50 shades freed pdf online free

50 shades freed pdf online free

Fifty Shades Freed - Chapter 3. Fifty Shades Freed - Chapter 4. In one fluid move, he stands and bends over me, resting his hands on the arms of my chair.

How rude. How can I resist? What has he got planned? My heart starts pounding in anticipation. He leads me across the deck and through the doors into the plush, beautifully appointed main salon, along a narrow corridor, through the dining room, and down the stairs to the main master cabin. The cabin has been cleaned since this morning and the bed made.

Christian releases my hand, pulls his T-shirt over his head, and tosses it onto a chair. He steps out of his flip-flops and removes his shorts and trunks in one graceful move. Will I ever tire of looking at him naked? He is utterly gorgeous and all mine. I am one lucky, lucky girl.

He grasps my chin, pulling slightly so that I stop biting my lip and runs his thumb along my lower lip. He produces two pairs of metal handcuffs and an airline eye mask from the bottom drawer.

I glance quickly and nervously at the bed. Where the hell is he going to attach those? He turns and gazes steadily at me, his eyes dark and luminous. They can bite into the skin if you pull too hard. My mouth goes dry. Vaguely, I hope I never have to wear a pair of these for real. Christian is watching me intently.

He holds out his palm, revealing a small metallic key. In fact, all sets. He strokes my cheek with his index finger, trailing it down to my mouth. He leans in as if to kiss me. He smiles. My heart starts pounding. How can he do this with just words? It will be intense. Very intense, because I am not going to let you move.

This sounds so hot. My breathing is too loud. Fuck, I am panting already. My eyes flick down to his arousal. Lift up your arms. He holds out his hand, and I give him back the handcuffs.

He places both sets on the bedside table along with the blindfold and yanks the quilt off the bed, letting it fall to the floor. He gathers it into one hand and yanks gently so I step back against him. Against his chest. Against his erection. I gasp as he pulls my head to one side and kisses my neck. What are we going to do about that? His soft languid kisses are driving me wild.

He grins against my neck. You are ever the optimist. Taking my hair, he carefully parts it into three strands, braids it slowly, and then fastens my hair tie to the end.

He tugs my braid gently and leans down to my ear. Moving suddenly, he grabs me by the waist, sits down on the bed, and yanks me across his knee so that I feel his erection pressed against my belly. He smacks my backside once, hard. Without taking his eyes off me, he gets up from the bed and gathers both sets of handcuffs. He grasps my left leg and snaps one cuff around my ankle. Lifting my right leg, he repeats the process so I have a pair of handcuffs attached to each ankle.

He reaches down, lifts my chin, and plants a soft wet kiss on my lips before slipping the blindfold over my eyes. I can see nothing, all I can hear is my rapid breathing and the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the yacht as she bobs gently on the sea. I am so aroused. My left hand is tied to my left ankle, my right hand to the right leg. I cannot straighten my legs.

Holy fuck. And all the air leaves my body. He grasps both of my heels and tips me back so that I fall backward on to the bed.

I have no choice but to keep my legs bent. The cuffs tighten as I pull against them. This feels weird—being trussed up and helpless—on a boat. He pulls my ankles apart, and I groan. I have no purchase to move my hips. My feet are suspended. I cannot move. Holy shit. He pulls the strings on each side, and the scraps of material fall away. I am now naked and at his mercy. He kisses my belly, nipping my navel with his teeth. This is going to be tough. I had no idea. He traces soft kisses and little bites up to my breasts.

I moan, pulling on my restraints. The metal bites into my skin. Biting, sucking, rolling my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, driving me wild. His erection pushes against me. I pull helplessly on the cuffs, swamped by the sensation. He kisses me.

His skilled tongue invades my mouth, tasting, exploring, dominating, but my tongue meets his challenge, writhing against his. He tastes of cool gin and Christian Grey, and he smells of the sea. He grasps my chin, holding my head in place. He withdraws. Christian, please! I scream, tilting my head back, pulling on the restraints as he hits my sweet spot, and I am all sensation, everywhere—a sweet, sweet agony, and I cannot move.

He stills then circles his hips, and the motion radiates deep inside me. I cry out in an incoherent wail. Because I love you! Please, Christian. Tears spring to my eyes. This is too intense.

I want. I am wrung ragged, tears streaming down my face—my body left pulsing and shaking. He clutches my head with one hand and my back with another, and he comes violently inside me while my insides continue to tremble with aftershocks. Christian tears off the blindfold and kisses me. He kisses my eyes, my nose, my cheeks.

He kisses away the tears, clutching my face in between his hands. Very gently, he lays me back on the bed and eases out of me. I mouth some wordless protest. He climbs off the bed and undoes the handcuffs. I stretch out my legs. Oh my, that feels good. I feel good. That was, without doubt, the most intense climax I have ever endured. I really must misbehave more often.

A pressing need from my bladder wakes me. Where am I? Oh—the boat. I feel her pitch and roll, and hear the quiet hum of the engines. How odd. Christian is beside me, working on his laptop, casually dressed in a white linen shirt and chino trousers, his feet bare. No amount of training with Claude could have prepared me for this afternoon. I rise gingerly, needing the bathroom. Grabbing my silk robe, I hastily put it on. Why am I so shy? When I glance at him, he returns to his laptop, his brow furrowed.

As I absentmindedly wash my hands at the vanity unit, recalling last night at the Casino, my robe falls open. I stare at myself in the mirror, shocked. Holy fuck! What has he done to me? I gaze in horror at the red marks all over my breasts. I have hickeys!

How did I not feel him doing this to me? I flush. The fact is I know exactly why—Mr. Orgasmic was using his fine-motor sexing skills on me. My subconscious peers over her half-moon specs and tuts disapprovingly, while my inner goddess slumbers on her chaise longue, out for the count. I gape at my reflection. My wrists have a red welt around them from the handcuffs.

