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

by E. L. James

  I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more about all of this than I do. I’ll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things … except cooking.

  “Clear?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my mouth dry. “Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?”

  “No. I’m making this up as I go along. This isn’t a scene, Ana.”

  “How should I behave?”

  His brow creases. “However you want to.”

  Oh!

  “Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?” he asks, his tone vaguely mocking and bemused at once. I blink at him.

  “Well, yes. I like him,” I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his thumb down my cheek.

  “Do you now,” he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I’m your lover, Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you relaxed and happy, like you are in José’s photos. That’s the girl that fell into my office. That’s the girl I fell in love with.”

  My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It’s joy—pure joy.

  “But having said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele, and my alter ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you’re told and turn around.” His eyes glint wickedly, and the joy moves sharply south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my waist. I do as I’m told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he’s in front of me again.

  “Come,” he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes have vanished. It distracts me. Were they there yesterday when I came in? I don’t remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought.

  “I want you to kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table.

  Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out—she’s already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.

  He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded … lustful.

  “Arms behind your back. I’m going to cuff you.”

  He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. This is it. Where’s he going to take me this time?

  His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one’s husband like this? I don’t remember reading about that anywhere. I can’t resist him, and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls back.

  “Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants,” he warns. For a moment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with amusement.

  “You’re irresistible.” I pout.

  “Am I now?” he says dryly.

  I nod.

  “Well—don’t distract me, or I’ll gag you.”

  “I like distracting you,” I whisper, looking mulishly at him, and he cocks his eyebrow at me.

  “Or spank you.”

  Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have been subdued by this threat. I would never have had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while he was in this room. I realize now, I’m no longer intimidated by him. It’s a revelation. I grin mischievously, and he smirks at me.

  “Behave,” he growls and stands back, gazing at me and slaps the leather cuffs across his palm. And the warning is there, implicit in his actions. I try for contrite, and I think I succeed. He approaches me again.

  “That’s better,” he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night’s shower. Hmm … I should bottle this.

  I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together. When he’s finished, he stands back to admire me.

  “Feel okay?” he asks. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but I’m so wired with anticipation to see where he’s going with this that I nod, weak with wanting.

  “Good.” He pulls the mask from his back pocket.

  “I think you’ve seen enough now,” he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head, covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow. Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting—sweet anticipation hot and heavy deep in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It resonates through my body. I hadn’t noticed before. He must have it on repeat.

  Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a drawer, then closes it again. A moment later he’s back, and I sense him in front of me. There’s a pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It’s delicious, almost mouthwatering.

  “I don’t want to ruin my favorite tie,” he murmurs. It slowly unravels as he undoes it.

  I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie travels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he’s going to do. He’s rubbing his hands together. His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline.

  My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand flexes over my neck, and it’s slick with sweet-smelling oil so his hand glides smoothly down my throat, across my clavicle, and up to my shoulder, his fingers kneading gently as they go. Oh, I’m getting a massage. Not what I expected.

  He places his other hand on my other shoulder and begins another slow teasing journey across my clavicle. I groan softly as he works his way down toward my increasingly aching breasts, aching for his touch. It’s tantalizing. I arch my body farther into his deft touch, but his hands glide to my sides, slow, measured, in time to the beat of the music, and studiously avoid my breasts. I groan, but I don’t know if it’s from pleasure or frustration.

  “You are so beautiful, Ana,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his mouth next to my ear. His nose follows along my jaw as he continues to massage me—beneath my breasts, across my belly, down … He kisses me fleetingly on my lips, then he runs his nose down my neck, my throat. Holy cow, I’m on fire … his nearness, his hands, his words.

  “And soon you’ll be my wife to have and to hold,” he whispers.

  Oh my.

  “To love and to cherish.” Jeez.

  “With my body, I will worship you.”

  I tip my head back and moan. His fingers run through my pubic hair, over my sex, and he rubs the palm of his hand against my clitoris.

  “Mrs. Grey,” he whispers as his palm works against me.

  I groan.

  “Yes,” he breathes as his palm continues to tease me. “Open your mouth.”

  My mouth is already open from panting. I open wider, and he slips a large cool metal object between my lips. Shaped like an oversized baby’s pacifier, it has small grooves or carvings, and what feels like a chain at the end. It’s big.

  “Suck,” he commands softly. “I’m going to put this inside you.”

  Inside me? Inside me where? My heart lurches into my mouth.

