Happy Wednesday, Persephoneers—and it’s that time again! We are now on Chapter Fifteen of Fifty Shades Freed, and as awful as this book is, I want to see it through to the very end. It’s like that bad movie you always like to watch even though you know you hate it.
I am too warm. Christian warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s breathing softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine, his arm around my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough.
You know what would take care of his insomnia? Something really boring—like you. Or drugs. There’s always drugs.
“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It’s like he’s won the World Series or the Super Bowl.
Oh, my Fifty.
“You make me feel cherished.”
“That’s because you are,” he murmurs and my heart clenches.
Why does he get accolades for just doing what he’s supposed to do?
He clasps my hand and I wince. He releases me immediately, alarmed. “The punch?” he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with sudden anger.
“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”
I thought we’d dealt with this last night.
“I can’t bear that he touched you.”
“I’d fight you any day, Mrs. Grey. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of mine.” He kisses my throat.
What? “I thought you subdued me all the time.” I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.
“Hmm… but I’d like some resistance,” he murmurs, his nose skirting my jaw.
Resistance? I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his elbows.
“You want me to fight you? Here?” I whisper, trying to contain my surprise. Okay—my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my reaction.
He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile and nods again, slowly.
You know, other couples would try to see who could beat each other at Super Mario Brothers. Or Scrabble. Maybe you could try Risk. Christian seems like he’s a Risk kind of guy.
Oh my… He’s tense, lying on top of me, and his growing erection is digging tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about? Brawling? Fantasy? Will he hurt me? My inner goddess shakes her head—Never. She’s got her karate suit on, and she’s limbering up.
And now it looks like time for our musical interlude. Not that kung fu and karate are the same—as a matter of fact, they have two completely different countries of origin. But this scene with Christian and Ana is just a little bit frightening and calls for some disco music.
Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I’m straddling him. I grab his hands, pinning them to the side of his head, and ignore the protesting ache from my hand. My hair falls in a chestnut veil around us, and I move my head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but doesn’t try to stop me.
Um… she made a veil for him out of her hair? Am I reading this correctly?
I look out at the night sky. I will miss this view. This panoramic vista… Seattle at our feet, so full of possibilities, yet so far removed. Maybe that’s Christian’s problem—he’s been too isolated from real life for too long, thanks to his self-imposed exile. Yet with his family around him, he is less controlling, less anxious—freer, happier. I wonder what Flynn would make of all that. Holy crap! Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he needs his own family.
And here comes the old-fashioned, “Oh, maybe a baby will make it better!” trope…
You sure know how to show a girl a good time.
I shall of course be expecting this kind of treatment every weekend.
She also wrote that on the bathroom wall of the club they were at during the weekend in Aspen. With her husband’s name and phone number on it.
And that’s it for this week!