Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,134

stray to my lips and she leans in for a kiss.

“No,” I breathe, and in a monumental act of self-sacrifice, I grasp her shoulders. “Don’t. If you do that, I’ll never get my hair cut.”

Her mouth forms a perfect o.

“I want this,” I whisper, surprising myself.

“Why?”

Because no one’s washed my hair… Ever. “Because it’ll make me feel cherished.”

She gasps at my softly spoken confession, and before I can do so much as blink, she embraces me, holding me close. She kisses my chest with soft, gentle kisses, where only two months ago I couldn’t bear to be touched.

“Ana. My Ana.” Closing my eyes, I gather her in my arms while my heart overflows.

I think I’m forgiven for railroading her.

I think we’re okay.

We stand in our embrace in the middle of our bathroom for an age, her warmth and her love soaking into me.

Eventually, Ana leans back, the love-light shining in her eyes. “You really want me to do this?”

I nod, and her smile matches mine. She steps out of my arms and points to the chair again. “Then sit.” I do as she asks while she kicks off her shoes and retrieves my shampoo from the shower. “Would Sir like this?” She holds it up as if she’s on a cheesy shopping channel, selling it to me. “Hand-delivered from the South of France. I like the smell of this.” She pops the top. “It smells of you.”

“Please.”

She places the shampoo on the vanity unit, then reaches for a small towel. “Lean forward,” she orders, and drapes the towel over my shoulders and turns the taps on behind me.

“Lean back.”

She’s bossy.

I like it.

I try to lean back, but it doesn’t work because I’m too tall. I shuffle the chair forward and then tip it so it rests against the sink.

Success. I tilt my head backward over the sink and watch Ana.

Slowly, using a glass to scoop up the warm water, she anoints my head, leaning over me. “You smell so good, Mrs. Grey.” I close my eyes, enjoying her hands on me as she continues to wet my hair.

Abruptly, she pours water over my forehead and it flows into my eyes.

“Sorry!” she squeals.

I laugh and wipe the excess off with the corner of my towel. “Hey, I know I’m an arse, but don’t drown me.”

She giggles and plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “Don’t tempt me,” she whispers. Reaching up, I place my hand on her neck and guide her lips to mine. Her breath is sweet; she tastes of Ana, and sauvignon blanc. An enticing combination.

“Mm,” I murmur, savoring the taste. Releasing her, I lean back, ready for her to continue. She smiles down at me, and I hear the sound of liquid squirting from the tube as she squeezes it into her hand. Gently, she starts to massage the shampoo into my scalp—from my temples, she works her way over my head—and I close my eyes, relishing her touch.

Sweet Jesus.

Who knew heaven resided in my wife’s fingertips?

When Franco’s cut my hair, he’s always used a spray. I’ve never had my hair washed.

Why not, Grey? This is so relaxing.

Or perhaps it’s just Ana—I’m so acutely aware of her. Her leg grazing mine, her arm skimming my cheek, her touch, her scent…“That feels good,” I murmur.

“Yes, it does.” Her lips graze my forehead.

“I like it when you scratch my scalp with your fingernails.”

“Head up,” she says, and I lift my head so she soaps the back using her fingernails on my scalp.

Bliss.

“Back.”

I do as I’m told, and she pours water over my head again, rinsing out the suds.

“Once more?” she asks.

“Please.” When I open my eyes, she’s smiling down at me.

“Coming right up, Mr. Grey.” She releases me and fills my sink. “For rinsing,” she explains.

Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to her ministrations. She washes my hair again, anointing me with more water, massaging more shampoo into my scalp, and using her fingernails.

I have found nirvana.

This is pure paradise.

Her fingers caress my cheek and I open heavy eyelids to watch her. She kisses me, and her kiss is soft, sweet, chaste.

I sigh, my contentment complete.

She moves over me and her breasts brush my face.

Fuck.

Hello!

Behind me, the water gurgles down the drain, but with my eyes closed, I reach up and grab her hips, then slide my fingers over her magnificent behind.

“No fondling the help,” she warns.

“Don’t forget I’m deaf.” Slowly I start to hitch up her skirt, but she swats my arm. I grin, feeling like I’ve been caught