Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

This is nice.

“Any specific drivel you want to see?” I ask her.

“You don’t like TV much, do you?” Ana says.

I shake my head. “Waste of time. But I’ll watch something with you.”

“I thought we could make out.”

“Make out?” I stop flicking and stare at her.

“Yes.” Ana frowns.

“We could go to bed and make out.”

“We do that all the time. When was the last time you made out in front of the TV?” she asks with a shy smile.

Um… Never?

I shrug and shake my head, embarrassed to answer. I didn’t do the make-out thing. I would have liked to. I remember Elliot bringing home girl after girl and making out with them

I used to burn with envy.

But I couldn’t bear to be touched.

How can you kiss and cuddle someone when you can’t tolerate their hands on you?

Fuck. Those were tough years.

I flick through the channels, and an old episode of The X-Files pops up.

Ha! Scully, my first adolescent crush.

“Christian?” Ana asks, bringing me back from my fucked-up past.

“I’ve never done that,” I answer, quickly. Can we move on?

“Never?”

“No.”

“Not even with Mrs. Robinson?”

I laugh. “Baby, I did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was not one of them.” Ana looks horrified, and I want to kick myself for allowing Elena into our conversation. And then it occurs to me—maybe Ana has made out with countless boys. I narrow my eyes. “Have you?”

“Of course.” She’s scandalized that I would think otherwise.

“What! Who with?”

Ana clams up.

What the fuck? Does she have some first great love? I know nothing about her love life. I assumed, stupidly, that she didn’t have one, because she was a virgin. “Tell me,” I press her.

She gazes down at her hands, knotted in her lap. I place my hand over hers, and she glances up at me.

I’m just curious, Ana. “I want to know. So, I can beat whoever it was to a pulp.”

She giggles. “Well, the first time—”

“The first time! There’s more than one fucker?”

“Why so surprised, Mr. Grey?”

I run a hand through my hair. The thought of anyone touching Ana is…annoying. “I just am. I mean—given your lack of experience.”

“I’ve certainly made up for that since I met you.”

“You have.” I grin. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You really want me to tell you?”

I’m interested in everything about you, Ana.

She takes a deep breath. “I was briefly in Texas with Mom and Husband Number Three. I was in tenth grade. His name was Bradley, and he was my lab partner in physics.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“And what’s he doing now?”

“I don’t know.”

“What base did he get to?”

“Christian!” she chastises me, and we stare at each other.

Fuck this Bradley. What kind of a name is that, anyway?

I grab her knees, then her ankles, and tip her up so she falls back on the couch, and I lay down on top of her.

“Ah,” she cries out.

I grab both her hands and raise them above her head. “So, this Bradley. Did he get to first base?” I whisper and run my nose down hers and leave soft kisses at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes,” she breathes. I release one of her hands and clasp her chin and kiss her, properly, my tongue caressing hers, and her body rises to meet mine, her tongue twisting with mine.

“Like this?” I whisper.

“No. Nothing like that.” Ana is breathless.

Releasing her chin, I skim my fingers down her body, then back to her breast. “Did he do this? Touch you like this?” Through the soft material of her top, my thumb skates repeatedly over her nipple, and it perks up at my touch.

“No.” She writhes beneath me.

“Did he get to second base?” I blow the words gently in her ear as my hand travels down to her hip. My lips suck gently on her earlobe before my teeth tug it into my mouth.

“No.” The word is a husky whisper.

I mute the TV. The X-Files can wait. I gaze down at Ana; she’s tousled and dazed and looking up at me with big blue eyes that I could drown in. “What about Joe Schmo number two? Did he make it past second base?”

I move to her side and slip my hand into her sweatpants, keeping her pinned with my gaze.

“No.”

“Good.” I hold her in the palm of my hand, the gateway to heaven. “No underwear, Mrs. Grey. I approve.” I kiss her again, and my thumb strokes her clitoris in a steady rhythm and I ease my index finger inside her.

“We’re supposed to be making out,” she murmurs with a moan.

I stop. “I thought we were?”

“No. No sex.”

“What?” Why?

“No sex.”

“No sex, huh?” I gently ease my finger out of her and remove my hand from her pants. “Here.” I circle her mouth with my finger, then push it between her lips and onto her tongue. Once. Twice. Again.