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

“Lean back.”

She’s bossy.

I like it.

I try to lean back, but it doesn’t work because I’m too tall. I shuffle the chair forward and then tip it so it rests against the sink.

Success. I tilt my head backward over the sink and watch Ana.

Slowly, using a glass to scoop up the warm water, she anoints my head, leaning over me. “You smell so good, Mrs. Grey.” I close my eyes, enjoying her hands on me as she continues to wet my hair.

Abruptly, she pours water over my forehead and it flows into my eyes.

“Sorry!” she squeals.

I laugh and wipe the excess off with the corner of my towel. “Hey, I know I’m an arse, but don’t drown me.”

She giggles and plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “Don’t tempt me,” she whispers. Reaching up, I place my hand on her neck and guide her lips to mine. Her breath is sweet; she tastes of Ana, and sauvignon blanc. An enticing combination.

“Mm,” I murmur, savoring the taste. Releasing her, I lean back, ready for her to continue. She smiles down at me, and I hear the sound of liquid squirting from the tube as she squeezes it into her hand. Gently, she starts to massage the shampoo into my scalp—from my temples, she works her way over my head—and I close my eyes, relishing her touch.

Sweet Jesus.

Who knew heaven resided in my wife’s fingertips?

When Franco’s cut my hair, he’s always used a spray. I’ve never had my hair washed.

Why not, Grey? This is so relaxing.

Or perhaps it’s just Ana—I’m so acutely aware of her. Her leg grazing mine, her arm skimming my cheek, her touch, her scent…“That feels good,” I murmur.

“Yes, it does.” Her lips graze my forehead.

“I like it when you scratch my scalp with your fingernails.”

“Head up,” she says, and I lift my head so she soaps the back using her fingernails on my scalp.

Bliss.

“Back.”

I do as I’m told, and she pours water over my head again, rinsing out the suds.

“Once more?” she asks.

“Please.” When I open my eyes, she’s smiling down at me.

“Coming right up, Mr. Grey.” She releases me and fills my sink. “For rinsing,” she explains.

Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to her ministrations. She washes my hair again, anointing me with more water, massaging more shampoo into my scalp, and using her fingernails.

I have found nirvana.

This is pure paradise.

Her fingers caress my cheek and I open heavy eyelids to watch her. She kisses me, and her kiss is soft, sweet, chaste.

I sigh, my contentment complete.

She moves over me and her breasts brush my face.

Fuck.

Hello!

Behind me, the water gurgles down the drain, but with my eyes closed, I reach up and grab her hips, then slide my fingers over her magnificent behind.

“No fondling the help,” she warns.

“Don’t forget I’m deaf.” Slowly I start to hitch up her skirt, but she swats my arm. I grin, feeling like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I stop misbehaving, but I keep my hands on her fine backside while she rinses my hair. I imagine I’m playing the Moonlight Sonata on her ass, my fingers flexing through the notes. She wiggles deliciously against my fingers and I growl in appreciation.

“There, all rinsed,” she announces.

“Good.” My fingers tighten around her hips and I sit up, dripping water everywhere and pulling Ana sidesaddle onto my lap. I curl my fingers around her nape, and with my other hand I hold her jaw. She gasps and I take full advantage, pressing my lips to hers and kissing her. My tongue seeking more.

Hot. Hungry. Ready.

I don’t care that I’m spraying water all over the bathroom and soaking my wife. Ana’s fingers tighten in my wet hair as she returns my kiss with a ferocity of her own.

Desire courses through my veins.

Demanding release.

I’m tempted to rip off her blouse, but I tug the top button. “Enough of this primping. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and we can do it in here or in the bedroom. You decide.”

Ana’s expression is dazed.

“What’s it to be, Anastasia?”

“You’re wet,” she whispers.

Holding her hips, I tip my head forward and rub my wet hair all over the front of her blouse. She squeals once more and squirms, but I tighten my hold. “Oh, no you don’t, baby.”

When I look up, her blouse is sticking to her like a second skin, her lacy bra obvious, her nipples pert beneath the lace. She’s gorgeous, but she’s also outraged, amused, and aroused at once. “Love the view,” I whisper, and lean down to run my nose around her wet, waiting nipple. She groans and wriggles on me. “Answer me, Ana. Here or the bedroom?”

“Here,” she whispers.

“Good choice, Mrs. Grey,” I murmur against the corner of her mouth, and move my hand from her jaw to her leg. Skimming my fingers over her pantyhose toward her thigh, I raise her skirt higher and higher while placing tender kisses along her jaw. “Oh, what shall I do to you?” I murmur.