Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 75

This is heaven.

I consume her, our passion building while my mind empties.

It’s just Ana, my beautiful girl, and me. In the sea.

I want her.

Here. Now.

“I thought you wanted to swim,” she whispers, when we stop for air.

“You’re very distracting.” I tug her lower lip and suck. “And I’m not sure I want the good people of Monte Carlo to see my wife in the throes of passion.”

She grazes my jaw with her teeth.

She wants more.

“Ana,” I warn, twisting her ponytail around my wrist. I gently tug so I have access to her throat. She tastes of salt water, coconut sunscreen, sweat, and, best of all, Ana. “Shall I take you in the sea?”

“Yes.” Her answer is a whisper that stokes my libido.

Fuck. Enough.

This is getting out of hand.

“Mrs. Grey, you’re insatiable and so brazen. What sort of monster have I created?”

“A monster fit for you. Would you have me any other way?”

“I’ll take you any way I can get you, you know that. But not right now. Not with an audience.” I tilt my head to the shore.

Ana glances at the sunbathers taking an intrusive interest in what we are doing.

Enough, Grey.

Grabbing her around her waist, I boost her into the air and she lands with a satisfying splash in the sea. When she surfaces, she’s laughing and spluttering with feigned indignation. “Christian!” she cries, and skates her hand across the surface of the water, splashing me.

I splash her right back, grinning because she looks so disappointed.

I’m not exposing her to an audience while we fuck!

“We have all night,” I explain, delighted by her reaction. Before I change my mind and get us both arrested—though this is France, so who knows—I prepare to dive. “Laters, baby,” I call, and plunge beneath the calm, clean water and swim away. A fast crawl will cool me down and expend some of this excess energy.

Later, feeling calmer and much refreshed, I stride up the beach, wondering how my wife is faring.

What the actual fuck!

Ana is topless on her sunbed.

I quicken my pace and scan the beach as I go, catching Taylor’s eye from where he sits at the bar. He’s sipping Perrier with our French security officers, who happen to be twin brothers. Between them, they survey our surroundings. Taylor shakes his head, and I think he’s telling me that he’s not spotted any photographers.

I don’t fucking care. I think I’m going to have a coronary.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yell, seething at Ana when I reach her.

She opens her eyes.

Was she feigning sleep? On. Her. Back?

She looks around, panicked. “I was on my front. I must have turned over in my sleep,” she whispers.

I grab her bikini top off my sunbed and toss it toward her, growling, “Put this on!”

Fucking hell. I specifically asked you not to do this.

Not for my fucking health. But for your privacy!

“Christian, no one is looking.”

“Trust me. They’re looking. I’m sure Taylor and the security crew are enjoying the show!”

She grabs her breasts.

“Yes,” I hiss. “And some sleazy fucking paparazzi could get a shot of you, too. Do you want to be all over the cover of Star magazine? Naked this time?”

Ana looks horrified and scrambles to put her top on.