Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 145

“You changed your mind?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to call me?”

How could you be so inconsiderate?

“What’s more, you left the security detail short here and put Ryan at risk.”

Her cheeks pink. “I should have called, but I didn’t want to worry you. If I had, I’m sure you would have forbidden me to go, and I’ve missed Kate. I wanted to see her. Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn’t have let him in.”

But he did.

And had you been here…

Fuck. Enough, Grey.

I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. “Oh, Ana,” I whisper, and hold her as close as I can. “If something were to happen to you—”

He had a gun.

He had a syringe.

“It didn’t,” she whispers.

“But it could have. I’ve died a thousand deaths today, thinking about what might have happened. I was so mad, Ana. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. I can’t remember being this angry…except—”

“Except?” she asks.

“Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there.”

Someone else with a fucking gun.

“You were so cold this morning.” Her voice breaks into a sob on the last word.

No. Ana. Don’t cry. I loosen my grip and tip her head up. “I don’t know how to deal with this anger,” I whisper.

I used to have a way. But that’s lost to me now.

Shit. Don’t go there, Grey.

I gaze down into troubled blue eyes that draw the truth from me. “I don’t think I want to hurt you.” That’s why I was cold. I was raging. “This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly, and—”

How do I explain that?

I want to rage at the world, and you are my world.

“You were worried you’d hurt me?” she asks.

“I didn’t trust myself.”

“Christian, I know you’d never hurt me. Not physically, anyway.” She clasps my face.

“Do you?”

“Yes. I knew what you said was an empty, idle threat. I know you’re not going to beat the shit out of me.”

“I wanted to.”

“No, you didn’t. You just thought you did.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Think about it,” she says, embracing me and nuzzling my chest. “About how you felt when I left. You’ve told me often enough what that did to you. How it altered your view of the world, of me. I know what you’ve given up for me. Think about how you felt about the cuff marks on our honeymoon.”

She has a point. Thinking back, I felt like an asshole, and I don’t want her to leave me again. She tightens her arms around me and gently rubs my back, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, my tension eases. She presses her cheek to my chest, and I can resist her no more. Leaning down, I kiss her hair, and she turns her face up, offering her mouth to me. I kiss her, my lips begging her to do as she’s told, begging her not to go, begging her to stay. She kisses me back.

“You have such faith in me,” I murmur.

“I do.”

I stroke her face, staring into her beautiful eyes, seeing her compassion, her love, and her desire.

What did I do to deserve her?

She smiles. “Besides,” she whispers, an impish look on her face, “you don’t have the paperwork.”

I laugh and clutch her to my chest. “You’re right. I don’t.” We hold each other, and a quiet peace settles between us; it’s the first time I’ve felt any tranquility since my trip to New York. Is this the end of hostilities?

“Come to bed,” I whisper.

“Christian, we need to talk.”

“Later.”

“Christian, please. Talk to me.”

Damn. I sigh as my spirits sink. Perhaps we’re just in the eye of the storm. “About what?” Even to my own ears, I sound petulant.

“You know. You keep me in the dark.”

“I want to protect you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I am fully aware of that, Mrs. Grey.” I skim my hands over her body and fondle her backside, pressing my interested cock against her.