  “Suck,” he repeats and he stops palming me.

  No, don’t stop! I want to shout, but my mouth is full. His oiled hands glide back up my body and finally cup my neglected breasts.

  “Don’t stop sucking.”

  Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and they harden and lengthen under his expert touch, sending synaptic waves of pleasure all the way to my groin.

  “You have such beautiful breasts
, Ana,” he murmurs, and my nipples harden further in response. He murmurs his approval and I moan. His lips move down from my neck toward one breast, trailing soft bites and sucks over and over, down toward my nipple, and suddenly I feel the pinch of the clamp.

  “Ah!” I garble my groan through the device in my mouth. Holy cow, the feeling is exquisite, raw, painful, pleasurable … oh—the pinch. Gently, he laves the restrained nipple with his tongue, and as he does so, he applies the other. The bite of the second clamp is equally harsh … but just as good. I groan loudly.

  “Feel it,” he whispers.

  Oh, I do. I do. I do.

  “Give me this.” He tugs gently on the ornate metal pacifier in my mouth, and I release it. His hands once more trail down my body toward my sex. He’s reoiled his hands. They glide around to my backside.

  I gasp. What’s he going to do? I tense up on my knees as he runs his fingers between my buttocks.

  “Hush, easy,” he breathes close to my ear and kisses my neck as his fingers stroke and tease me.

  What’s he going to do? His other hand glides down my belly to my sex, palming me once more. He eases his fingers inside me, and I moan loudly, appreciatively.

  “I’m going to put this inside you,” he murmurs. “Not here.” His fingers trail between my buttocks, spreading oil. “But here.” He moves his fingers around and around, in and out, hitting the front wall of my vagina. I moan and my restrained nipples swell.

  “Ah.”

  “Hush now.” Christian removes his fingers and slides the object into me. He cups my face and kisses me, his mouth invading mine, and I hear a very faint click. Instantly the plug inside me starts to vibrate—down there! I gasp. The feeling is extraordinary—beyond anything I’ve felt before.

  “Ah!”

  “Easy,” Christian calms me, stifling my gasps with his mouth. His hands move down and tug very gently on the clamps. I cry out loudly.

  “Christian, please!”

  “Hush, baby. Hang in there.”

  This is too much—all this overstimulation, everywhere. My body starts to climb, and on my knees, I’m unable to control the buildup. Oh my … Will I be able to handle this?

  “Good girl,” he soothes.

  “Christian,” I pant, sounding desperate even to my own ears.

  “Hush, feel it, Ana. Don’t be afraid.” His hands are now on my waist, holding me, but I can’t concentrate on his hands, what’s inside me, and the clamps, too. My body is building, building to an explosion—with the relentless vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. Holy hell. It will be too intense. His hands move from my hips, down and around, slick and oiled, touching, feeling, kneading my skin—kneading my behind.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs and suddenly he gently pushes an anointed finger inside me … there! Into my backside. Fuck. It feels alien, full, forbidden … but oh … so … good. And he moves slowly, easing in and out, while his teeth graze my upturned chin.

  “So beautiful, Ana.”

  I’m suspended high—high above a wide, wide ravine, and I’m soaring then falling giddily at the same time, plunging to the Earth. I can hold on no more, and I scream as my body convulses and climaxes at the overwhelming fullness. As my body explodes, I’m nothing but sensation—everywhere. Christian releases first one and then the other clamp, causing my nipples to sing with a surge of sweet, sweet painful feeling, but it’s oh-so-good and causing my orgasm, this orgasm, to go on and on. His finger stays where it is, gently easing in and out.

  “Argh!” I cry out, and Christian wraps himself around me, holding me, as my body continues to pulse mercilessly inside.

  “No!” I shout again, pleading, and this time he tugs the vibrator out of me, and his finger, too, as my body continues to convulse.

  He unstraps one of the cuffs so that my arms fall forward. My head lolls on his shoulder, and I am lost, lost to all this overwhelming sensation. I’m all shattered breath, exhausted desire, and sweet, welcome oblivion.

  Vaguely, I’m aware that Christian lifts me, carries me over to the bed, and lays me down on the cool satin sheets. After a moment, his hands, still oiled, gently rub the backs of my thighs, my knees, my calves, and my shoulders. I feel the bed dip as he stretches out beside me.

