Hello, Persephoneers! It’s Hump Day, and of course Hump Day means the recap of the latest chapter of Fifty Shades Freed, the last book in this godawful trilogy. We’re now on Chapter Six, after the Greys’ return from their honeymoon and a shittastic car chase. So let’s see what else is going to happen to these two (personally, I wish a black hole would just swallow them up, but oh well).
Why am I embarrassed by this? I have done all manner of kinky fuckery with this man. He’s my husband, damn it! Am I embarrassed because I want this and I’m ashamed to admit it? My subconscious glares at me. Stop overthinking.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with enjoying sex, Ana. However, I do question your choice of partner. Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side with someone else. Really. You should have played the field a little more before settling.
The playroom smells reassuringly familiar, of leather and wood and fresh polish. I blush, knowing that Mrs. Jones must have been in here cleaning while we were away on our honeymoon. As we enter, Christian switches on the lights and the dark red walls are illuminated with soft, diffused light. I stand gazing at him, anticipation running thick and heavy through my veins. What will he do? He locks the door and turns. Inclining his head to one side, he regards me thoughtfully and then shakes his head, amused.
Toys! Oh, I love, love, love this anticipation. The drawer closes and my breathing spikes. How can the sound of a drawer render me a quivering mess? It makes no sense.
The subtle hiss of the sound system coming to life tells me it’s going to be a musical interlude. A lone piano starts, muted and soft, and mournful chords fill the room. It’s not a tune I know. The piano is joined by an electric guitar. What is this? A man’s voice speaks and I can just make out the words, something about not being frightened of dying.
“I see you’re very wet, Anastasia. From earlier or from now?”
I groan and he eases his finger in and out of me, over and over. I push back on his hand, relishing the intrusion.
“Oh, Ana, I think it’s both. I think you love being here, like this. Mine.”
They had sex in the Audi in the parking garage probably about 30 minutes ago according to the chronology of the story. So from earlier would not only mean her fluids, but his as well. So he’s using his semen as lube? Oh, well, they’re recycling, right?
He bends to kiss me then grabs the small bowl on the table that contains the butt plug, the tube of lubricant, the blindfold, and my panties.
“Who cleans these toys?” I ask as I follow him over to the chest.
He frowns at me, as if not understanding the question. “Me. Mrs. Jones.”
Oh, okay! He used actual lube, everyone, just in case you were concerned! But he makes his housekeeper clean his sex toys? That’s just…a new low.
I dump Christian’s shoes on the floor and my clothes on the bed, and take the bowl with the butt plug into the bathroom. I eye it suspiciously. It looks innocuous enough, and surprisingly clean. I don’t want to dwell on that, and I wash it quickly with soap and water. Will that be enough? I’ll have to ask Mr. Sexpert if it should be sterilized or something. I shudder at the thought.
I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to tell Christian that I am not going to change my name at work. I think my reasons are solid. I need some distance from him, but I know there will be a fight when he finally realizes that.
Um…and you didn’t discuss this before you married him?
Picture after picture of me. Asleep, so many of me asleep, my hair over my face or fanned out across the pillow, lips parted . . . shit—sucking my thumb. I haven’t sucked my thumb for years! So many photos. I had no idea he’d taken these.
Okay, first, that is really creepy that he took pictures of her while she was asleep. Second, if she has regressed to sucking her thumb in her sleep, she might want to look at what is going on in her life that could be triggering that…though I’m pretty sure what — or who — the trigger is.
And that’s it for this week!