Linotte Reads “Fifty Shades Freed”: Chapter Three

Happy Wednesday! Let’s get through the midweek slump with some highlights from Chapter Three of Fifty Shades Freed.

I gaze in horror at the red marks all over my breasts. Hickeys! I have hickeys! I am married to one of the most respected businessmen in the United States, and he’s given me goddamn hickeys. How did I not feel him doing this to me? I flush. The fact is I know exactly why–Mr. Orgasmic was using his fine-motor sexing skills on me.

No, your abusive dickbag of a husband decided to give you hickeys so that you wouldn’t be able to wear a bathing suit during the rest of your honeymoon. That is just awful and turns my stomach quite a bit.

 I’m too mad. How dare he mark me like this, like some teenager. In the short time we’ve been together, he’s never given me hickeys. I look like hell. I know why he’s done this. Damn control freak. Right! My subconscious folds her arms beneath her small bosom–he’s gone too far this time. I stalk out of the en suite bathroom and into the walk-in closet, carefully avoiding even a glance in his direction.

Don’t worry. It’s not too late for an annulment.

I ignore him. Am I okay? No, I am not okay. After what he’s done to me, I doubt I’ll be able to wear a swimsuit, let alone one of my ridiculously expensive bikinis, for the rest of our honeymoon. The thought is suddenly so infuriating. How dare he? I’ll give him are you okay. I seethe as fury spikes through me. I can behave like an adolescent, too! Stepping back into the bedroom, I hurl the hairbrush at him, turn, and leave–though not before I see his shocked expression and his lightning reaction as he raises his arm to protect his head so that the brush bounces ineffectively off his forearm and onto the bed.

Wow, aren’t these two just a stellar example of a healthy relationship?

“Christian, you have to stop unilaterally trying to bring me to heel. You made your point on the beach. Very effectively, as I recall.”
He shrugs minutely. “Well, you won’t take your top off again,” he murmurs petulantly.
And this justifies what he’s done to me? I glare at him. “I don’t like you leaving marks on me. Well, not this many, anyway. It’s a hard limit!” I hiss at him.
“I don’t like you taking your clothes off in public. That’s a hard limit for me,” he growls.

This is really, really scary. This goes way beyond the normal BDSM play they were engaging in. It’s to the point that he’s trying to dominate her in every part of the marriage and dictate her behavior, just as though she were his sub again.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” Finally, he looks contrite–using my own words back at me.
“You are such an adolescent sometimes,” I scold him, mulishly, but the fight has gone out of my voice, and he knows it. He steps closer and tentatively raises his hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.
“I know,” he acknowledges softly. “I have a lot to learn.”

I check that we’re alone and ask, “What’s with the no going to the bathroom thing?”
“You really want to know?” He half smiles, his eyes alight with a salacious gleam.
“Do I?” I gaze at him through my lashes as I take a sip of my wine.
“The fuller your bladder, the more intense your orgasm, Ana.”
I blush. “Oh. I see.” Holy cow, that explains a lot.
He grins, looking far too knowing. Will I always be on the back foot with Mr. Sexpertise?

Mr. Sexpertise.

Mr. Sexpertise.

Just…there are no words.

A slinky, cheesy melody starts. Is this a Latin rhythm? Christian grins down at me and starts to move, sweeping me off my feet and taking me with him round the salon.

I rise and head for the bathroom. Opening the door, I find Christian inside shaving, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. He turns and beams, not fazed that I am interrupting him. I have discovered that Christian will never lock the door if he is the only person in the room–the reason why is sobering, and not one I want to dwell on.

Oh, just indulge the little Twihards some more in their Edward fantasies!

Holy crap. I lean back and gaze at him. Art . . . he wants to buy art. How can I buy art?
“What?” he asks.
“I know nothing about art, Christian.”
He shrugs and smiles at me indulgently. “We’ll only buy what we like. This isn’t about investment.”
Investment? Jeez.

Nice to know that Christian doesn’t have the attitudes associated with the nouveau-riche.

And that is for this week!