Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed

by E. L. James

  Of course. Only Christian would send chilled champagne, or get his secretary to do it … or maybe Taylor. We open it there and then and find our teacups—they were the last items to be packed.

  “Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage.” I grin at Kate, and we clink teacups.

  I WAKE EARLY TO a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night’s sleep and lie awake staring at my crates. You should really be unpacking these, my subconscious nags, pursing her harpy lips together. No … today’s the day. My inner goddess is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly—as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me … and of course, I have to sign that damned contract, or do I? I hear the ping of incoming mail from the mean machine on the floor beside my bed.

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: My Life in Numbers

  Date: May 29 2011 08:04

  To: Anastasia Steele

  If you drive you’ll need this access code for the underground garage at Escala: 146963.

  Park in bay five—it’s one of mine.

  Code for the elevator: 1880.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  * * *

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: An Excellent Vintage

  Date: May 29 2011 08:08

  To: Christian Grey

  Yes, Sir. Understood.

  Thank you for the champagne and the blow-up Charlie Tango, which is now tied to my bed.

  Ana

  * * *

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Envy

  Date: May 29 2011 08:11

  To: Anastasia Steele

  You’re welcome.

  Don’t be late.

  Lucky Charlie Tango.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  I roll my eyes at his bossiness, but his last line makes me smile. I head for the bathroom, wondering if Elliot made it back last night and trying hard to rein in my nerves.

  I CAN DRIVE THE Audi in high heels! At 12:55 p.m. precisely, I pull into the garage at Escala and park in bay five. How many bays does he own? The Audi SUV and R8 are there, along with two smaller Audi SUVs … hmm. I check my seldom-worn mascara in the light-up vanity mirror on my visor. Didn’t have one of these in the Beetle.

  Go girl! My inner goddess has her pom-poms in hand—she’s in cheerleading mode. In the infinity mirrors of the elevator, I check out my plum dress—well, Kate’s plum dress. The last time I wore this, he wanted to peel it off me. My body clenches at the thought. The feeling is just exquisite, and I catch my breath. I’m wearing the underwear that Taylor bought for me. I flush at the thought of his buzz cut roaming the aisles of Agent Provocateur or wherever he bought it. The doors open, and I’m facing the foyer of apartment number one.

  Taylor stands at the double doors as I step out of the elevator.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Steele,” he says.

  “Oh, please, call me Ana.”

  “Ana.” He smiles. “Mr. Grey is expecting you.”

  I bet he is.

  Christian is seated on his living room couch reading the Sunday papers. He glances up as Taylor directs me into the living area. The room is exactly as I remember it—it’s been a whole week since I’ve been here, but it feels so much longer. Christian looks cool and calm—actually, he looks heavenly. He’s in a loose white linen shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. His hair is tousled and unkempt, and his eyes twinkle wickedly. He rises and strolls toward me, an amused appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips.

  I stand immobilized at the entrance of the room, paralyzed by his beauty and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come. The familiar charge between us is there, sparking slowly in my belly, drawing me to him.

  “Hmm … that dress,” he murmurs approvingly as he gazes down at me. “Welcome back, Miss Steele,” he whispers and, clasping my chin, he leans down and proffers a gentle, light kiss on my lips. The touch of his lips to mine reverberates throughout my body. My breath hitches.

  “Hi,” I whisper as I flush.

  “You’re on time. I like punctual. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “I wanted to show you something,” he says as we sit. He hands me the Seattle Times. On page eight, there’s a photograph of the two of us together at the graduation ceremony. Holy crap. I’m in the paper. I check the caption.

  Christian Grey and friend at the graduation ceremony at WSU Vancouver.

  I laugh. “So I’m your ‘friend’ now.”

  “So it would appear. And it’s in the newspaper, so it must be true.” He smirks.

  Sitting beside me, his whole body is turned toward me, one of his legs tucked under the other. Reaching over, he tucks my hair behind my ear with his long index finger. My body comes alive at his touch, waiting and needful.

  “So, Anastasia, you have a much better idea of what I’m about since you were last here.”

  “Yes.” Where’s he going with this?

  “And yet you’ve returned.”

  I nod shyly, and his eyes blaze. He shakes his head as if he’s struggling with the idea.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks out of the blue.

  Shit.

  “No.”

  “Are you hungry?” He’s really trying not to look annoyed.

  “Not for food,” I whisper, and his nostrils flare in reaction.

  He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You are as eager as ever, Miss Steele, and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But Dr. Greene is due here shortly.” He sits up. “I wish you’d eat,” he scolds me mildly. My heated blood cools. Holy cow—the doctor. I’d forgotten.

