Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 71

She lets free a heartfelt moan of pleasure and leans back against me. My fingers travel over the back

of her head to her nape. I take a fistful of her lush hair and tug, giving me access to her throat. “You’re Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

mine.” I tease her earlobe with my teeth.

She groans.

“Hush now.” I sweep her hair over her shoulder and skim my finger along the lace edging of her dress.

A tremor runs through her as I press my lips to her skin above the top button.

“So beautiful,” I whisper, and undo it. “You have made me the happiest man alive today.” Taking my

sweet time, I continue unfastening each delicate button. Her dress falls open, revealing her pale pink

corset with delicate hooks at the back.

My cock approves. Big-time.

“I love you so much.” I skim my lips from her nape to her shoulder. Murmuring between kisses. “I.

Want. You. So. Much. I. Want. To. Be. Inside. You. You. Are. Mine.”

She angles her head, offering her throat to me.

“Mine,” I utter against her skin, and slip her sleeves down her arms so that her bridal gown falls to her

feet, in a delicate shock of silk and lace, leaving her in her corset with garters and stockings.

Sweet Jesus. Stockings. All the blood in my body heads south.

“Turn around.” My voice is hoarse.

Inhaling sharply, I study my wife. She looks demure and really fucking hot all at once; her breasts

forced up and full beneath her corset and her hair a tumbling riot of lush chestnut.

“You like?” she asks, and she turns a fetching pink that matches her sexy underwear.

“More than like, baby. You look sensational. Here.” I offer her my hand, and she steps out of her dress.

“Keep still,” I warn, locking my eyes on hers. I run a finger over the soft swell of her breasts. They

quiver beneath my touch as she inhales and exhales, faster…and shallower.

I love turning my wife on.

Reluctantly, I lift my finger from her skin and spin it in the air.

Turn around for me.

She does. When she’s facing the bed, I ask her to stop. Encircling her waist, I pull her back against my

chest and kiss her neck. From this angle, I have a glorious top view of her straining breasts and I can’t

resist them. I embrace each and hold them, letting my thumbs move over their soft swell to her nipples,

circling each over and over. Ana moans.

“Mine,” I breathe.

“Yours,” she whispers.

She pushes her ass against me and I have to fight my urge to press myself into her. As I skim my

hands down the soft satin, over her stomach, her belly, to her thighs—my thumbs briefly skating over

her vulva—she leans her head against me, eyes closed, and groans. My fingers find her garters and I

unhook both of them at the same time. Then I move my hands to her fine ass.

“Mine,” I whisper. As I caress her backside, my fingertips brush beneath her panties.

“Ah,” she moans.

She’s wet.

Fuck. Ana. You siren.

“Hush.” I unclip her garters at the back, then lean down and pull the duvet back. “Sit down.” She

obliges and I kneel at her feet and tug off each of her shoes, placing them by her dress. I’m aware of

her burning gaze as I slowly remove her left stocking, my thumbs skimming over her skin as I peel it

off. I do the same with its twin. “This is like unwrapping my Christmas presents,” I whisper, and peek up

at Ana.

“A present you’ve had already,” she says quietly.

What? Her comment takes me by surprise. “Oh, no, baby,” I reassure her, if that’s what she needs.

“This time it’s really mine.”

“Christian, I’ve been yours since I said yes.” She moves forward and holds my face between her palms.

“I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine.”

Husband. It’s the first time she’s said it since the ceremony.

“Now,” she says softly against my lips, “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” She leans down to

kiss me, but the word husband is ringing in my heart.

I’m hers. Really hers.

I kneel up and kiss her, grasping her head with both hands, weaving my fingers into her hair.

“Ana,” I whisper. “My Ana.” And I kiss her again. Properly. Pushing my tongue into her mouth and

tasting her. Tasting my wife. She answers my wordless passion with her own, her tongue finding and

embracing mine.

“Clothes,” she says when we surface for air, and attempts to remove my vest. I release her and shuck it

off while she regards me with her beautiful blue eyes that are darkening with want. “Let me, please,”

she pleads.

I sit back on my heels, and she leans forward and takes my tie.

That tie.

My favorite.

And she slowly undoes it and pulls it free.

I lift my chin and she unfastens my top button. She moves to my cuffs and removes each of my new

cuff links in turn. I hold out my hand, and she places them in my palm. Clasping them in my fist, I kiss

my hand and then slip them into my pants pocket.

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