Happy Thursday, all! Have I for a treat for you! That’s right—an extra helping of Fifty Shades Freed! We are currently on Chapter Twelve, and Christian just dropped a major bombshell about having been born in the Motor City, so let’s see what else happens.
“No. Elliot and I were both adopted in Detroit. We moved here shortly after my adoption. Grace wanted to be on the west coast, away from the urban sprawl, and she got a job at Northwest Hospital. I have very little memory of that time. Mia was adopted here.”
“So Jack is from Detroit?”
Oh . . . “How do you know?”
“I ran a background check when you went to work for him.”
A few things here. There is as much urban sprawl out on the west coast as there is here in southeast Michigan. And if Christian ran a background check on Jack, why didn’t he just come out and tell Ana that Jack was a skeezeball so Ana could look for another job with a boss who wasn’t a skeezeball?
And the image I have of Christian as a small, dirty, fearful, lost boy comes to mind. I curl around him, holding him tighter, pulling the sheet over him, and I lay my cheek against his chest.
Please, will you get over your Wendy complex already?
Christian snorts and runs his free hand through his hair, though he remains silent and tense beneath me.
“I know it’s why you feel the need to control me. Keep me safe.”
“And yet you choose to defy me,” he murmurs baffled, his hand stilling in my hair.
I frown. Holy cow! Do I do that deliberately? My subconscious removes her half-moon glasses and chews the end, pursing her lips and nodding. I ignore her. This is confusing—I’m his wife, not his submissive, not some company he’s acquired. I’m not the crack whore who was his mother . . . Fuck. The thought is sickening.
“I need control, Ana. Like I need you. It’s the only way I can function. I can’t let go of it. I can’t. I’ve tried . . . And yet, with you . . .” He shakes his head in exasperation.
I swallow. This is the heart of our dilemma—his need for control and his need for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.
Oh my. I cry out as the world is concentrated at the apex of my thighs, and it’s so erotic—Fuck—watching him.
Okay, they just had sex. She didn’t come, so he’s going down on her to make that happen. First, she can’t say vagina or clit or any of the proper terms, just “the apex of my thighs.” Second, no one went to the bathroom to clean up. Appetizing, huh?
“Only because you were gone. What’s that piece called?”
“It’s Chopin. It’s one of his preludes in E minor.” Christian pauses. “It’s called Suffocation.”
How aptly titled!
“Oh, Anastasia.” He grins, shaking his head. He releases me and without further preamble, stoops down, grabs my thighs, and lifts me over his shoulder.
“Christian, put me down!” I smack his behind.
I briefly catch Stephan’s smile as he turns and heads into the cockpit. Taylor is standing at the doorway trying to stifle his grin. Ignoring my pleas and my futile struggles, Christian strides through the narrow cabin past Mia and Ethan who are facing each other in the single seats, past Kate and Elliot, who is whooping like a demented gibbon.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he says to our four guests. “I need to have a word with my wife in private.”
“Christian!” I shout. “Put me down!”
“All in good time, baby.”
I have a brief view of Mia, Kate, and Elliot laughing. Damn it! This is not funny, it’s embarrassing. Ethan gawks at us, mouth open and utterly shocked, as we disappear into the cabin.
HOW IS THIS OKAY?! NO ONE I KNOW WOULD BE LAUGHING! THEY WOULD BE VERY CONCERNED AND ASKING HIM WHAT THE FUCK HIS PROBLEM WAS AND WHY HE WAS ACTING LIKE AN ASSHOLE.
And that’s it for this week!