  “What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” I ask to distract us both.

  “She’s the best ob-gyn in Seattle. What more can I say?” He shrugs.

  “I thought I was seeing your doctor, and don’t tell me you’re really a woman, because I won’t believe you.”

  He gives me a don’t-be-ridiculous look.

  “I think it’s more appropriate that you see a specialist. Don’t you?” he says mildly.

  I nod. Holy Moses, if she’s the best ob-gyn, he’s scheduled her to see me on a Sunday—at lunchtime! I cannot begin to imagine how much that costs. Christian frowns suddenly as if recalling something unpleasant.

  “Anastasia, my mother would like you to come to dinner this evening. I believe Elliot is asking Kate, too. I don’t know how you feel about that. It will be odd for me to introduce you to my family.”

  Odd? Why?

  “Are you ashamed of me?” I can’t keep the wounded hurt out of my voice.

  “Of course not.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Why is it odd?”

  “Because I’ve never done it before.”

  “Why are you allowed to roll your eyes, and I’m not?”

  He blinks at me. “I wasn’t aware that I was.”

  “Neither am I, usually,” I snap.

  Christian glares at me, speechless. Taylor appears at the doorway.

  “Dr. Greene is here, sir.”

  “Show her up to Miss Steele’s room.”

  Miss Steele’s room!

  “Ready for some contraception?” he asks as he stands and holds out his hand to me.

  “You’re not going to come as well, are you?” I gasp, shocked.

  He laughs. “I’d pay very good money to watch, believe me, Anastasia, but I don’t think the good doctor would approve.”

  I take his hand, and he pulls me up into his arms and kisses me deeply. I clutch his arms, taken by surprise. His hand is in my hair, holding my head, and he pulls me against him, his forehead against mine.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you naked.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

>   * * *

  Dr. Greene is tall, blond, and immaculate, dressed in a royal-blue suit. I’m reminded of the women who work in Christian’s office. She’s like an identikit model—another Stepford blonde. Her long hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. She must be in her early forties.

  “Mr. Grey.” She shakes Christian’s outstretched hand.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Christian says.

  “Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele.” She smiles, her eyes cool and assessing.

  We shake hands, and I know she’s one of those women who doesn’t tolerate fools gladly. Like Kate. I like her immediately. She gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.

  “I’ll be downstairs,” he mutters, and he leaves what will be my bedroom.

  “Well, Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is paying me a small fortune to attend to you. What can I do for you?”

  AFTER A THOROUGH EXAMINATION and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini pill. She writes me a prepaid prescription and instructs me to pick the pills up tomorrow. I love her no-nonsense attitude—she has lectured me until she’s as blue as her dress about taking it at the same time every day. And I can tell she’s burning with curiosity about my so-called relationship with Mr. Grey. I don’t give her any details. Somehow I don’t think she’d look so calm and collected if she’d seen his Red Room of Pain. I flush as we pass its closed door and head back downstairs to the art gallery that is Christian’s living room.

  Christian is reading, seated on his couch. A breathtaking aria is playing on the music system, swirling around him, cocooning him, filling the room with a sweet, soulful song. For a moment, he looks serene. He turns and glances at us when we enter and smiles warmly at me.

  “Are you done?” he asks as if he’s genuinely interested. He points the remote at a sleek white box beneath the fireplace that houses his iPod, and the exquisite melody fades but continues in the background. Standing, he strolls toward us.

  “Yes, Mr. Grey. Look after her; she’s a beautiful, bright young woman.”

  Christian is taken aback—as am I. What an inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Is she giving him some kind of not-so-subtle warning? Christian recovers himself.

  “I fully intend to,” he mutters, bemused.

  Gazing at him, I shrug, embarrassed.

  “I’ll send you my bill,” she says crisply as she shakes his hand.

  “Good day, and good luck to you, Ana.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling, as we shake hands.

  Taylor appears from nowhere to escort her through the double doors and out to the elevator. How does he do that? Where does he lurk?

  “How was that?” Christian asks.

  “Fine, thank you. She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.”

  Christian’s mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot.

  “Gotcha!”

  He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbidding. Oh, shit. My subconscious quails in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again.

  “Gotcha!” he says, and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him. “You are incorrigible, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, staring down into my eyes as he weaves his fingers into my hair, holding me firmly in place. He kisses me, hard, and I cling on to his muscular arms for support.

