Chapter One
　　I stare up through gaps in the sea grass parasol at the bluest of skies, summer blue, Mediterranean blue with a contented sigh. Christian is beside me, stretched out on a sun lounger. My husband—my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless, and in cut-off jeans—is reading a book predicting the collapse of the Western banking system. By all accounts it’s a page-turner; I haven’t seen him sit this still, ever. He looks more like a student than the hotshot CEO of one the top privately owned companies in the United States.
　　On the final leg of our honeymoon, we laze in the afternoon sun on the beach of the aptly named Beach Plaza Monte Carlo in Monaco, although we’re not actually staying in this hotel. I open my eyes and gaze out at the Fair Lady anchored in the harbor. We are staying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht. Built in 1928, she floats majestically on the water, queen of the all the yachts in the harbor. She looks like a child’s wind-up toy. Christian loves her —I suspect he’s tempted to buy her. Honestly, boys and their toys.
　　Sitting back, I listen to the Christian Grey mix on my new iPod and doze in the late afternoon sun, idly remembering his proposal; oh his dreamy proposal in the boathouse . . . I can almost smell the scent of the meadow flowers . . .
　　~o0o~
　　“Can we marry tomorrow?” Christian murmurs softly in my ear. I am sprawled on his chest in the flowery bower in the boathouse, sated from our passionate lovemaking.
　　“Hmm.”
　　“Is that a yes?” I hear his hopeful surprise.
　　“Hmm.”
　　“Hmm.”
　　“A no?”
　　“Hmm.”
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　I sense his grin. “Miss Steele, are you incoherent?”
　　I grin. “Hmm.”
　　He laughs and hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head. “Vegas,
　　tomorrow, it is then.”
　　Sleepily I raise my head. “I don’t think my parents would be very happy with that.”
　　He thrums his fingertips up and down my naked back, caressing me gently.
　　“What do you want, Anastasia? Vegas? A big wedding with all the trimmings? Tell me.”
　　“Not big . . . Just friends and family.” I gaze up at him moved by the quiet entreaty in his glowing gray eyes. What does he want?
　　“Okay.” He nods. “Where?”
　　I shrug.
　　“Could we do it here?” he asks tentatively.
　　“Your folks’ place? Would they mind?”
　　He snorts. “My mother would be in seventh heaven.”
　　“Okay, here. I’m sure my mom and dad would prefer that.”
　　He strokes my hair. Could I be any happier?
　　“So, we’ve established where, now the when.”
　　“Surely you should ask your mother.”
　　“Hmm.” Christian’s smile dips. “She can have a month, that’s it. I want you too much to wait any longer.”
　　“Christian, you have me. You’ve had me for a while. But okay—a month it is.”
　　I kiss his chest, a soft chaste kiss, and smile up at him.
　　~o0o~
　　“You’ll burn.” Christian whispers in my ear, startling me from my doze.
　　“Only for you.” I give him my sweetest smile. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in one swift move pulls my sun lounger into the shade of the parasol.
　　“Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey.”
　　“My pleasure, Mrs. Grey, and I’m not being altruistic at all. If you burn, I won’t be able to touch you.” He raises an eyebrow, his eyes
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　　E L JAMES
　　shining with mirth, and my heart expands. “But I suspect you know that and you’re laughing at me.”
　　“Would I?” I gasp, feigning innocence.
　　“Yes you would and you do. Often. It’s one of the many things I love about you.” He leans down and kisses me, playfully biting my lower lip.
　　“I was hoping you’d rub me down with more suntan lotion.” I pout against his lips.
　　“Mrs. Grey, it’s a dirty job . . . but that’s an offer I can’t refuse. Sit up,” he orders, his voice husky. I do as I’m told, and with slow meticulous strokes
　　from strong and supple fingers, he coats me in sun lotion.
　　“You really are very lovely. I’m a lucky man,” he murmurs as his fingers skim over my breasts, spreading the lotion.
　　“Yes you are, Mr. Grey.” I gaze coyly up at him through my lashes.
　　“Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your back.”
　　Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my hideously expensive bikini.
　　“How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on the beach?” I ask.
　　“Displeased,” he says without hesitation. “I’m not very happy about you wearing so little right now.” He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Don’t
　　push your luck.”
　　“Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?”
　　“No. It’s a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey.”
　　I sigh and shake my head. Oh Christian . . . my possessive, jealous, control freak Christian.