  He pulls the mask off, but I don’t have the energy to open my eyes. Finding my braid, he undoes the hair tie and leans forward, kissing me softly on my lips. Only my erratic breathing disturbs the silence in the room and steadies as I float gently back to Earth. The music has stopped.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs.

  When I persuade one eye to open, he’s gazing down at me, smiling softly.

  “Hi,” he says. I manage a grunt in response, and his smile broadens. “Rude enough for you?”

  I nod and give him a reluctant grin. Jeez, any ruder and I’d have to spank the pair of us.

  “I think you’re trying to kill me,” I mutter.

  “Death by orgasm.” He smirks. “There are worse ways to go,” he says but then frowns ever so slightly as an unpleasant thought crosses his mind. It distresses me. I reach up and caress his face.

  “You can kill me like this anytime,” I whisper. I notice that he’s gloriously naked and ready for action. When he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, I lean up and capture his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me briefly, then stops.

  “This is what I want to do,” he murmurs and reaches beneath his pillow for the music center remote. He presses a button and the soft strains of a guitar echo around the walls.

  “I want to make love to you,” he says, gazing down at me, his gray eyes burning with bright, loving sincerity. Softly in the background, a familiar voice starts to sing “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” And his lips find mine.

  AS I TIGHTEN AROUND him, finding my release once more, Christian unravels in my arms, his head thrown back as he calls out my name. He clasps me tightly to his chest as we sit nose to nose in the middle of his vast bed, me astride him. And in this moment—this moment of joy with this man to this music—the intensity of my experience this morning in here with him and all that has occurred during the past week overwhelms me anew, not just physically but emotionally. I am completely overcome with all these feelings. I am so deeply in love with him. For the first time I’m offered a glimmer of understanding as to how he feels about my safety.

  Recalling his close call with Charlie Tango yesterday, I shudder at the thought and tears pool in my eyes. If anything ever happened to him—I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian—his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, I-can-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you’ll-come-like-a-train Dominant side—his fifty shades—all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I’m aware we don’t know each other well, and we have a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will—and we’ll have a lifetime to do it.

  “Hey,” he breathes, clasping my head in his hands, gazing down at me. He’s still inside me. “Why are you crying?” His voice is filled with concern.

  “Because I love you so much,” I whisper. He half closes his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When he opens them again, they blaze with his love.

  “And I you, Ana. You make me … whole.” He kisses me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song.

  WE HAVE TALKED AND talked and talked, sitting upright together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped around us like a royal cocoon, and I have no idea how much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my impersonation of Kate during the photo shoot at the Heathman.

  “To think it could have been her who came to interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold,” he murmurs and kisses my nose.

  “I believe she had the flu, Christian,” I scold him, trailing my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that he’s tolerating it so well. “All the canes have gone,” I murmur, recalling my distrac
tion from earlier. He tucks my hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever get past that hard limit.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” I whisper wide-eyed, then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles, and floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze.

  “You want me to get rid of them, too?” He’s amused but sincere.

  “Not the crop … the brown one. Or that suede flogger.” I flush.

  He smiles down at me.

  “Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele, you’re full of surprises.”

  “As are you, Mr. Grey. It’s one of the things I love about you.” I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth.

  “What else do you love about me?” he asks and his eyes widen.

  I know it’s a huge deal for him to ask this question. It humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him—even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will never be boring.

  “This.” I stroke my index finger across his lips. “I love this, and what comes out of it, and what you do to me with it. And what’s in here.” I caress his temple. “You’re so smart and witty and knowledgeable, competent in so many things. But most of all, I love what’s in here.” I press my palm gently against his chest, feeling his steady beating heart. “You are the most compassionate man I’ve met. What you do. How you work. It’s awe-inspiring,” I whisper.

  “Awe-inspiring?” He’s puzzled, but there’s a trace of humor on his face. Then his face transforms, and his shy smile appears as if he’s embarrassed, and I want to launch myself at him. So I do.

  I AM DOZING, WRAPPED in satin and Grey. Christian nuzzles me awake.

  “Hungry?” he whispers.

  “Hmm, famished.”

  “Me, too.”

  I lean up to gaze down at him sprawled on the bed.

  “It’s your birthday, Mr. Grey. I’ll cook you something. What would you like?”

  “Surprise me.” He runs his hand down my back, stroking me gently. “I should check my BlackBerry for all the messages I missed yesterday.” He sighs and starts to sit up, and I know this special time is over … for now.