Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 144

Life in the Emerald City goes on. People are going about their business; the streets are crowded, but I manage to weave my way through the throng.

My poor wife.

He could have killed her.

If I ever get my hands on that evil, twisted asshole. I will end him.

Once more I imagine all the ways I could do that.

Shit.

Grey, get a grip.

I’m outside Nordstrom. Maybe I should buy something for Ana. Anything. I check that my wallet’s in my back pocket and head in. I’m in the scarf section. A silk scarf… Yeah. That works.

I’m calmer when I get back to the apartment.

“You didn’t like your lunch? Would you like something else?” Gail offers.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll take your advice. I’m going to lie down. I’m exhausted.”

Gail’s smile is sympathetic.

Once in our bedroom, I take off my shoes, lie down, and close my eyes.

Ana is laid out before me, naked. She holds out her arms. You can do anything you want to me. A punishment fuck. She’s in the harness. In the playroom. What will you do to me? I stand behind her, a cane in my hand. Whatever I want. She’s on the table. Facedown. She cannot move. She’s tied. I slap a paddle against my hand. Her buttocks clench in anticipation. She’s on her knees, her forehead pressed to the floor. Her hands tied behind her back. I want your mouth. Your cunt. Your ass. Your body. Your soul. She kneels before me. I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine. Mine. Yours.

I wake. Disoriented.

bathroom, a plan hatching in my mind. I’m anticipating one hell of a fight. Ana says

Maybe we can both get what

her e-mail and notice that she hasn’t sent me any messages since our last exchange. My wife does not back down from a challenge. This evening will be interesting.

Gail is absent. As is Taylor. Idly, I wonder what they are doing.

Ryan is in Taylor’s office; he stands when I enter. “Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“You can hang out upstairs. I’d like to give everyone the night off. We’ll call you if we need you.”

He hesitates before agreeing. “Okay, sir.”

And with that I wander back into the living room and over to the piano to await my wife’s return.

I’m in my corner of the ring, waiting for the match to start. Gloves on. Mouth guard in.

How many rounds will I go with Mrs. Grey?

The soft ping of the elevator rings through the

Showtime, Grey.

the hall is followed by her footsteps into the living room. She stops when she sees me.

I swagger toward her, like a gunfighter in an old black-and-white movie, my eyes fixed on her. “Good to have you

now?” she whispers. She’s as beautiful as she looked this morning, though her eyes are wide and wary; her guard is up.

Game on, Ana.

“I have,” I answer.

“I like your jeans,” she murmurs, eyeing me from head to toe.

I wore them for you. I give her a wolfish grin and halt in front of her. She licks her lips, and

“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey.” From my back pocket I pull out her shouty-capped e-mail and unfold it in front of

I fail.

“Yes, I

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