　　When he’s finished, he slaps my behind.
　　“You’ll do, wench.”
　　His ever-present, ever-active BlackBerry buzzes. I frown and he smirks.
　　“My eyes only, Mrs. Grey.” He raises his eyebrow in playful warning, slaps my backside once more, and sits back down on his lounger to take the call.
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow. I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta.
　　“Mam’selle? Un Perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light p our ma femme, s’il vous plait. Et quelque chose a manger. . . laissez-moi voir la carte.”
　　Hmm . . . Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held aloft, her high blond ponytail swinging provocatively.
　　“Thirsty?” he asks.
　　“Yes,” I mutter sleepily.
　　“I could watch you all day. Tired?”
　　I flush. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
　　“Me neither.” He grins, puts down his BlackBerry and stands. His shorts fall a little and hang . . . in that way so his swim trunks are visible beneath.
　　Christian takes his shorts off, stepping out of his flipflops. I lose my train of thought.
　　“Come for a swim with me.” He holds out his hand while I look up at him, dazed. “Swim?” he says again, cocking his head to one side, an amused expression on his face. When I don’t respond, he shakes his head slowly.
　　“I think you need a wake-up call.” Suddenly he pounces, reaching down and lifting me into his arms while I shriek, more from surprise than alarm.
　　“Christian! Put me down!” I squeal.
　　He chuckles. “Only in the sea, baby.”
　　Several sunbathers on the beach watch with that bemused disinterest so typical, I now realize, of the French as Christian carries me to the sea,
　　laughing, and wades in.
　　I clasp my arms around his neck. “You wouldn’t.” I say breathlessly, trying to stifle my giggling.
　　He grins down at me. “Oh Ana, baby, have you learned nothing in the short time we’ve known each other?” He leans down and kisses me, and I seize my opportunity, running my fingers through his hair,
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　　grasping two handfuls and kissing him back, invading his mouth with my tongue. He inhales sharply and leans back, eyes smoky but wary.
　　“I know your game,” he whispers and he slowly sinks into the cool, clear water, taking me with him as his lips find mine once more. The chill of the Mediterranean is soon forgotten as I wrap myself around my husband.
　　“I thought you wanted to swim,” I murmur against his mouth.
　　“You’re very distracting.” Christian grazes his teeth along my lower lip. “But I’m not sure I want the good people of Monte Carlo to see my wife in the throes of passion.”
　　I run my teeth along his jaw, his stubble tickly against my tongue, not caring a dime for the good people of Monte Carlo.
　　“Ana,” he groans. He wraps his wrist around my ponytail and tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. He trails kisses from my ear down my neck.
　　“Shall I take you in the sea?” he breathes.
　　“Yes,” I whisper.
　　Christian pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes warm, wanting and amused. “Mrs. Grey, you’re insatiable, and so brazen. What sort of monster have I created?”
　　“A monster fit for you. Would you have me any other way?”
　　“I’ll take you any way I can get you, you know that. But not right now. Not with an audience.” He jerks his head toward the shore. What?
　　Sure enough, several sunbathers on the beach have abandoned their indifference and now regard us with interest. Suddenly, Christian grabs me around my waist and launches me into the air, letting me fall into the water and sink beneath the waves to the soft sand below. I surface, coughing, spluttering and giggling.
　　“Christian!” I scold, glaring at him. I thought we were going to make love in the sea . . . and chalk up yet another first. He bites his lower lip to stifle his
　　amusement. I splash him, and he splashes me right back.
　　“We have all night,” he says, grinning like a fool. “Laters, baby.”
　　He pes beneath the sea and surfaces three feet away from me, then in a fluid, graceful crawl, swims away from the shore, away from me.
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　Gah! Playful, tantalizing Fifty! I shield my eyes from the sun as I watch him go. He’s such a tease . . . what can I do to get him back?

　　While I swim back to the shore, I contemplate my options. At the sun loungers our drinks have arrived and I take a quick sip of Coke. Christian is a faint
　　speck in the distance.
　　Hmm . . . I lie down on my front and, fumbling with the straps, take my bikini top off and toss it casually onto Christian’s sun lounger. There . . . see how brazen I can be, Mr. Grey. Put this in your pipe and smoke it. I shut my eyes and let the sun warm my skin . . . warm my bones, and I drift away under its heat, my thoughts turning to my wedding day.
