Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 199

She nods.

Damn it, Ana. “Say it.”

“Yes,” she answers, her voice a little shrill and breathy, betraying her excitement.

I smirk and pitch my voice low. “Good. So, Mrs. Grey—by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” I’ve chosen this, the only sofa that has finials, for a reason. “Bring your knees up. And sit right back.” Once more she complies, without hesitation. Taking her left leg, I wrap a belt from one of the robes around her lower thigh and tie a slip knot above her knee.

“Bathrobes?” Ana asks.

“I’m improvising.” I tie the other end to the finial at the back left-hand corner of the sofa and tug, parting her thighs. “Don’t move.” I do the same with her right leg, tying the other belt to the back-right finial.

Ana is splayed out, her legs spread wide, revealing all she has to offer, her hands by her sides.

“Okay?” I ask, drinking in the view from above.

She nods and looks up at me, soft, sweet, vulnerable. Mine.

Bending down, I kiss her. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.” I rub my nose against hers, fighting my anticipation of what’s to come. “Change of music, I think.” I wander over to my iPod.

I scroll through artists. Select a track. Press repeat and play.

“Sweet About Me.” Perfect.

As Gabriella Cilmi’s sugared, sultry voice fills the room, I turn and lock eyes with my trussed-up, naked wife and saunter back to her. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine, as I sink down onto my knees in front of her, to worship at her altar.

Her mouth parts as she inhales.

Oh, Ana. Let’s see how far your confidence has grown.

I know what she’s feeling. “Exposed? Vulnerable?” I ask.

She licks her lips and nods.

“Good,” I whisper.

Baby, you’ve got this. “Hold out your hands.” From my back pocket I withdraw the small bottle of oil. Ana holds up her cupped palms and I pour a little oil into her hands. The scent is heavy but not unpleasant. “Rub your hands.”

She wriggles on the couch.

Oh, this will never do. “Keep still,” I warn.

Ana stops squirming.

“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself.”

She blinks—surprised, I think.

“Start at your throat and work down.”

Her teeth dig into that bottom lip.

“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.”

Come on, Ana.

She places her hands on either side of her neck, then glides them down to the tops of her breasts, leaving a slick shine over her skin in their wake.

“Lower,” I whisper.

After a beat, her hands embrace her breasts.

“Tease yourself.”

Tentatively, her darkening eyes on mine, she takes each of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and gently tugs on both.

“Harder,” I urge her, feeling like the serpent in the garden. “Like I would,” I add, gripping my own thighs to keep myself from touching her. She groans in response and squeezes and tugs harder. I watch each pucker and lengthen under her touch.

Damn, she’s hot.

“Yes. Like that. Again.”

She closes her eyes and moans, and rolls and twists them between her fingers and thumbs.

“Open your eyes.” My voice is hoarse.

She blinks them open.

“Again,” I order. “I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.”

She continues, her eyes clouded with dark longing—her breathing increasing as desire consumes her—while my yearning matches hers.

This must be making her so wet…

My pants are getting tighter by the second. Enough. “Hands. Lower.”

She squirms.

“Keep still, Ana. Absorb the pleasure. Lower.”

“You do it,” she whispers.

“Oh, I will. Soon. You. Lower. Now.” She has no idea how fucking hot she looks right now. She glides her hands beneath her breasts, over her stomach, toward her belly, as she writhes, pulling on the robe restraints.