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

“Yes,” she breathes.

“Well, aren’t you the wanton creature? I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist.”

She sits up immediately, watchful and wary. Her fatigue, a memory. “No one’s watching, are they?” She scours the parking lot.

“Do you think I’d let anyone watch my wife come?” I stroke my hand down her back and she calms, turning around to give me a sweet playful smile.

“Car sex!” she exclaims, and her eyes flare with a sense of achievement, I think.

I grin. Yes. It’s a first for me, too, Ana. I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s head back. I’ll drive.” Leaning forward, I open the car door, and Ana clambers off my lap so I can do up my fly.

When I’m back in the driver’s seat I call our security detail.

“Mr. Grey, it’s Ryan.”

“Where’s Sawyer?” I snap.

“At Escala.”

“And the Dodge?”

“I’m following the Dodge south on I-5.”

“How come Sawyer’s not with you?”

“He thought it better to wait at Escala once we saw her—”

“Her?” I gasp.

“Yes. The driver is a woman,” says Ryan. “I was going to follow her to see if we can ID her.”

“Stick with her.”

“Will do.”

I hang up and look at Ana.

“The driver of the Dodge is female?” She sounds shocked.

“So it would appear.” I have no idea who it might be. It can’t be Elena, and surely not Leila. Not after all the work that Flynn has put in with her. “Let’s get you home.”

The R8 growls to life, and I reverse out of the space and head home.

“Where’s the, um, unsub? What does that mean, by the way? Sounds very BDSM.”

“It stands for unknown subject. Ryan is ex-FBI.”

“Ex-FBI?”

“Don’t ask.” That’s a long story about doing the right thing, protecting an innocent, and getting fired for it. I’ll tell her over dinner. He’s probably why we know the plates on the Dodge were false. He has extensive connections.

“Well, where is this female unsub?” Ana continues.

“On I-5, heading south.” Whoever it is drove past our place, scouted it out, and left. Who the hell is it?

Ana reaches over and runs her fingers down my inner thigh.

Whoa.

We’re stopped at a red. I scoop her hand into mine to stop its progress to my dick. “No. We’ve made it this far. You don’t want me to have an accident three blocks from home.” I kiss her index finger and release her, and concentrate on getting us back in one piece. I need a thorough debrief from Sawyer. I’m pissed that there was someone waiting for us outside my parents’ house. Surely they should have seen the Dodge.

What the hell am I paying them for?

Ana is quiet until we approach the garage at Escala. “Female?” she says out of nowhere. She sounds incredulous.

“Apparently so.” I sigh and punch in the code to raise the gate to the garage.

Yeah. I wish I knew who. Welch has investigated all my ex-submissives, even those from the private club I used to frequent. They’re all in the clear, as I knew they would be. I’ll check on Leila via Flynn, but last I heard she was happy back in the bosom of her family.

I ease the R8 into her designated space.

“I really like this car,” Ana says, giving me a welcome break from my dark thoughts.

“Me too. And I like how you handled it—and how you managed not to break it.”

She smirks. “You can buy me one for my birthday.”

Anastasia Ste…Grey! I gape at her, shocked. I don’t think she’s ever asked me for anything, but she steps out of the car before I can respond. I’m so astonished I don’t know what to say. Once out, before she closes the door, she bends down and flashes me a sassy grin. “A white one, I think.”

I laugh. White. Apt choice. She is the light to my darkness. “Anastasia Grey, you never cease to amaze me.”

She shuts the door and I get out after her. She’s waiting by the trunk, looking every bit the just-fucked goddess who wants a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.

She’s never asked me for anything.

Why is that so hot?

Leaning down, I whisper, “You like the car. I like the car. I’ve fucked you in it. Perhaps I should fuck you on it.”

She gasps and her cheeks pink in that delightful way I love. The sound of a car pulling into the garage distracts me. It’s a silver 3 Series BMW.

Cockblocker.

“But it looks like we have company. Come.” Taking her hand, I guide her to the elevator. Sadly, we have to wait and we’re joined by Mr. BMW Cockblocker. He looks my age. Maybe younger.

“Hi,” he says, with an appreciative smile aimed at my wife.

I put my arm around Ana.

Back off, bud.

“I’ve just moved in. Apartment sixteen,” he gushes at her.

“Hello,” Ana says, her tone nothing but friendly.

We’re saved by the elevator. Once inside, I keep Ana close. I glance down at her, willing her not to engage with this stranger.