　　~o0o~
　　“You may kiss the bride,” Reverend Walsh gushes.
　　I beam up at my husband.
　　“Finally, you’re mine,” he whispers, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses me chastely on the lips.
　　I am married. I am Mrs. Christian Grey. I am giddy with joy.
　　“You look beautiful, Ana,” he murmurs and smiles, his eyes glowing with love. . . and something darker, something hot. “Don’t let anyone take that dressoff but me, understand?” His smile heats a hundred degrees as his fingertips trail down my cheek, igniting my blood.
　　Holy crap . . . How does he do this, even here with all these people staring at us?
　　I nod mutely. Jeez, I hope no one can hear us. Luckily Reverend Walsh has discreetly stepped back. I glance at the throng gathered in their wedding finery . . . My mom, Ray, Bob, and the Greys are all applauding—even Kate, my maid of honor, who looks stunning in pale pink as she stands beside Christian’s best man, his brother, Elliot. Who knew that even Elliot could scrub up so well? All wear huge, beaming smiles—except Grace, who weeps graciously into a dainty white handkerchief.
　　“Ready to party, Mrs. Grey?” Christian murmurs, giving me his shy smile. I melt. He looks pine in a simple black tux with silver waistcoat and tie. He’s so . . . dashing.
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　　“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I grin, a totally goofy smile on my face. Later the wedding party is in full swing . . . Carrick and Grace have gone to town. They have the marquee set up again and beautifully decorated in pale pink, silver and ivory with its sides open, facing the bay. We have been blessed with fine weather, and the late afternoon sun shines over the water. There’s a dance
　　floor at one end of the marquee, a lavish buffet at the other.
　　Ray and my mother are dancing and laughing with each other. I feel bittersweet watching them together. I hope Christian and I last longer. I don’t know what I’d do if he left me. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. The saying haunts me.
　　Kate is beside me, looking so beautiful in her long silk gown. She glances at me and frowns. “Hey, this is supposed to be the happiest day of your life,”
　　she scolds.
　　“It is,” I whisper.
　　“Oh Ana, what’s wrong? Are you watching your mom and Ray?”
　　I nod sadly.
　　“They’re happy.”
　　“Happier apart.”
　　“You’re having doubts?” Kate asks, alarmed.
　　“No, not at all. It’s just . . . I love him so much.” I freeze, unable or unwilling to articulate my fears.
　　“Ana, it’s obvious he adores you. I know you had an unconventional start to your relationship, but I can see how happy you’ve both been over the past month.” She grasps my hands, squeezing them. “Besides, it’s too late now,”
　　she adds, grinning at me.
　　I giggle. Trust Kate to point out the obvious. She pulls me into a Katherine Kavanagh Special Hug. “Ana, you’ll be fine. And if he does hurt one hair on your head, he’ll have me to answer to.” Releasing me, she grins at whoever
　　is behind me.
　　“Hi, baby.” Christian puts his arms around me, surprising me, and kisses my temple. “Kate,” he acknowledges. He’s still cool toward her even after six weeks.
　　“Hello again, Christian. I’m off to find your best man, who happens to be my best man, too.” With a smile to us both, she heads over to Elliot, who is drinking with her brother Ethan and our friend José.
　　“Time to go,” Christian murmurs.
　　9 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed “Already? This is the first party I’ve been to where I don’t mind being the center of attention.” I turn in his arms to face him.
　　“You deserve to be. You look stunning, Anastasia.”
　　“So do you.”
　　He smiles down at me, his expression heating. “This beautiful dress becomes you.”
　　“This old thing?” I flush shyly and pull at the fine lace trim of the simple, fitted wedding dress designed for me by Kate’s mother. I love that the lace is just off the shoulder; demure, yet alluring, I hope. He bends and kisses me. “Let’s
　　go. I don’t want to share you with all these people anymore.”
　　“Can we leave our own wedding?”
　　“Baby, it’s our party, and we can do whatever we want. We’ve cut the cake.
　　And right now, I’d like to whisk you away and have you all to myself.”
　　I giggle. “You have me for a lifetime, Mr. Grey.”
　　“I’m very glad to hear that, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“Oh, there you two are! Such lovebirds.”
　　I groan inwardly . . . Grace’s mother has found us.
　　“Christian, darling—one more dance with your grandma?”
