Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,185

She runs her fingertips through my chest hair and I thrum my fingers down her back, enjoying the contact.

“You’re quiet,” Ana says eventually, and kisses my shoulder. I turn to look at her, trying to understand what just happened. “That was fun,” she says, but as her eyes search mine, she looks uncertain.

“You confound me, Ana.”

“Confound you?”

I turn so we’re face-to-face. “Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s different.”

The small v forms between her brows as she frowns. “Good different or bad different?” She traces her finger over my lips, and I pucker them to kiss her fingertip as I contemplate her question.

“Good different.” Frantic, though. I would have liked that to last longer.

“You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?”

“No, Anastasia. You can touch me.” And it was fucking hot. I’d like to do it again.

“Mrs. Robinson could touch you.”

My eyes find hers while I wonder why she would bring up Elena at this time. “That was different,” I whisper.

Ana’s eyes widen, seeing through me, as ever. “Good different or bad different?” she asks.

The searing pain of Elena’s touch flares in my imagination.

Her hands on me. Her nails scraping my skin while the darkness flailed and clawed at me from within, trying to throw her off.

It was unbearable.

I swallow, trying to dispel the memory. “Bad, I think.” The words are less than a whisper.

“I thought you liked it.”

“I did. At the time.”

“Not now?”

Ana’s eyes are a guileless blue, impossible to escape. Slowly, I shake my head.

“Oh, Christian.” She launches herself at me, an unstoppable force of good, kissing my face, my chest, each of my scars. I groan and answer her kiss with my own passion and my love. And we’re soon lost, making love at my pace. Slowly, tenderly, so I can show her how much I love her.

Ana is brushing her teeth as I finish dressing. “I’ll go and check on our guests.”

Her eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror. “I have a question.”

I lean against the doorjamb. “Pray, what do you wish to know, Mrs. Grey?”

She turns to face me, dressed only in a towel. “Does Mrs. Bentley know about your…um…your—”

“Predilections?” I offer.

Ana flushes and I laugh, because Ana can still blush at anything to do with sex, and because Mr. and Mrs. Bentley have no idea.

“No. No playroom here. We’ll have to bring some toys.” I wink at her and turn to go, leaving her mouth open.

Kate and Mrs. Bentley are chatting in the kitchen. They’re the only ones up, it seems, on such a beautiful morning. I greet them both.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” Carmella says.

Kate smiles, and frankly it’s unnerving. I’m more used to her snarling at me.

“We could go for a hike and a picnic before heading home,” I suggest to Kate.

“Sounds great.”

“Waffles okay today?” Mrs. Bentley asks.

“Great. Picnic for later, would that be possible?”

“Of course,” she says, with a look that tells me I shouldn’t dare doubt her culinary abilities. “Oh, and Martin would like a word with you,” she continues. “He’s somewhere in the yard.”

“I’ll go find him.”

Martin Bentley is weeding what Mrs. Bentley calls the kitchen garden. We exchange pleasantries and he takes me on a tour of the grounds. He’s a thoughtful, introspective man with some ideas on how to improve the yard. Not only does he maintain my property, but also a couple of the other properties in the near vicinity, and he’s a volunteer for the fire department.

While we walk, we discuss putting in a hot tub, and maybe a pool. I notice a bamboo cane that’s been discarded, and I pick it up as we continue to talk. It’s been a while since I held a cane. It’s a little heavy, and not very flexible. Absentmindedly, I swipe it through the air.

“It’ll be expensive,” Martin says, referring to the notional pool, “and, to be honest, how often would you use it?”

“Good point. Perhaps we could go for a tennis court instead.”

“Or you could leave it all be and let the meadow flowers bloom.” His grin is infectious.

I survey the yard: pool, or tennis court, or meadow flowers? I wonder which Ana would prefer. I swipe the cane through the air once more as Mr. Bentley opens the door into the basement. I don’t know what it is that makes me glance up, but I do, to discover Ana is watching me from the kitchen window. She waves, but looks guilty for some reason—why? I don’t know. She turns away, and I hand the cane to Martin and head