Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 238

“I like dirty.”

“Me, too, Mrs. Grey. But not now, not here.” I grab the shampoo and squirt some into my hands. Using only my fingertips, I gently wash her hair, remembering how gentle she was when she last washed mine, and how cherished I felt then.

After I’ve rinsed out the suds, I switch off the shower and exit, taking her with me. I cloak her in a warm towel, wrap one around my own waist, and hand her a towel for her hair. “Here.” She can judge how vigorous to be—she’s the one with a hairline fracture in her skull. My lighter mood takes a nose dive.

That asshole.

“I still don’t understand why Elizabeth was involved with Jack.” Ana intrudes on my dark thoughts.

“I do,” I offer.

She peers at me, and I’m expecting a question, but she seems to lose her train of thought as her eyes study me…all of me.

Mrs. Grey! I smirk. “Enjoying the view?”

“How do you know?”

“That you’re enjoying the view?”

“No.” She sounds exasperated. “About Elizabeth.”

I sigh. “Detective Clark hinted at it.”

Ana’s brows knit together and her gaze goads me, demanding more information.

“Hyde had videos. Videos of all of them. On several USB flash drives. Videos of him fucking her, and fucking all his PAs.”

Her mouth drops open.

“Exactly. Blackmail material. He likes it rough.”

So do I. Fuck.

Christ.

Self-disgust sweeps over me like an avenging angel.

“Don’t,” Ana interrupts, the word like the crack of a whip.

“Don’t what?”

“You aren’t anything like him.”

How did she guess?

“You’re not.” Ana’s tone is insistent.

Oh, but, Ana, I am. “We’re cut from the same cloth.”

“No you’re not!” Ana’s fervent denial silences me. “His dad died in a brawl in a bar. His mother drank herself into oblivion. He was in and out of foster homes as a kid, in and out of trouble, too—mainly boosting cars. Spent time in juvie.” My God, she’s remembered everything I told her on the plane to Aspen and she doesn’t stop—she’s on a roll. “You both have troubled pasts, and you were both born in Detroit. That’s it, Christian.” She fists her hands and places them on her hips.

She’s trying to intimidate me, dressed only in a towel.

It’s not going to work.

Because I know who I am.

But I don’t want to rile her. Now is not the time for an argument. It’s not good for her or the baby. “Ana, your faith in me is touching, especially in light of the last few days. We’ll know more when Welch is here.”

“Christian—”

Bending, I plant a swift kiss on her lips to end the discussion. “Enough.” Her expression is sullen. “And don’t pout,” I add. “Come. Let me dry your hair.”

She presses her lips together, but to my relief, she drops the subject. I lead her into the bedroom, then head into the closet, where I dress quickly, dragging on jeans and a T-shirt. I grab a pair of her sweatpants and one of my T-shirts for her.

While she slips on the clothes, I plug in the hair dryer, sit down on the bed, and gesture to her to join me. Ana perches between my legs and I start to brush through her wet hair.

I love combing out her hair.

It’s so soothing.

Soon, the only sound in our bedroom is the high-pitched whine of the hair dryer. Ana’s shoulders slump as she relaxes against me, and she’s quiet for a while.

“So, did Clark tell you anything else while I was unconscious?” Her words drag me from my absorbing task.

“Not that I recall.”

“I heard a few of your conversations.”

“Did you?” I stop brushing.

“Yes. My dad, your dad, Detective Clark, your mom.”

“And Kate?”

“Kate was there?”

“Briefly, yes. She’s mad at you, too.”

She jerks around. “Stop with the ‘Everyone is mad at Ana’ crap, okay?” Her tone is as high-pitched as the hair dryer.

“Just telling you the truth.” I shrug.

I’m still a little mad at you myself, Ana.

“Yes, it was reckless, but you know—your sister was in danger.”