Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades 3)

I hear his delighted grin. Slowly and patiently he feeds me, occasionally kissing a morsel of food from the corner of my mouth or wiping it off with his fingers. Intermittently, he offers me a sip of wine in his unique way.

"Open wide, then bite," he murmurs. I follow his command. Hmm - one of my favorites, stuffed vine leaves. Even cold they are delicious, though I prefer them heated up, but I don't want to risk Christian burning himself again. He feeds it to me slowly, and when I've finished I lick his fingers clean.

"More?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

I shake my head. I'm full.

"Good," he whispers against my ear," because it's time for my favorite course. You."

What? He scoops me up in his arms, surprising me so much I squeal.

"Can I take the blindfold off?"

"No."

I almost pout, then remember his threat and think better of it.

"Playroom," he murmurs.

Oh - I don't know if that's a good idea.

"You up for the challenge?" he asks. And because he's used the word challenge, I can't say no.

"Bring it on," I murmur, desire and something that I don't want to name thrumming through my body. He carries me through the door, then up the stairs to the second floor.

"I think you've lost weight," he mutters disapprovingly. I have?

Good. I remember his comment when we arrived back from our honeymoon, and how much it smarted. Jeez - was that just a week ago?

Outside the playroom, he slides me down his body and sets me on my feet, but keeps his arm wrapped around my waist. Briskly he unlocks the door.

It always smells the same: polished wood and citrus. It's actually become a comforting smell. Releasing me, Christian turns me around until I'm facing away from him. He undoes the scarf, and I blink in the soft light. Gently, he pulls the hairpins from my updo, and my braid falls free. He grasps it and tugs gently so I have to step back against him.

"I have a plan," he whispers in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

"I thought you might," I answer. He kisses me beneath my ear.

"Oh, Mrs. Grey, I do." His tone is soft, mesmerizing. He tugs my braid to the side and plants a trail of soft kisses down my throat.

"First we have to get you naked." His voice hums low in his throat and resonates through my body. I want this - whatever he has planned. I want to connect the way we know how. He turns me around to face him. I glance down at his jeans, the top button still undone, and I can't help myself. Reaching out, I brush my index finger around the waistband, feeling the hairs of his happy trail tickle my knuckle. He inhales sharply, and I look up to meet his eyes. I stop at the unfastened button. His eyes darken to a deeper gray . . . oh my.

"You should keep these on," I whisper.

"I fully intend to, Anastasia."

And he moves, grabbing me with one hand to the back of my neck and the other around my backside. He pulls me against him, then his mouth is on mine and he's kissing me like his life depends on it. Whoa!

He walks me backward, our tongues entwined, until I feel the wooden cross behind me. He leans into me, the contours of his body pressing into mine.

"Let's get rid of this dress," he says, peeling my dress up my thighs, my hips, my belly . . . deliciously slowly, the material skimming over my skin, skimming over my br**sts.

"Lean forward," he says.

I comply, and he pulls my dress over my head and discards it on the floor, leaving me in my sandals, panties, and bra. His eyes blaze as he grasps both my hands and raises them over my head. He blinks once and tilts his head to one side, and I know he's asking for my permission. What is he going to do to me? I swallow, then nod, and a trace of an admiring - almost proud - smile touches his lips. He clips my wrists into the leather cuffs on the bar above and produces the scarf once more.

"Think you've seen enough," he murmurs. He wraps it around my head, blindfolding me again, and I feel a frisson run through me as all my other senses heighten; the sound of his soft breathing, my own excited response, the blood pulsing in my ears, Christian's scent mixed with the citrus and polish in the room - all are bought into sharper focus because I can't see. His nose touches mine.

"I'm going to drive you wild," he whispers. His hands grasp my hips, and he moves down, removing my panties as his hands glide down my legs. Drive me wild . . . wow.

"Lift your feet, one at a time." I oblige and he removes first my panties, then each sandal in turn. Gently grasping my ankle, he tugs my leg gently to the right.

"Step," he says. He cuffs my right ankle to the cross then proceeds to do the same with my left. I am helpless, spread-eagled on the cross. Standing, Christian steps toward me, and my body is bathed in his warmth once more though he doesn't touch me. After a moment he grasps my chin, tilts my head up, and kisses me chastely.

"Some music and toys, I think. You look beautiful like this, Mrs. Grey. I may take a moment to admire the view." His voice is soft. Everything clenches, deep inside.

After a moment, maybe two, I hear him pad quietly to the museum chest and open one of the drawers. The butt drawer? I have no idea. He takes something out and places it on the top, followed by something else. What? The speakers spring to life, and after a moment the strains of a single piano playing a soft, lilting melody fill the room. It's familiar - Bach, I think - but I don't know what piece it is. Something about the music makes me apprehensive. Perhaps because the music is too cool, too detached. I frown, trying to grasp why it unsettles me, but Christian grasps my chin, startling me, and tugs gently so that I release my bottom lip. I smile, trying to reassure myself. Why do feel uneasy?