Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 81

“In spite of my disobedience?” She smirks, immediately lightening the mood.

I chuckle, feeling better. “Because of your disobedience, Anastasia.”

She bashes the caramelized sugar of her dessert with her spoon and scoops up a mouthful, and all

thoughts of the crack whore fade.

Once Rebecca has cleared our plates, I offer Ana more rosé. She looks past me to check we’re alone,

then leans toward me with a conspiratorial air. “What’s with the no-going-to-the-bathroom thing?” she

asks.

Always curious. “You really want to know?”

“Do I?”

I smile. “The fuller your bladder, the more intense your orgasm, Ana.”

“Oh. I see.” A sweet blush colors her cheeks, and I know she’s embarrassed.

Don’t be, baby.

“Yes. Well…” She takes a swift gulp of wine.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” I ask, to move us on to a more comfortable topic.

She raises her right shoulder in a shrug, a suggestive shrug, I think.

Again, Ana?

And I know I could make up for my transgression in bed. But I want more. “I know what I want to do.” I

pick up my glass of wine and stand, holding out my hand to her. “Come.”

We move to the main salon and I guide her to the dresser, where my iPod is plugged into an

impressive speaker. I select a song, something sweet and romantic for my girl. “Dance with me,” I ask,

and sweep her into my arms.

“If you insist.”

“I insist, Mrs. Grey.”

Michael Bublé is singing the Lou Rawls classic “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine.”

We start to move, Ana following my lead. I dip her low and she giggles. I right her, then spin her around

beneath my arm. She laughs. “You dance so well.” Her voice is a little husky. “It’s like I can dance.”

I love dancing with you, baby.

Elena flits, unwelcome, into my mind, and while I’m grateful to her for teaching me to dance, I’m not

happy that she’s in my head.

Don’t go there, Grey.

She’s history.

Let’s just enjoy this.

I dip Ana again, then kiss her when she’s upright once more.

“I’d miss your love,” she whispers, echoing the lyrics.

“I’d more than miss your love,” I respond, and sing the next few lines softly in her ear. The song fades

and we stop moving, and just gaze at each other.

I watch as her pupils grow larger and darker.

It’s magic. Our special alchemy bubbling between us.

“Come to bed with me,” I beg her.

Her coy smile brightens her face, and she places her hand on my heart. Beneath my chest, it starts

hammering with my love for her—my wife—a beautiful woman who knows how to forgive me.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Mommy is pretty today. She laughs as she sits on her bed. It is sunny and lots of little dots float in the

air around her like she’s a princess. Hey, Maggot, brush my hair. I pull the brush through her long hair.

It is hard for me because of tangles. But Mommy likes it. She sings. What’s love got to do, got to do

with it. She smiles her special smile. It is her smile for me. Only me. She shakes her hair so it is silky

down her back. I stroke it. It smells of clean. She splits it into three snakes. And then she ties them

together to make one bumpy snake. There, it’s out of the way, Maggot. She picks up her hairbrush.

And she brushes my hair. No! Mommy. It hurts. Too many tangles. Don’t fight, Maggot. No! Mommy. I

try to make her stop. There is a loud noise. A crash. He’s back. No! Where the fuck are you, bitch? Got

a friend here. A friend with dough. Mommy stands and takes my hand and pushes me into her closet. I

sit on her shoes. I am quiet. Like a mouse. I cover my ears and close my eyes. If I am small he won’t

see me. The clothes smell of Mommy. I like the smell. I like being here. Away from him. He is shouting.

Where is the little fucking runt? He has my hair and he pulls me out of the closet. He waves the

hairbrush at Mommy. Don’t want this little prick spoiling the party. He slaps Mommy hard on her face

with her hairbrush. Put your fucking hooker heels on and make it good for my friend, then you get your

fix, bitch. Mommy looks at me and she has tears. Don’t cry, Mommy. Another man comes into the

room. A big man with dirty coveralls. Blue coveralls. The big man smiles at Mommy. I am pulled into the

other room. He pushes me onto the floor and I hurt my knees. He waves the hairbrush at me. Now,

what am I going to do with you, you piece of shit? He smells bad. He smells of beer and he is smoking

a cigarette.

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