　　Christian’s lips purse slightly.
　　“Of course, Grandmother.”
　　“And you, beautiful Anastasia, go and make an old man happy— dance with Theo.”
　　“Theo?”
　　“Grandpa Trevelyan.’
　　“Oh, I think you can call me Grandma. Now, you two seriously need to get working on my great-grandkids. I won’t last too much longer.” She gives us both a simpering smile. Christian blinks at her in horror.
　　“Come, Grandmother,” he says, hurriedly taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. He glances back at me, practically pouting, and rolls his eyes. “Laters, baby.”
　　As I walk toward Grandpa Trevelyan, José accosts me.
　　“I won’t ask you for another dance. I think I monopolized too much of your time on the dance floor as it is . . . I’m happy to see you happy, but I’m
　　serious, Ana. I’ll be here . . . If you need me.”
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　　“José, thank you. You’re a good friend.”
　　“I mean it.” His dark eyes burn bright with sincerity.
　　“I know you do. Thank you, José. Now if you’ll please excuse me—I have a date with an old man.”
　　He blinks at me in incomprehension.
　　“Christian’s grandfather,” I clarify.
　　He grins. “Good luck with that, Annie. Good luck with everything.”
　　“Thanks, José.”
　　After my dance with Christian’s ever-charming grandfather, I stand by the French doors, watching the sun sink slowly over Seattle, casting bright
　　orange and aquamarine shadows across the bay.
　　“Let’s go,” Christian urges.
　　“I have to change.” I grasp his hand, meaning to pull him through the French
　　windows and upstairs with me. He frowns, not understanding, and tugs gently
　　on my hand, halting me.
　　“I thought you wanted to be the one to take this dress off,” I explain. His eyes
　　light up.
　　“Correct.” He gives me a lascivious grin. “But I’m not undressing you here.
　　We wouldn’t leave until . . . I don’t know . . .” He waves his long-fingered hand,
　　leaving his sentence unfinished but his meaning quite clear.
　　I flush and let go of his hand.
　　“And don’t take your hair down either,” he murmurs darkly.
　　“But—”
　　“No buts, Anastasia. You look beautiful. And I want to be the one to undress
　　you.”
　　Oh. I frown.
　　“Pack your going-away clothes,” he orders. “You’ll need them. Taylor has
　　your main suitcase.”
　　“Okay.” What has he got planned? He hasn’t told me where we’re going. In
　　fact, I don’t think anyone knows where we’re going. Neither Mia nor Kate has
　　managed to inveigle the information out of him. I turn to where my mother and
　　Kate are hovering nearby.
　　“I’m not changing.”
　　“What?” my mother says.
　　“Christian doesn’t want me to.” I shrug as if this should explain everything.
　　Her brow furrows briefly.
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　“You didn’t promise to obey,” she reminds me tactfully. Kate tries to disguise
　　her snort as a cough. I narrow my eyes at her. Neither she nor my mother
　　have any idea of the fight Christian and I had about that. I don’t want to
　　rehash that argument. Jeez, can my Fifty Shades sulk . . . and have
　　nightmares. The memory is sobering.
　　“I know, Mom, but he likes this dress, and I want to please him.”
　　Her expression softens. Kate rolls her eyes and tactfully moves away to leave
　　me alone with my mother.
　　“You look so lovely, darling.” Carla gently tugs at a loose tendril of my hair
　　and strokes my chin. “I am so proud of you, honey. You’re going to make
　　Christian a very happy man.” She pulls me into a hug. Oh Mom! “I can’t
　　believe how grown-up you look right now. Beginning a new life . . . Just
　　remember that men are from a different planet, and you’ll be fine.”
　　I giggle. Christian is from a different universe, if only she knew.
　　“Thanks, Mom.”
　　Ray joins us, smiling sweetly at both Mom and me.
　　“You made a beautiful baby girl, Carla,” he says, his eyes glowing with pride.
　　He looks so dapper in his black tux and pale pink waistcoat. Tears prick the

　　back of my eyes. Oh no . . . so far I have managed not to cry.
　　“And you watched her and helped her grow up, Ray,” Carla’s voice is wistful.
　　“And I loved every single minute. You make one hell of a bride, Annie,” Ray
　　tucks the same loose strand of hair behind my ear.
　　“Oh, Dad . . .” I stifle a sob, and he hugs me in his brief, awkward way.
