Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 139

I return a sweaty mess with my Mariners cap pulled low over my face. I make my way unrecognized through the press gathered outside the building and safely into the elevator.

Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen.

“Gail! How are you?” I ask as soon as I see her.

“Good, Mr. Grey. Glad you and Taylor are back.”

“Tell me what happened.”

As I fill and drink a glass of water, she gives me a quick run-through of last night’s events. How Ryan ushered her into the panic room. And afterward, once Hyde was caught, what happened with the police and paramedics. “I never thought we’d have to use that room.”

“I’m glad I had it installed.”

“Yes, sir. I’m grateful, too. Do you want a coffee?”

“Not yet. I’ll have some orange juice for Ana.”

She smiles. “Coming right up.”

“Is Taylor awake?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Let him rest.”

She hands me the juice, and I leave her to go wake Ana.

She’s still asleep.

“There’s some orange juice for you here.” I place it on her bedside table and she stirs, her eyes are on me, her teeth toying with her bottom lip. “I’m going to take a shower,” I mutter and leave.

I strip quickly, leaving my clothes on the bathroom floor. My run has done little to improve my temper. I start washing my hair vigorously, and mentally run through a checklist of what I have to do this morning. I sense Ana before I hear her. She closes the shower door, then steps up behind me and places her arms around me. I stiffen at her touch.

Everywhere.

Don’t touch me.

Ignoring my reaction, she pulls me closer, so that I feel her warm, naked body against me. She presses her cheek to my back.

We’re skin on skin.

And it’s unbearable.

I’m too mad at you right now.

I’m too mad at myself.

I shift so we’re both under the water and continue rinsing the suds out of my hair. She presses her lips against me in small, soft kisses.

No. “Ana,” I caution her.

“Hmm.”

Stop.

I burn for her.

But my thoughts are too dark.

I’m too angry.

Her hand skims down over my belly, and I know what she has in mind. But I want none of it.

I want all of it.

All of her.

No!

I place both of mine on hers and shake my head. “Don’t,” I whisper.

She steps back, immediately, as if I’ve slapped her, so I turn around and her eyes flit to my erection.

It’s just biology, baby.

I clasp her chin. “I’m still fucking mad at you,” I whisper, and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.

And I’m fucking mad at myself.

I should have stayed in Seattle.

She reaches up and strokes my cheek, and I desperately want to give in to her tender touch.

“Don’t be mad at me, please. I think you’re overreacting,” she says.

What!

I straighten, so her hand falls to her side, and glare at her. “Overreacting?” I rant. “Some fucking lunatic gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife, and you think I’m overreacting!”

She gazes up at me, but she doesn’t back away. “No, um, that’s not what I was referring to. I thought this was about me staying out.”

Oh. I close my eyes. I left her for one night, and she could have been kidnapped or worse. Murdered by that asshole.

“Christian, I wasn’t here,” she whispers in the gentlest of tones.

“I know.” I open my eyes, feeling hopeless and worthless at once. “And all because you can’t follow a simple fucking request. I don’t want to discuss this now, in the shower. I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.”

I leave her and grab a towel as I stalk out of the bathroom. I want to hang on to my anger. It protects me and keeps her away from me.

It keeps me safe.

Safe from more complex and difficult feelings.