  “As much as I’d like to take you here and now, you need to eat and so do I. I don’t want you passing out on me later,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “Is that all you want me for—my body?” I whisper.

  “That and your smart mouth,” he breathes.

  He kisses me again passionately, and then abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I am reeling. One minute we’re joking and the next … I fan my heated face. He’s just sex on legs, and now I have to recover my equilibrium and eat something. The aria is still playing in the background.

  “What’s the music?”

  “ ‘Villa Lobos,’ an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I murmur in total agreement.

  The breakfast bar is laid for two. Christian takes a salad bowl from the fridge.

  “Chicken caesar salad okay with you?”

  Oh, thank heavens, nothing too heavy.

  “Yes, fine, thank you.”

  I watch as he moves gracefully through his kitchen. He’s so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn’t like to be touched … so maybe deep down he isn’t. No man is an island, I muse—except perhaps Christian Grey.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks, pulling me from my reverie. I flush.

  “I was just watching the way you move.”

  He raises an eyebrow, amused.

  “And?” he says dryly.

  I flush some more.

  “You’re very graceful.”

  “Why thank you, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. “Chablis?”

  “Please.”

  “Help yourself to salad,” he says, his voice soft. “Tell me—what method did you opt for?”

  I am momentarily thrown by his question, when I realize he’s talking about Dr. Greene’s visit.

  “Mini pill.”

  He frowns.

  “And will you remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?”

  Jeez … of course I will. How does he know? I blush at the thought—probably from one or more of the fifteen.

  “I’m sure you’ll remind me,” I murmur dryly.

  He glances at me with amused condescension.

  “I’ll put an alarm on my calendar.” He smirks. “Eat.”

  The chicken caesar is delicious. To my surprise, I’m famished, and for the first time since I’ve been with him, I finish my meal before he does. The wine is crisp, clean, and fruity.

  “Eager as ever, Miss Steele?” he smiles down at my empty plate.

  I look at him from beneath my lashes.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  His breath hitches. And as he stares down at me, the atmosphere between us slowly shifting, evolving … charging. His look goes from dark to smoldering, taking me with him. He stands, closing the distance between us, and tugs me off my barstool into his arms.

  “Do you want to do this?” he breathes, looking down at me intently.

  “I haven’t signed anything.”

  “I know—but I’m breaking all the rules these days.”

  “Are you going to hit me?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be to hurt you. I don’t want to punish you right now. If you’d caught me yesterday evening, well, that would have been a different story.”

  Holy cow. He wants to hurt me … how do I deal with this? I can’t hide the horror on my face.

  “Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise, Anastasia. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. It’s very simple. You don’t, so I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about that.”

  He pulls me against him, and his erection presses into my belly. I should run, but I can’t. I’m drawn to him on some deep, elemental level that I can’t begin to understand.

  “Did you reach any conclusions?” I whisper.

  “No, and right now, I just want to tie you up and fuck you senseless. Are you ready for that?”

  “Yes,” I breathe as everything in my body tightens at once … wow.

  “Good. Come.” He takes my hand and, leaving all the dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, we head upstairs.

  My heart starts pounding. This is it. I’m really going to do this. My inner goddess is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette. He opens the door to his playroom, standing back for me to walk through, and I am once more in the Red Room of Pain.
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  It’s the same, the smell of leather, citrus-scented polish, and dark wood, all very sensual. My blood is running heated and scared through my system—adrenaline mixed with lust and longing. It’s a heady, potent cocktail. Christian’s stance has changed completely, subtly altered, harder and meaner. He gazes down at me and his eyes are heated, lustful … hypnotic.

  “When you’re in here, you are completely mine,” he breathes, each word slow and measured. “To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?”

  His gaze is so intense. I nod, my mouth dry, my heart feeling as if it will jump out of my chest.

  “Take your shoes off,” he orders softly.

  I swallow, and rather clumsily, I take them off. He bends and picks them up and deposits them beside the door.

  “Good. Don’t hesitate when I ask you to do something. Now I’m going to peel you out of this dress. Something I’ve wanted to do for a few days, if I recall. I want you to be comfortable with your body, Anastasia. You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it. It is a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day, and I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nakedness. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” He leans over me, glaring.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you mean that?” he snaps.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Lift your arms up over your head.”

  I do as instructed, and he reaches down and grabs the hem. Slowly, he pulls my dress up over my thighs, my hips, my belly, my breasts, my shoulders, and up over my head. He stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off me. He places it on the large chest beside the door. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me.

  “You’re biting your lip,” he breathes. “You know what that does to me,” he adds darkly. “Turn around.”