　　“You’ll make one hell of a wife, too,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. When he
　　releases me, Christian is back at my side.
　　Ray shakes his hand warmly. “Look after my girl, Christian.”
　　“I fully intend to, Ray. Carla.” He nods at my stepdad and kisses my mom.
　　The rest of the wedding guests have formed a long human arch for us to
　　travel through, leading round to the front of the house.
　　“Ready?” Christian says.
　　“Yes.”
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　　E L JAMES
　　Taking my hand, he leads me under their outstretched arms while our guests
　　shout good luck and congratulations and shower us with rice. Waiting with
　　smiles and hugs at the end of the arch are Grace and Carrick. In turn they
　　hug and kiss us both. Grace is emotional again as we bid them hasty
　　goodbyes.
　　Taylor is waiting to whisk us away in the Audi SUV. As Christian holds the
　　car door open for me, I turn and toss my bouquet of white and pink roses into
　　the crowd of young women that has gathered. Mia triumphantly holds it aloft,
　　grinning from ear to ear. As I slide into the SUV laughing at Mia’s audacious
　　catch, Christian bends to gather the hem of my dress. Once I’m safely in, he
　　bids the waiting crowd a farewell.
　　Taylor holds the car door open for him. “Congratulations, sir.”
　　“Thank you, Taylor,” Christian replies as he seats himself beside me.
　　As Taylor pulls away, the vehicle is showered with rice by our wedding
　　guests. Christian grasps my hand and kisses my knuckles.
　　“So far so good, Mrs. Grey?”
　　“So far so wonderful, Mr. Grey. Where are we going?”
　　“Sea-Tac,” he says simply and smiles a sphinxlike smile. Hmm . . . what is
　　he planning?
　　Taylor does not head for the departure terminal as I expect but through a
　　security gate and directly on to the tarmac. What? And then I see her—
　　Christian’s jet . . . Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. in large blue lettering
　　across her fuselage.
　　“Don’t tell me you’re misusing company property again!”
　　“Oh, I hope so, Anastasia.” Christian grins.
　　Taylor halts at the foot of the steps leading up to the plane and leaps out of
　　the Audi to open Christian’s door. They have a brief discussion, then
　　Christian opens my door—and rather than stepping back to give me room to
　　climb out, he leans in and lifts me.
　　Whoa!
　　“What are you doing?” I squeak.
　　“Carrying you over the threshold,” he says.
　　“Oh.” Isn’t that supposed to be at home?
　　He carries me effortlessly up the steps, and Taylor follows with my small
　　suitcase. He leaves it on the threshold of the plane before
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　　returning to the Audi. Inside the cabin, I recognize Stephan, Christian’s pilot,
　　in his uniform.
　　“Welcome aboard, sir, Mrs. Grey.” He grins at us both. Christian puts me
　　down and shakes Stephan’s hand. Beside Stephan stands a dark-haired
　　woman in her what? Early thirties? She’s also in uniform.
　　“Congratulations to you both,” Stephan continues.
　　“Thank you, Stephan. Anastasia, you know Stephan. He’s our captain today,
　　and this is First Officer Beighley.”
　　She blushes as Christian introduces her and blinks rapidly. I want to roll my
　　eyes. Another female completely captivated by my toohandsome-for-hisown-
　　good husband.
　　“Delighted to meet you,” gushes Beighley. I smile kindly at her. After all—he
　　is mine.
　　“All preparations complete?” Christian asks them both as I glance around the
　　cabin. The interior is all pale maple wood and pale cream leather. It’s lovely.
　　Another young woman in uniform stands at the other end of the cabin—a very
　　pretty brunette. Who the hell is that?
　　“We have the all clear. Weather is good from here to Boston.”
　　Boston?
　　“Turbulence?”
　　“Not before Boston. There’s a weather front over Shannon that might give us
　　a rough ride.”
　　Shannon? Ireland?
　　“I see. Well, I hope to sleep through it all,” says Christian matter-offactly.
　　Sleep?
　　“We’ll get underway, sir,” Stephan says. “We’ll leave you in the capable care
　　of Natalia, your flight attendant.” Christian glances in her direction and
　　frowns, but turns to Stephan with a smile.
　　“Excellent,” he says. Taking my hand, he leads me to one of the sumptuous
　　leather seats. There must be about twelve of them in total.
