Happy Wednesday, Persephoneers! It’s time for our weekly recap of Fifty Shades Freed! We’re currently on Chapter Fourteen, and Ana, Christian, and the gang are still in Aspen partying it up. If you can all handle being lame while partying it up.
Christian smiles, and I know that he did. He summons the waiter. “Two bottles of the Cristal please. The 2002 if you have it.”
I smirk at him.
“What?” he asks.
“Because the 2002 is so much better than the 2003,” I tease.
“That I do, Mrs. Grey.” He leans in close. “You taste best,” he whispers, and he kisses a certain spot behind my ear, sending little shivers down my spine. I blush scarlet and fondly remember his earlier demonstration of the quite literal shortcomings of my dress.
Oh, what, that it’s short and makes you look like a Solid Gold dancer?
We all sip, well, I glug. Hmm, Cristal tastes so good, and I’m reminded of the first time I drank it at Christian’s club and later, our eventful elevator journey to the first floor.
“Mr. Grey, welcome back,” says a very attractive, leggy blonde in black satin, hot pants, matching sleeveless shirt, and a little red bowtie. She smiles broadly, revealing perfect all-American teeth between scarlet lips that match her bowtie.
Ethan and Mia are back.
“Ethan’s had enough, for now. Come on, girls. Let’s hit the floor. Strike a pose, throw some shapes, work off the calories from the chocolate mousse.”
Kate stands immediately. “Coming?” she asks Elliot.
“Let me watch you,” he says. And I have to look away quickly, blushing at the look he gives her. She grins as I stand.
“I’m going to burn some calories,” I say, and leaning down I whisper in Christian’s ear, “You can watch me.”
“Don’t bend over,” he growls.
“Okay.” I stand abruptly. Whoa! Head rush, and I clutch Christian’s shoulder as the room shifts and tilts a little.
Suddenly, there are two hands on my hips. I grin. Christian has joined me. I wiggle, and his hands move to my behind and squeeze, then back to my hips.
I open my eyes. And Mia is gaping at me in horror. Shit . . . Am I that bad? I reach down to hold Christian’s hands. They’re hairy. Fuck! They’re not his. I whirl around, and towering over me is a blond giant with more teeth than is natural and a leering smile to showcase them.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream over the pounding music, apoplectic with rage.
“Come on, sugar, it’s just some fun.” He smiles, holding his apelike hands up, his blue eyes gleaming under the pulsing ultraviolet lights.
Before I know what I’m doing, I slap him hard across the face.
Ow! Shit . . . my hand. It stings. “Get away from me!” I shout. He gazes down at me, cupping his red cheek.
She is ridiculously old-school damsel in distress.
Christian puts his arm around my waist and moves me to his side.
“Keep your fucking hands off my wife,” he says. He’s not shouting, but somehow he can be heard over the music.
“She can take care of herself,” Blond Giant shouts. His hand moves from his cheek where I’ve slapped him, and Christian hits him. It’s like I’m watching it in slow motion. A perfectly timed punch to the chin that moves at such speed, but with so little wasted energy, Blond Giant doesn’t see it coming. He crumples to the floor like the scumbag he is.
He lifts a bottle of Peroni from the ice bucket on the table and takes a long drink.
“What if there had been press here?” I ask.
Christian knows immediately that I’m referring to him knocking Blond Giant on his ass.
“I have expensive lawyers,” he says coolly, all at once arrogance personified.
I frown at him. “But you’re not above the law, Christian. I did have the situation under control.”
His eyes frost. “No one touches what’s mine,” he says.
What a guy! What a guy!
And that’s it for this week!