost suffocating. But it’s heavenly, too; this is my power, this is what I do to him, and it’s a hedonistic, triumphant
feeling. He moves quickly and furiously inside me, his breathing harsh at my ear, and my body responds, melting around him.
I mustn’t come
. No. But I’m meeting him thrust for thrust, a perfect counterpoint. Abruptly, and all too soon, he rams into me and stills as he finds his release, air hissing through his teeth. He relaxes momentarily, so I feel his entire, delicious weight on me. I’m not ready to let him go, my body craving relief, but he’s so heavy, and in that moment, I can’t push against him. All of a sudden, he withdraws, leaving me aching and hungry for more. He glares down at me.

“Don’t touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That’s what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what’s mine.” His eyes blaze anew, angry again.

I nod, panting. He stands and removes the condom, knotting it at the end, and puts it in his pants pocket. I gaze at him, my breathing still erratic, and involuntarily I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find some relief. Christian does up his fly and runs his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. He turns back to gaze down at me, his expression softer.

“We’d better get back to the house.”

I sit up, a little unsteadily, dazed.

“Here. You may put these on.”

From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know—I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face:
You didn’t have to ask for them
.

“
Christian!
” Mia shouts from the floor below.

He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. “Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating.”

I scowl back at him, hastily restore my panties to their rightful place, and stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state. Quickly, I attempt to smooth my just-fucked hair.

“Up here, Mia,” he calls down. “Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that—but I still want to spank you,” he says softly.

“I don’t believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.”

“Unprovoked? You kissed me.” He tries his best to look wounded.

I purse my lips. “It was attack as the best form of defense.”

“Defense against what?”

“You and your twitchy palm.”

He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs. “But it was tolerable?” he asks softly.

I flush. “Barely,” I whisper, but I can’t help my smirk.

“Oh, there you are.” She beams at us.

“I was showing Anastasia around.” Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.