Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,215

she scoffs.

Oh!

I lean back and tug her hair so I’m looking directly into her eyes. “Where would you prefer, Mrs. Grey?”

She shrugs, nonchalant. Challenging. “Surprise me.”

“You’re feisty this evening.” I run my nose down hers while a list of possibilities forms in my mind.

“Maybe I need to be restrained.”

“Maybe you do. You’re getting mighty bossy in your old age.”

“What are you going to do about it?” She squares her shoulders, in that way she does, ready for battle.

Oh, Ana. “I know what I’d like to do about it. Depends if you’re up to it.”

“Oh, Mr. Grey, you’ve been very gentle with me these last couple of days. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“You don’t like gentle?”

“With you, of course. But you know…variety is the spice of life.” She flutters her eyelashes.

“You’re after something less gentle?”

“Something life-affirming.”

Wow. “Life-affirming?” Astonished, I gaze at her, as all manner of sexual scenarios pop most welcome into my mind. She nods, gazing into my eyes and teasing her lower lip with her teeth.

On purpose.

She’s goading me.

She wants life-affirming, I can oblige. “Don’t bite your lip.” I tighten my grip on her and rise, holding her close. She gasps in surprise and grabs my arms while I carry her across the room and settle her on the farthest sofa.

I have a plan. I want to see how far her newfound sexual confidence extends.

And I want to watch.

“Wait here. Don’t move.” She turns her head, her eyes tracking me as I head to the bedroom. I scan the room and remember one of the presents she opened this morning at breakfast—some fancy toiletries from Kate. In the smart presentation box, I discover a small bottle of scented moisturizing oil, dark amber and sandalwood.

Perfect. I slip it into the rear pocket of my jeans. From the bathroom I retrieve both belts from our hotel bathrobes and grab one of the largest bath towels.

Back in the living room, I’m pleased to find Ana has stayed on the couch.

Obedience! At last!

She can’t see me as I approach her from behind, or hear me, as I’m barefoot. She gasps when I lean over and grab the hem of her T-shirt. “I think we’ll dispense with this.” I drag it over her head and toss it on the floor, admiring how her nipples peak in response to the brush of the material and the cooler temperature in the room. I grab her ponytail, tipping her head back and claiming her mouth with a brief kiss.

“Stand up,” I murmur against her skin. She obliges, naked except for her panties. I lay the towel over the sofa, not wishing to get oil, or anything else, on the fabric.

“Take your panties off.” I look directly at Ana. She swallows, but with her eyes fixed on mine she obeys, without hesitating.

I like this version of Ana.

“Sit.”

She does as she’s told, and I grasp her ponytail once more, twirling her soft hair between my fingers. I tug it, pulling back her head, and stand over her. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”

She nods.

Damn it, Ana. “Say it.”

“Yes,” she answers, her voice a little shrill and breathy, betraying her excitement.

I smirk and pitch my voice low. “Good. So, Mrs. Grey—by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” I’ve chosen this, the only sofa that has finials, for a reason. “Bring your knees up. And sit right back.” Once more she complies, without hesitation. Taking her left leg, I wrap a belt from one of the robes around her lower thigh and tie a slip knot above her knee.

“Bathrobes?” Ana asks.

“I’m improvising.” I tie the other end to the finial at the back left-hand corner of the sofa and tug, parting her thighs. “Don’t move.” I do the same with her right leg, tying the other belt to the back-right finial.

Ana is splayed out, her legs spread wide, revealing all she has to offer, her hands by her sides.

“Okay?” I ask, drinking in the view from above.

She nods and looks up at me, soft, sweet, vulnerable. Mine.

Bending down, I kiss her. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.” I rub my nose against hers, fighting my anticipation of what’s to come. “Change of music, I think.” I wander over to my iPod.

I scroll through artists. Select a track. Press repeat and play.

“Sweet About Me.” Perfect.

As Gabriella Cilmi’s sugared, sultry voice fills the room, I turn and lock eyes with my trussed-up, naked wife and saunter back to her. Her gaze