I examine my ankles—more welts. I gaze at myself, trying to absorb how I look. My body is so different these days. My nails are manicured, my feet pedicured, my eyebrows threaded and beautifully shaped. How dare he mark me like this, like some teenager. I look like hell. Damn control freak. I stalk out of the en suite bathroom and into the walk-in closet, carefully avoiding even a glance in his direction.

Slipping out of my robe, I pull on my sweatpants and a camisole. I undo the braid, pick up a hairbrush from the small vanity unit, and brush out my tangles. Am I okay? No, I am not okay. The thought is suddenly so infuriating.

How dare he? I seethe as fury spikes through me. I can behave like an adolescent, too! Stepping back into the bedroom, I hurl the hairbrush at him, turn, and leave—though not before I see his shocked expression and his lightning reaction as he raises his arm to protect his head so that the brush bounces ineffectively off his forearm and onto the bed.

I storm out of our cabin, bolt upstairs and out on deck, fleeing toward the bow. I need some space to calm down. The warm breeze carries the smell of the Mediterranean and the scent of jasmine and bougainvillea from the shore. I take a deep, healing breath and slowly begin to calm. Apt, huh? He stays silent as I turn and scowl at him, watching me with wide and wary eyes. You made your point on the beach. Very effectively, as I recall.

I glare at him. Well, not this many, anyway. Christian gazes at me, his eyes not leaving my face his expression wary and uncertain.

Eventually, he sighs and holds his palms up in a resigned, conciliatory gesture. He steps closer and tentatively raises his hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. His emotional world has to play catch-up. My heart thaws a little. He rests his hand over mine and smiles his shy smile.

I would never have figured that, but then I constantly underestimate you. This is not going to be fun. All of them? Some of them need rebranding. In what way?

He shifts and crosses his legs. Hannah opens the door and brings in a small tray. Milk jug, sugar bowl, coffee in a French press—she's gone all out. She places the tray on my desk.

I want to roll my eyes at her. That's all. She flushes and exits simpering. Christian turns his attention back to me. Steele, where were we? Deftly, he picks at an invisible piece of lint on his knee with long skilled fingers. It's distracting. He's doing it on purpose. I narrow my eyes at him. It keeps management on their toes, wives in their place.

You know. Wives in their place! His eyes frost. I don't see why not. I marvel that he can appear so cold after last night, after the last three weeks. He must be so mad—really mad. When will he learn not to overreact? Christian, of course not. Silly overbearing megalomaniac. Holy fuck. I've hurt his feelings.

Oh no. I have to make him see my logic. I have to explain my reason-ing for my decision. His deranged reasons for doing so—his control freakery, his stalker tendencies gone mad, given completely free rein because he is so wealthy. I know he wants to keep me safe, but it's his ownership of SIP that is the fundamental problem here. If he'd never interfered, I could continue as normal and not have to face the disgruntled and whispered re-criminations of my colleagues.

I put my head in my hands just to break eye contact with him. I look up at his impassive stare, his eyes luminous, giving nothing away, his earlier hurt now hidden. But even as I ask the question, deep down I know the answer before he says it.

He blinks, registering the horror on my face. Where can I go from here? What else can I do? His comment completely derails me. It's like he's punched me hard in the stomach, winding and wounding me. And the vision comes to mind of a small, frightened, copper-haired gray-eyed boy in dirty, mismatched, ill-fitting clothes. I have to do something, Christian. I can't stay imprisoned at Escala or the new house with nothing to do. I'll go crazy.

I'll suffocate. I've always worked, and I enjoy this. This is my dream job; it's all I've ever wanted. But doing this doesn't mean I love you less. You are the world to me. I must not cry, not here. I repeat it over and over in my head. I must not cry. He stares at me, saying nothing. Then a frown crosses his face as if he's considering what I've said.

I close my eyes and rub my forehead, trying to fathom how we got to this. I want to keep my name here because I want to put some distance between you and me. You know everyone thinks I got the job because of you, when the reality is—" I stop, when his eyes widen. What do you mean? Do I want to know? They didn't want the expense of hiring a senior executive when the company was mid-sale. They had no idea what the new owner would do with it once it passed into his ownership, and wisely, they didn't want an expensive redundancy.

So they gave you Hyde's job to caretake until the new owner" —he pauses, and his lips twitch in an ironic smile—"namely me, took over. I'm horrified. He smiles and shakes his head at my alarm. You've more than risen to the challenge. You've done very well. I sit right back in my chair, open-mouthed, staring at him.

He shifts again. I don't want to put you in a gilded cage. Oh, where is he going with this? Christian looks up suddenly, as if he's had a eureka moment. I am not errant, and I'm not an asset! I scowl at Christian again and the threat of tears subsides. His lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Jeez—change of mood, again! How can I ever keep up with Mr. My mind is blank. I can't run a business. Control freak and whiz-kid extraordinaire. Jeez Christian, you majored in economics at Harvard before you dropped out. At least you have some idea. I sold paint and cable ties for three years on a part-time basis, for heaven's sake.

I've seen so little of the world, and I know next to nothing! You couldn't leave your job while we were on our honeymoon. You read how many manuscripts? You're a very bright woman, Anastasia.

I'm sure you'll manage. And I snort because it's the only expression my body can make. Buying a company for the little woman, who has only had a full time job for a few months of her adult life. Besides, you won't be on your own. Try Again. Report Close Quick Download Go to remote file.

Fifty Shades Freed. Top novels. Sins of Sevin. Penelope Ward. But Ana demands a deeper, more meaningful relationship; Christian who has become obsessed with her agrees. Now they have it all, love, wealth, passion and a life to live together.

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