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

From: Leila Williams

Subject: Thank you

Date: August 27 2011 14:00 EST

To: Christian Grey

Sir, or should I just call you Mr. Grey?

I don’t know anymore.

I wanted to say thank you.

For everything.

In person.

Please.

Leila

I scowl at the screen, and at Leila’s audacity. I’ve asked her, via Flynn, not to contact me directly, and yet she’s sent me this e-mail. I send it on to Flynn and ask him to remind her of my precondition to paying for her treatment and her tuition fees. Hopefully she won’t contact me again.

To add to my annoyance, there’s an e-mail from Ros telling me that the Taiwanese would like to talk tomorrow at 2:30 p.m. their time. On a Sunday? What time is that here?

I google it—shit. That’s half-past midnight, tonight.

What the hell?

I call Ros.

“Christian, hi. How are you?” She sounds upbeat, which only adds to my annoyance.

“Pissed. Can you change the time of this call?”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. But no. One of their execs is only available then.”

“On a Sunday?”

“It’s something to do with them having to be off-site when they make this call.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

“I’ll be on the call, too,” she says, in an attempt to mollify me, I suspect. “And we’ll have an interpreter.”

“Okay, I’ll speak to you then.” I hang up, irritated.

To hell with this.

I head into the den, where Elliot and Ethan are playing pool and drinking beer. I join them for a drink. Taylor has booked a table at a local restaurant for the six of us, but they have time for a game.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Mia?” Elliot asks Ethan.

Ethan chuckles. “You’re as bad as your brother.” He eyes me. “Like I said to Christian, we’re just friends.”

Elliot raises an eyebrow and directs a look at me.

I take a long swig of cool, clean-tasting beer.

“Did you get what you needed from town?” I ask Elliot as we watch Ethan slam in a couple of solids.

“Yeah.” He grins.

“Did you get some help?”

Elliot cocks his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”

“Little bird told me.”

Elliot scowls and Ethan fouls the white ball, so he goes to take his shot.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I have an e-mail from my wife.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Does My Butt Look Big in This?

Date: August 27 2011 18:53 MST

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

I need your sartorial advice.

Yours

Mrs. G x

Now, this I have to see. I type a quick response.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Peachy

Date: August 27 2011 18:55 MST

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I seriously doubt it.

But I will come and give your butt a thorough examination just to make sure.

Yours in anticipation

Mr. G x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings and Butt Inspectorate, Inc.

I abandon my beer, bound up two sets of stairs, and open our bedroom door.

Wow.

Anastasia Grey. Wow.

Paralyzed, I stand on the threshold. Ana’s in front of the full-length mirror. She’s dressed—in a sense—in a tiny silver dress, and towering stilettos. Her hair is a glossy veil edging her beautiful face. Kohl frames her eyes, and dark red lipstick paints her mouth.

She looks sensational; my body comes alive in response.

She flicks her hair to the side. “Well?” she whispers.

“Ana, you look… Wow.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, I guess so.” My voice is husky, betraying my desire. I want to mess up her hair and smudge her lipstick. I want her to be my Ana, not this version of her. This powerful, seductive woman is, frankly, a little intimidating.

And hot.

Ball-tighteningly hot.

I enter the room, bewitched by my wife, and close the door behind me, glad that I put my jacket back on. She has endless, shapely legs. A vision of her feet in those shoes, hooked over my shoulders, comes to the forefront of my mind.

Fuck.

Placing my hands on her naked shoulders, I turn her around so we’re both facing the mirror.

Christ!

This dress hardly has a back.

At least it covers her backside. Just.

Our eyes meet in the glass, smoky blue to darkening gray.

She looks every inch the goddess I know. And tall. Really tall!

I glance down at her naked back, and I cannot resist her. I glide a knuckle down her spine and she slowly arches her back into my touch.

Oh, Ana.

I stop where the dress starts at the small of her back. “This is very revealing,” I whisper. My hand skates lower, over her pert behind, which is provocatively accentuated in the tight clinging material, to the hem. My fingers hover over her skin at her thigh. Gently, I caress her, teasing her flesh as my fingers move around her thigh, her eyes following their path. She inhales sharply, her mouth forming a perfectly fuckable o.

“It’s not far from here.” I run my fingers around the hem, then higher up her thigh. “To here.” I touch her panties and stroke her through the thin material. She gasps as I ease my fingers against her, feeling the fabric dampen beneath my touch.