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

Life in the Emerald City goes on. People are going about their business; the streets are crowded, but I manage to weave my way through the throng.

My poor wife.

He could have killed her.

If I ever get my hands on that evil, twisted asshole. I will end him.

Once more I imagine all the ways I could do that.

Shit.

Grey, get a grip.

I’m outside Nordstrom. Maybe I should buy something for Ana. Anything. I check that my wallet’s in my back pocket and head in. I’m in the scarf section. A silk scarf… Yeah. That works.

I’m calmer when I get back to the apartment.

“You didn’t like your lunch? Would you like something else?” Gail offers.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll take your advice. I’m going to lie down. I’m exhausted.”

Gail’s smile is sympathetic.

Once in our bedroom, I take off my shoes, lie down, and close my eyes.

Ana is laid out before me, naked. She holds out her arms. You can do anything you want to me. A punishment fuck. She’s in the harness. In the playroom. What will you do to me? I stand behind her, a cane in my hand. Whatever I want. She’s on the table. Facedown. She cannot move. She’s tied. I slap a paddle against my hand. Her buttocks clench in anticipation. She’s on her knees, her forehead pressed to the floor. Her hands tied behind her back. I want your mouth. Your cunt. Your ass. Your body. Your soul. She kneels before me. I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine. Mine. Yours.

I wake. Disoriented.

I’m at home. It’s late afternoon, by the look of the light. I check the time; it’s 5:30. Ana won’t be home yet. I rub my face and walk into the bathroom, a plan hatching in my mind. I’m anticipating one hell of a fight. Ana says she’s pissed at me. In the closet I remove my shirt, replace it with a T-shirt, and change into my playroom jeans in readiness for her return. I tuck the new scarf into my pocket.

Maybe we can both get what we want.

In my office, I print out her e-mail and notice that she hasn’t sent me any messages since our last exchange. My wife does not back down from a challenge. This evening will be interesting.

Gail is absent. As is Taylor. Idly, I wonder what they are doing.

Ryan is in Taylor’s office; he stands when I enter. “Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“You can hang out upstairs. I’d like to give everyone the night off. We’ll call you if we need you.”

He hesitates before agreeing. “Okay, sir.”

And with that I wander back into the living room and over to the piano to await my wife’s return.

Behind me, the late-afternoon sun is drifting toward the horizon, and I’m in my corner of the ring, waiting for the match to start. Gloves on. Mouth guard in.

How many rounds will I go with Mrs. Grey?

The soft ping of the elevator rings through the foyer.

She’s here.

Showtime, Grey.

The thud of Ana’s briefcase hitting the floor in the hall is followed by her footsteps into the living room. She stops when she sees me.

“Good evening, Mrs. Grey.” Barefoot, I swagger toward her, like a gunfighter in an old black-and-white movie, my eyes fixed on her. “Good to have you home. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you, now?” she whispers. She’s as beautiful as she looked this morning, though her eyes are wide and wary; her guard is up.

Game on, Ana.

“I have,” I answer.

“I like your jeans,” she murmurs, eyeing me from head to toe.

I wore them for you. I give her a wolfish grin and halt in front of her. She licks her lips, and swallows, but she doesn’t look away.

“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey.” From my back pocket I pull out her shouty-capped e-mail and unfold it in front of her, trying to intimidate her with a look.

I fail.

“Yes, I have issues,” she responds, gazing at me, her manner forthright but her voice betraying her, all breathy and sexy.

Leaning down, I run my nose along hers, relishing the contact. Her eyes close and she utters the softest of sighs.

“So do I,” I murmur against her fragrant skin.

Her eyes flutter open and I straighten up.

“I think I’m familiar with your issues, Christian.” She raises a brow, and humor hovers behind her eyes.

I narrow mine.

Don’t make me laugh, Ana.

I remember her saying that to me, not so long ago.

She takes a step back. “Why did you fly back from New York?” she asks, her voice kitten-soft, belying the lioness I know.

“You know why.”

“Because I went out with Kate?”

“Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?”

“Yes.”

She looks heavenward, then stops when she notices my scowl, but I’m not sure a spanking would be a good idea right now. “Christian,” she says in the same soft voice, “I changed my mind. I’m a woman. We’re renowned for it. That’s what we do.” When I don’t respond, she continues, “If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip…” She stops, seemingly at a loss.