Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades 3) - Chapter 119

I bat my lashes at him.

“You’re after something less gentle?”

“Something life-affirming.”

He raises his brows in surprise. “Life-affirming,” he repeats, astonished humor in his voice.

I nod. He gazes at me for a moment. “Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers then rises suddenly with me in his arms. I gasp and grab his biceps, fearful that he’ll drop me. He walks over to the smallest of the three couches and deposits me on to it.

“Wait here. Don’t move.” He gives me a brief hot, intense look and turns on his heel, stalking toward the bedroom. Oh . . . Christian barefoot. Why are his feet so hot? He’s back a few moments later, taking me by surprise as he leans over me from behind.

“I think we’ll dispense with this.” Grabbing the hem of my T-shirt, he drags it over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He pulls my ponytail back and kisses me.

“Stand up,” he orders against my lips and releases me. I comply immediately. He lays a towel out on the sofa.

Towel?

“Take your panties off.”

Oh. I swallow but do as I’m told, discarding them by the sofa.

“Sit.” He grabs my ponytail again and pulls my head back. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”

I nod.

“Say it.” His voice is stern.

“Yes,” I squeak. He smirks.

“Good. So, Mrs. Grey . . . by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” His voice drops to a breathless whisper. Desire streaks through my body like lightning, simply at those words. Oh my sweet Fifty – on the sofa? What are you going to do?

“Bring your knees up,” he commands softly. “And sit right back.”

I rest my feet on the edge of the sofa, my knees up in front of me. He reaches for my left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathroom robes, he ties one end above my knee.

“Bathrobes?”

“I’m improvising.” He smirks again and fastens the slipknot above my knee and ties the other end of the soft belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa, effectively parting my legs.

“Don’t move,” he warns and repeats the process with my right leg, tying the second cord to the other finial.

Oh my . . . I am sitting up, splayed out on the sofa, legs spread wide.

“Okay?” Christian asks softly, gazing down at me from behind the sofa.

I nod, expecting him to tie my hands, too. But he refrains. He bends and kisses me.

“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” he murmurs and rubs his nose against mine. “Change of music, I think.” He stands and strolls casually over to the iPod dock.

How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the muscles of his back under his T-shirt as he reaches down and changes the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing about watching me.

Oh, I like this song.

Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes locked on mine as he moves around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.

Suddenly, I feel very exposed.

“Exposed? Vulnerable?” he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod.

Why doesn’t he touch me?

“Good,” he murmurs. “Hold out your hands.” I can’t look away from his mesmerizing eyes. I do as I’m bid, and Christian pours a little oily liquid onto each palm from a small clear bottle. It’s scented – a rich, musky, sensuous scent that I can’t place.

“Rub your hands.” I squirm beneath his hot, heavy gaze. “Keep still,” he warns.

Oh my.

“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself.”

Holy cow.

“Start at your throat and work down.”

I hesitate.

“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.”

The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his desire.

The sweet voice sings that there’s nothing sweet about her. I place my hands against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my br**sts. The oil makes them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.

“Lower,” Christian murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn’t touch me.

My hands cup my br**sts.

“Tease yourself.”

Oh my. I tug gently on my ni**les.

“Harder,” Christian urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching me. “Like I would,” he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep in my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my ni**les, feeling them stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.

“Yes. Like that. Again.”

Closing my eyes I pull hard, rolling and twisting them between my fingers. I moan.

“Open your eyes.”

I blink up at him.

“Again. I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.”

Oh f**k. I repeat the process. This is so . . . erotic.

“Hands. Lower.”

I squirm.

“Keep still, Ana. Absorb the pleasure. Lower.” His voice is low and husky, tempting and beguiling at once.

“You do it,” I whisper.

“Oh, I will – soon. You. Lower. Now.” Christian, exuding sensuality, runs his tongue along his teeth Holy f**k . . . I writhe, pulling on the restraints.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Still.” He rests his hands on my knees, holding me in place. “Come on, Ana – lower.”

My hands glide over my stomach down over my belly.

“Lower,” he mouths, and he is carnality personified.

“Christian, please.”

His hands glide down from my knees, skimming my thighs, toward my sex.

“Come on, Ana. Touch yourself.”