　　“Sit,” he says as he removes his jacket and undoes his fine sliver brocade
　　vest. We sit in two single seats facing each other with a small, highly
　　polished table between us.
　　“Welcome aboard, sir, ma’am, and congratulations.” Natalia is at our side,
　　offering us both a glass of pink champagne.
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　　E L JAMES
　　“Thank you,” Christian says, and she smiles politely at us and retreats to the
　　galley.
　　“Here’s to a happy married life, Anastasia.” Christian raises his glass to
　　mine, and we chink. The champagne is delicious.
　　“Bollinger?” I ask.
　　“The same.”
　　“The first time I drank this it was out of teacups.” I grin at him.
　　“I remember that day well. Your graduation.”
　　“Where are we going?” I’m unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
　　“Shannon,” Christian says, his eyes alight with excitement. He looks like a
　　small boy.
　　“In Ireland?” We’re going to Ireland!
　　“To refuel,” he adds, teasing.
　　“Then?” I prompt.
　　His grin broadens and he shakes his head.
　　“Christian!”
　　“London,” he says, gazing intently at me, trying to gauge my reaction.
　　I gasp . Holy cow. I thought maybe we’d be going to New York or Aspen or
　　maybe the Caribbean. I can hardly believe it. My lifetime ambition has been
　　to visit England. I’m lit up from within, incandescent with happiness.
　　“Then Paris,” he adds.
　　What?
　　“Then the South of France.”
　　Whoa!
　　“I know you’ve always dreamed of going to Europe,” he says softly.
　　“I want to make your dreams come true, Anastasia.”
　　“You are my dreams come true, Christian.”
　　“Back at you, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers.
　　Oh my . . .
　　“Buckle up.”
　　I grin and do as I’m told.
　　As the plane taxis out on to the runway, we sip our champagne, grinning
　　inanely at each other. I can’t believe it. At twenty-two years
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　old, I’m finally leaving the United States and going to Europe—to London of
　　all places
　　Once we’re airborne, Natalia serves us yet more champagne and prepares
　　our wedding feast. And what a feast it is—smoked salmon, followed by roast
　　partridge with a green bean salad and dauphinoise potatoes, all cooked
　　and served by the ever-efficient Natalia.
　　“Dessert, Mr. Grey?” she asks.
　　He shakes his head and runs his finger across his bottom lip as he looks
　　questioningly at me, his expression dark and unreadable.
　　“No, thank you,” I murmur, unable to break eye contact with him. His lips curl
　　up in a small, secret smile and Natalia retreats.
　　“Good,” he murmurs. “I’d rather planned on having you for dessert.”
　　Oh . . . here?
　　“Come,” he says, rising from the table and offering me his hand. He leads
　　me to the back of the cabin.
　　“There’s a bathroom here.” He points to a small door then leads me on down
　　a short corridor and through a door at the end. Jeez . . . a bedroom. The
　　cabin is cream and maple wood and the small double bed is covered in gold
　　and taupe cushions. It looks very comfortable.
　　Christian turns and pulls me into his arms, gazing down at me.
　　“I thought we’d spend our wedding night at thirty-five-thousand feet. It’s
　　something I’ve never done before.”
　　Holy cow . . . another first. I gape at him, my heart pounding. . .the mile high
　　club. I’ve heard about this.
　　“But first I have to get you out of this fabulous dress.” His eyes glow with love
　　and something darker, something I love . . . something that calls to my inner
　　goddess. He takes my breath away.
　　“Turn around.” His voice is low, authoritative, and sexy as hell. How can he
　　infuse so much promise into those two words? Willingly I comply and his
　　hands move to my hair. Gently he pulls out each hairpin one at a time, his
　　expert fingers making short work of the task. My hair falls in swathes over my
　　shoulders, one lock at a time, covering my back and down to my breasts. I try
　　to stand still and not squirm, but I’m aching for his touch. After our long, tiring
　　but exciting day, I want him—all of him.
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　　E L JAMES
　　“You have such beautiful hair, Ana.” His mouth is close to my ear and I feel
　　his breath, though his lips don’t touch me. When my hair is free of pins, he
　　runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my scalp . . . oh my . . . I close

　　my eyes and savor the sensation. His fingers travel on down, and he tugs,
　　tilting my head back to expose my throat.
　　tilting my head back to expose my throat.
　　“You’re mine,” he breathes and his teeth tug my ear lobe. I groan.
