Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,89

my eye, I watch her as she mimics my actions.

“Enjoying the show?” I ask.

“One of my all-time favorites.”

She’s forgiven me.

I lean over and kiss her, grateful that she’s with me, and leave a small smudge of shaving foam on her face. “Shall I do this to you again?” I whisper, brandishing my razor, recalling the moment when I shaved her in our suite at Brown’s Hotel.

Ana purses her lips. “No. I’ll wax next time.”

“But that was fun.”

You beguiled me, Ana.

“For you maybe.” She pouts, but there’s a spark of amusement and perhaps carnal appreciation in her eyes.

I see you, Ana.

“I seem to recall the aftermath was very satisfying.” I continue shaving, but Ana’s gone very quiet. “Hey, I’m just teasing. Isn’t that what husbands who are hopelessly in love with their wives do?” I tip her chin up and scrutinize her expression. Perhaps she’s still mad at me.

She squares her shoulders.

Uh-oh.

“Sit,” she orders.

What?

She splays her hands on my naked chest and pushes me gently toward a stool in the bathroom.

Okay, I’ll play. I sit down and she takes my razor.

“Ana,” I warn. But she ignores me and leans down and kisses me.

“Head back,” she says against my lips.

When I hesitate, she cocks her head to one side. “Tit for tat, Mr. Grey.” And I know she’s provoking me. How can I walk away from a challenge when my wife never does?

“You know what you’re doing?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Well, what’s she going to do, Grey?

Slit my throat?

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and raise my chin, offering myself to her. She slides her fingers into my hair and grips hard while I scrunch my eyes tighter. She’s standing so close to me. I can smell her. Sea. Sunshine. Sex. Sweetness. Ana.

It’s heady.

With the utmost tenderness she glides my razor from my neck to my chin, shaving me. I release the breath I was holding.

“Did you think I was going to hurt you?” I hear the tremor in her voice.

“I never know what you’re going to do, Ana, but no—not intentionally.”

Sliding the razor across my skin again, she says quietly, “I would never intentionally hurt you, Christian.” She sounds so sincere. Opening my eyes, I curl my arms around her as she shaves my cheek.

“I know,” I whisper.

She hurt me when she left, that one time.

And I deserved it. I hurt her.

You are one fucked-up son of a bitch!

Grey, don’t go there.

I angle my cheek, making it easier for her to finish the job, and two strokes of the razor later, she’s completed her work. “All done, and not a drop of blood spilled.” She beams at me.

I run my hands up her leg and ease her onto my lap until she’s sitting astride me. “Can I take you somewhere today?”

“No sunbathing?” Ana’s tone is disingenuous, but I ignore it.

“No. No sunbathing today. I thought you might prefer something else.”

“Well, since you’ve covered me in hickeys and effectively put the kibosh on that, sure, why not?”

Hickeys? We’re not in high school!

“You never really had an adolescence—emotionally speaking. I think you’re experiencing it now.”

Hell.

Ignoring Flynn’s words and Ana’s reference to my bad behavior, I continue, “It’s a drive, but it’s worth a visit, from what I’ve read. My dad recommended we visit. It’s a hilltop village called Saint-Paul-de-Vence. There are some galleries there. I thought we could pick out some paintings or sculptures for the new house, if we find anything we like.”

She presses her lips together and leans back to study me.

“What?” I ask, alarmed at her expression.

“I know nothing about art, Christian.”

I shrug. “We’ll buy only what we like. This isn’t about investment.”

She looks a little less alarmed, but preoccupied nevertheless.

“What?” I ask again. “Look, I know we only got the architect’s drawings the other day—but there’s no harm in looking, and the town is an ancient, medieval place.”

Her expression remains the same.

“What now?” I ask. Fuck, Ana. Are you still angry about yesterday?

She shakes her head.

“Tell me,” I beg, but she gives nothing away. “You’re not still mad about what I did yesterday?” I can’t look her in the eye; instead, I bow my head and nuzzle between her breasts.

“No. I’m hungry,” she says.

“Why didn’t you say?” I ease her off my lap.

Ana and I fall under Saint-Paul-de-Vence’s spell. We wander the narrow, cobbled streets, breathing in the Gallic wonder of it all, followed from a discreet distance by Taylor and Philippe Ferreux. Ana is tucked under my arm, where she fits perfectly. “How did you