Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 57

Now she turns around. “Join me,” she says with a provocative smile. She’s naked and lovely and wanton and tempting.

She’s also completely drunk.

“Get into bed. I’ll be back.”

She sways, sits down, then flops back on the bed, and I lift her feet onto the mattress and cover her up.

“Are you going to punish me?” she slurs.

“Punish you?”

“For getting this drunk. A punishment fuck. You can do anything you want to me,” she whispers, and holds out her arms.

Oh God.

A million erotic thoughts flit through my mind, and it takes all my willpower to lean over, gently plant a kiss on her forehead, and leave.

In the closet, which is still full of shopping bags from her earlier trip, I place her clothes in the laundry basket and strip out of my suit and shirt.

I drag on my PJs and a T-shirt and head into the bathroom.

While brushing my teeth I contemplate what I could do to a drunken Ana. She wants punishing? My thoughts do little to ease my erection.

“Pervert,” I mouth at my reflection.

I switch off the lights and head back into the bedroom. As I suspected, Ana is out cold, her hair spilling in all directions over the pillows. She looks lovely. I climb in beside her and roll onto my side to watch her sleep.

She’s going to have one helluva hangover in the morning.

Leaning over, I kiss her hair. “I love you, Anastasia,” I whisper, and I lay back and stare at the ceiling. I’m surprised that I’m not furious with her. No, I found her charming, and funny.

Maybe, I’m growing up. Finally.

I hope so. This time next week, I’ll be a married man.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I hang up from my call with Troy Whelan, my banker. I’ve set up a joint account for me and Ana that will go live once she’s Mrs. Anastasia Grey. I’m not sure what she’ll ever need it for—but, if something happens to me… Jeez. If something happens to her…

My phone buzzes, distracting me from a slew of dark thoughts. “Mr. Grey, I have your mother on the line,” Andrea says.

I suppress a groan. “Put her through.”

“Will do. Here you go, sir.”

“Grace.”

“Darling. How are you?”

“I’m good. What is it?”

“Always so brusque. I’m checking up on you, that’s all. I talk to Ana more than you these days.”

“Well, I’m good. Still here. Still getting married. Thank you for all that you’ve done. Is there anything specific you want?”

She sighs. “No, darling. I’m looking forward to the rehearsal dinner, and having Ana stay with us the night before the wedding. And of course her mother and her step-father, Bob, too. I’m glad we’re meeting them before the big day. Are they on good terms with her dad?”

“With Ray? I think so. But I don’t know, you’ll need to ask Ana.”

“I’ll do that. I’m glad he’s staying with you.”

It was not my idea. “Ana is hoping that we’ll bond.” Frankly, Raymond Steele intimidates me.

Grace pauses. “I’m sure you will. Do you have a marriage license?”

I scoff. “Of course we do. We picked it up last week.”

“Honeymoon?”

“It’s all arranged.”

“And your suit?”

I direct my eye roll at the phone. “It was delivered today. It fits.”

“Rings?”

Rings?

Shit.

Rings!

How the hell did we forget about rings? “In hand,” I mutter, and laugh, because both Ana and I have overlooked the rings.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Mom. Anything else?”

“You forgot the rings?”

I sigh. Busted. “How did you know?”

“I’m your mother…and you called me Mom. You rarely do that.” The humor and warmth in her voice is soothing.

“Perceptive, Dr. Grey.”

She chuckles. “Oh, Christian, I love you so much. If you don’t have rings, you’d better get some. Everything here is on track; the pavilion goes up tomorrow, and the decorators will follow.”

“Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything.”

“See you Friday.” She hangs up and I stare out at the Seattle skyline, grateful to all that is holy, for Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey.

Mom.

I call Ana.

“Anastasia Steele.” She sounds distracted.

“We forgot the rings.”

“Rings? Oh! Rings!”

I laugh, because her reaction is the same as mine, and I can imagine her eyes widening in shock. “I know! How could we forget?”