Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 171

Ana’s eyes widen, seeing through me, as ever. “Good different or bad different?” she asks.

The searing pain of Elena’s touch flares in my imagination.

Her hands on me. Her nails scraping my skin while the darkness flailed and clawed at me from within, trying to throw her off.

It was unbearable.

I swallow, trying to dispel the memory. “Bad, I think.” The words are less than a whisper.

“I thought you liked it.”

“I did. At the time.”

“Not now?”

Ana’s eyes are a guileless blue, impossible to escape. Slowly, I shake my head.

“Oh, Christian.” She launches herself at me, an unstoppable force of good, kissing my face, my chest, each of my scars. I groan and answer her kiss with my own passion and my love. And we’re soon lost, making love at my pace. Slowly, tenderly, so I can show her how much I love her.

Ana is brushing her teeth as I finish dressing. “I’ll go and check on our guests.”

Her eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror. “I have a question.”

I lean against the doorjamb. “Pray, what do you wish to know, Mrs. Grey?”

She turns to face me, dressed only in a towel. “Does Mrs. Bentley know about your…um…your—”

“Predilections?” I offer.

Ana flushes and I laugh, because Ana can still blush at anything to do with sex, and because Mr. and Mrs. Bentley have no idea.

“No. No playroom here. We’ll have to bring some toys.” I wink at her and turn to go, leaving her mouth open.

Kate and Mrs. Bentley are chatting in the kitchen. They’re the only ones up, it seems, on such a beautiful morning. I greet them both.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” Carmella says.

Kate smiles, and frankly it’s unnerving. I’m more used to her snarling at me.

“We could go for a hike and a picnic before heading home,” I suggest to Kate.

“Sounds great.”

“Waffles okay today?” Mrs. Bentley asks.

“Great. Picnic for later, would that be possible?”

“Of course,” she says, with a look that tells me I shouldn’t dare doubt her culinary abilities. “Oh, and Martin would like a word with you,” she continues. “He’s somewhere in the yard.”

“I’ll go find him.”

Martin Bentley is weeding what Mrs. Bentley calls the kitchen garden. We exchange pleasantries and he takes me on a tour of the grounds. He’s a thoughtful, introspective man with some ideas on how to improve the yard. Not only does he maintain my property, but also a couple of the other properties in the near vicinity, and he’s a volunteer for the fire department.

While we walk, we discuss putting in a hot tub, and maybe a pool. I notice a bamboo cane that’s been discarded, and I pick it up as we continue to talk. It’s been a while since I held a cane. It’s a little heavy, and not very flexible. Absentmindedly, I swipe it through the air.