　　“Hush now,” he admonishes. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and trails
　　a finger across the top of my back from shoulder to shoulder following the
　　lace edge of my dress. I shiver in anticipation. He plants a tender kiss on my
　　back above the first button on my dress.
　　“So beautiful,” he says as he deftly undoes the first button. “You have made
　　me the happiest man alive today.” With infinite slowness, he unfastens each
　　one, all the way down my back. “I love you so much.” Trailing kisses from the
　　nape of my neck to the edge of my shoulder. Between each kiss he murmurs,
　　“I. Want. You. So. Much. I. Want. To. Be. Inside. You. You. Are. Mine.”
　　Each word is intoxicating. I close my eyes and tilt my head, giving him easier
　　access to my neck, and I fall further under the spell that is Christian Grey, my
　　husband.
　　“Mine,” he whispers once more. He peels my dress down my arms so that it
　　pools at my feet in a cloud of ivory silk and lace.
　　“Turn around,” he whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse. I do so and he gasps.
　　I’m dressed in a tight, blush-pink satin corset with garter straps, matching
　　lacy briefs, and white silk stockings. Christian’s eyes travel greedily down my
　　body, but he says nothing. He just gazes at me, his eyes wide with want.
　　“You like?” I whisper aware of the shy blush creeping across my cheeks.
　　“More than like, baby. You look sensational. Here.” He holds out his hand and
　　taking it, I step out from my dress.
　　“Keep still,” he murmurs and without taking his darkening eyes off mine, he
　　runs his middle finger over my breasts, following the line of my corset. My
　　breath shallows and he repeats the journey over my breasts once more, his
　　tantalizing finger sending tingles down my
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　　tantalizing finger sending tingles down my 17 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　spine. He stops and twirls his index finger in the air, indicating that he wants
　　me to turn around. For him, right now, I’d do anything.
　　“Stop,” he says. I’m facing the bed, away from him. His arm encircles my
　　waist, pulling me against him, and he nuzzles my neck. Gently he cups my
　　breasts, toying with them, while his thumbs circle over my nipples so that they
　　strain against the fabric of my corset.
　　“Mine,” he whispers.
　　“Yours,” I breathe.
　　Leaving my breasts bereft he runs his hands down my stomach, over my
　　belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex. I stifle a moan.
　　His fingers skate down each garter, and with his usual dexterity, he
　　simultaneously unhooks each one from my stockings. His hands travel
　　around to my behind.
　　“Mine,” he breathes as his hands spread across my backside, the tips of his
　　fingers brushing my sex.
　　“Ah.”
　　“Hush.” His hands travel down the backs of my thighs, and once more he
　　unclips my garters.
　　Leaning down, he pulls back the cover on the bed. “Sit down.”
　　I do as I’m told in his thrall, and he kneels at my feet and gently tugs off each
　　of my white bridal Jimmy Choos. He grasps the top of my left stocking and
　　slowly peels it off, running his thumbs down my leg . . . Oh my. He repeats the
　　process with my other stocking.
　　“This is like unwrapping my Christmas presents.” He smiles up at me through
　　his long dark lashes.
　　“A present you’ve had already . . .”
　　He frowns in admonishment. “Oh no, baby. This time it’s really mine.”
　　“Christian, I’ve been yours since I said yes.” I scoot forward, cupping his
　　beloved face in my hands. “I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine.
　　Now, I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” I bend to kiss him, and
　　suddenly he leans up, kisses my lips, and grasps my head with his hands, his
　　fingers threading into my hair.
　　“Ana,” he breathes. “My Ana.” His lips claim mine once more, his tongue
　　invasively persuasive.
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　　E L JAMES
　　“Clothes,” I whisper, our breath mingling as I push back his vest and he
　　struggles out of it, releasing me for a moment. He pauses, gazing at me,
　　eyes wide, eyes wanting.
　　“Let me, please.” My voice is soft and cajoling. I want to undress my
　　husband, my Fifty.
　　He sits back on his heels, and leaning forward I grasp his tie—his sliver-gray
　　tie, my favorite tie—and slowly undo it and pull it free. He raises his chin to let
　　me tackle the top button of his white shirt; then once it’s undone, I move on to
　　his cuffs. He’s wearing platinum cufflinks—engraved with an entwined A and
　　C—my wedding present to him. When I’ve removed them, he takes the
　　cufflinks from me and fists them in his hand. Then he kisses his fist and
　　shoves them into his pants pocket.
