Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,214

want to add a few photographs from our wedding.

I’m completely absorbed in the task when Ana bursts into the room, dragging me from the screen. Her eyes are red-rimmed from fresh tears, but she’s brimming with elation. “He’s awake,” she exclaims.

Thank God. At last.

Setting aside my laptop, I stand up to embrace her. “How is he?”

She snuggles against my chest, her eyes closed, as she wraps her arms around me. “Talking, thirsty, bewildered. He doesn’t remember the accident at all.”

“That’s understandable. Now that he’s awake, I want to get him moved to Seattle. Then we can go home, and my mom can keep an eye on him.”

“I’m not sure he’s well enough to be moved.”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Sluder. Get her opinion.”

“You miss home?” Ana looks up at me.

“Yes.” Very much.

“Okay.” She smiles, and together we return to the ward, where we find Ray is sitting up in bed. He looks a little shell-shocked, and frankly embarrassed that I’m there.

“Ray. It’s good to see you back with us.”

“Thanks, Christian,” he grumbles. “Awful lot of trouble for you kids to be here.”

“Dad, it’s no trouble. We don’t want to be anywhere else.” Ana tries to reassure him.

Dr. Sluder joins us, bristling with efficiency. “Mr. Steele. Welcome back,” she says.

“You haven’t stopped smiling.” I tuck a strand of Ana’s hair behind her ear as she pulls up outside The Heathman in the R8.

“I’m very relieved. And happy.” She flashes me a smile.

“Good.” We climb out and Ana hands her keys to the valet. It’s getting darker and cooler and Ana shivers, so I drape my arm around her shoulders, and we wander into the hotel. From the foyer, I eye the Marble Bar. “Shall we celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” Ana frowns.

“Your dad.”

She chuckles. “Oh, him.”

“I’ve missed that sound.” I kiss her hair.

“Can we just eat in our room? You know, have a quiet night in?”

“Sure. Come.” Taking her hand, we walk to the elevators.

Ana devours her dinner. “That was delicious.” She pushes her plate away. “They sure know how to make a fine tarte tatin here.”

That they do, Ana. “That’s the most I’ve seen you eat the entire time we’ve been here.”

“I was hungry.” She sits back, replete, and it’s most gratifying to witness. She’s fresh and clean from our bath earlier and wearing nothing but my T-shirt and her panties. She’s all eyes and smiles and ponytail and legs…especially legs.

Lifting my glass of wine, I take a sip. “What would you like to do now?” I keep my tone gentle, and hopefully a little seductive. My iPod is playing some serene tunes in the background. I know what I want to do, but she’s had an emotional day.

“What do you want to do?”

Is this a trick question?

I raise a brow, amused. “What I always want to do.”

“And that is?”

“Mrs. Grey, don’t be coy.”

She purses her lips with her secret smile and, reaching across the table, grasps my hand and turns it over. With great care, she skates her index finger over my palm, which tingles in response. It’s an odd feeling that takes my breath away.

“I’d like you to touch me with this.” Her voice is low and provocative as her fingertip continues brushing over my index finger.

Her touch echoes. Everywhere.

Fuck.

I shift in my chair. “Just that?”

“Maybe this.” She traces a line along my middle finger and back to my palm. “And this.” She weaves a path up to my wedding ring. “Definitely this.” She stops, her finger pressed against my platinum ring. “This is very sexy.”

“Is it, now?”

“It sure is. It says ‘this man is mine.’”

Hell. I’m hard.

Yes. Ana. Yours.

Using her fingernail, she outlines the small callus that’s formed where my palm rubs against my ring, her eyes on mine. Her pupils dilate—the dark overcoming the bright blue.

She beguiles me.

Leaning forward, I capture her chin in my hand. “Mrs. Grey, are you seducing me?”

“I hope so.”

“Anastasia, I’m a given.” Always. “Come here.” I pull her into my lap and hold her. “I like having unfettered access to you.” To prove it, I run my hand up her naked thigh to her behind, then clasping the nape of her neck with my other hand, I angle her head and kiss her. Thoroughly. Exploring her mouth and savoring the feel of her tongue against mine, as her fingers find my hair.

She tastes of apple pie and Ana.

With a hint of fine Chablis.

It’s a stimulating combination in every sense. We’re both breathing hard when I pull away. “Let’s go to bed,” I whisper against her lips.

“Bed?”