　　“Mr. Grey, so romantic.”
　　“For you Mrs. Grey—hearts and flowers. Always.”
　　I take his hand, and glancing up through my lashes, I kiss his plain platinum
　　wedding ring. He groans and closes his eyes.
　　“Ana,” he whispers and my name is a prayer.
　　Reaching up to his second shirt button, and mirroring him from earlier, I plant
　　a soft kiss on his chest as I undo each of them and whisper between each
　　kiss,
　　“You. Make. Me. So. Happy. I. Love. You.”
　　He groans, and in one swift move he clasps me around the waist and lifts me
　　on to the bed, following me down on to it. His lips find mine, his hands curling
　　around my head, holding me, stilling me as our tongues glory in each other.
　　Abruptly Christian kneels up, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
　　“You are so beautiful . . . wife.” He runs his hands down my legs then grasps
　　my left foot. “You have such lovely legs. I want to kiss every inch of them.
　　Starting here.” He presses his lips against my big toe and then grazes the
　　pad with his teeth. Everything south of my waistline convulses. His tongue
　　glides up my instep and his teeth skim my heel and up to my ankle. He trails
　　kisses up the inside of my calf; soft wet kisses. I wriggle beneath him.
　　“Still, Mrs. Grey,” he warns, and suddenly he flips me on to my stomach and
　　continues his leisurely journey with his mouth up the back of my legs, to my
　　thighs, my behind, and then he stops. I groan.
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　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　“Please . . .”
　　“I want you naked,” he murmurs and slowly unhooks my corset, one hook at a
　　time. When it’s flat on the bed beneath me, he runs his tongue up the length
　　of my spine.
　　“Christian, please.”
　　“What do you want, Mrs. Grey.” His words are soft and close to my ear. He’s
　　almost lying on top of me . . . I can feel him hard against my behind.
　　“You.”
　　“And I you, my love, my life . . . ,” he whispers, and before I know it, he’s
　　flipped me on to my back. He stands swiftly and in one efficient move
　　dispenses with his pants and boxer briefs so that he’s gloriously naked and
　　looming large and ready over me. The small cabin is eclipsed by his dazzling
　　beauty and his want and need of me. He leans down and peels off my
　　panties then gazes down at me.
　　“Mine,” he mouths.
　　“Please,” I beg and he grins . . . a salacious, wicked, tempting, allFifty grin.
　　He crawls back onto the bed and trails kisses up my right leg this time . . .
　　until he reaches the apex of my thighs. He pushes my legs wider apart.
　　“Ah . . . wife of mine,” he murmurs and then his mouth is on me. I close my
　　eyes and surrender to his oh-so-adroit tongue. My hands fist in his hair as my
　　hips swing and sway, slave to his rhythm, then buck off the small bed. He
　　grabs my hips to still me . . . but doesn’t stop the delicious torture. I’m close,
　　so close.
　　“Christian,” I moan.
　　“Not yet,” he breathes and he moves up my body, his tongue dipping into my
　　navel.
　　“No!” Damn! I sense his smile against my belly as his journey continues
　　north.
　　“So impatient, Mrs. Grey. We have until we touch down on the Emerald Isle.”
　　Reverentially he kisses my breasts and tugs my left nipple between his lips.
　　Gazing up at me, his eyes are dark like a tropical storm as he teases me.
　　Oh my . . . I’d forgotten. Europe.
　　“Husband, I want you. Please.”
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　　E L JAMES
　　He looms up over me, his body covering mine, resting his weight on his
　　elbows. He runs his nose down mine, and I run my hands down his strong,
　　supple back to his fine, fine backside.
　　“Mrs. Grey . . . wife. We aim to please.” His lips brush. “I love you.”
　　“I love you, too.”
　　“Eyes open. I want to see you.”
　　“Christian . . . ah . . . ,” I cry, as he slowly sinks into me.
　　“Ana, oh Ana,” he breathes and he starts to move.
　　“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Christian shouts, waking me from
　　my very pleasant dream. He’s standing all wet and beautiful at the end of my
　　sun lounger and glaring down at me.
　　What? What have I done? Oh no . . . I’m lying on my back . . . Crap, crap,
　　crap and he’s mad. Shit. He’s really mad.