Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 167

Shit. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yes.” She slides her hands from my neck to my chest, her eyes searing my soul. She’s scared.

For me?

For her?

For the haystack?

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask.

Ana shakes her head. “No. Dance with me.”

She wants to dance? Now?

I remain impassive as I fight to bring my fury under control, my mind replaying the last fifteen seconds

in a loop.

“Dance with me,” she says again, pleading. “Dance. Christian, please.” She takes my hands while I

watch the asshole make his way to the exit. Ana starts to move against me. Her warmth, her heat,

brushing up against me and seeping into my veins.

It’s…distracting.

“You hit him?” I want to check that I didn’t imagine that.

“Of course I did.” My hands fist, because I want to smack him again. She continues, “I thought it was

you, but his hands were hairier. Please dance with me.” Her fingers curl around my balled fists and she

moves closer so I catch a trace of her scent.

Ana. Grabbing her wrists, I haul her against my body and pin her hands beneath mine. “You wanna

dance? Let’s dance,” I growl in her ear, and roll my hips against her, enjoying the feel of her against my

groin. I don’t let go, but when she smiles, I release her and she moves her hands up my arms to my

shoulders.

We move.

Together.

Forehead against forehead.

Eye to eye.

Body to body

Soul to soul.

I keep her close.

As she relaxes, she throws her head back.

God, she’s sexy. I am one lucky man.

I spin her across the floor to watch her hair fly out around her.

Then pull her back to me as the throbbing rhythm infects us both.

I’ve never done this. Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

In a club.

We danced at our wedding…but not like this.

It’s liberating.

When the song changes, she’s breathless, her eyes shining.

And my equilibrium has returned. I must download this song onto my iPod. I think it’s called “Touch

Me.”

Apt. I’ve not heard it before.

“Can we sit?” she gasps.

“Sure.” We head back toward our table.

“You’ve made me rather hot and sweaty,” she whispers.

I wrap my arms around her. “I like you hot and sweaty. Though I prefer to make you hot and sweaty in

private.” Exhilarated, we sit down. I’m relieved to see that my spilled beer has been cleaned up and

replenished. As has our water.

The others are still on the dance floor. Ana takes a sip of her champagne.

“Here.” I place a glass of sparkling mineral water in front of her, and I’m relieved to watch her down the

entire glass. I grab myself a beer from the ice bucket and take a long swig.

What a night.

“What if there had been press here?” Ana asks.

I shrug. “I have expensive lawyers.”

She frowns. “But you’re not above the law, Christian. I did have the situation under control.”

Really? “No one touches what’s mine.” I insert the right amount of venom into that statement. Ana

takes another sip of champagne and closes her eyes. Suddenly she looks weary. I grasp her hand.

“Come, let’s go. I want to get you home.”

“You going?” asks Kate, as she and Elliot arrive back at the table.

“Yes.”

“Good, we’ll come with you.”

Ana falls asleep in the minivan on the way back, her head on my shoulder. She’s fried. I shake her

gently when Taylor pulls up outside the house. “Wake up, Ana.”

She staggers out into the cool air, where Taylor is waiting patiently.

“Do I need to carry you?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“I’ll go fetch Miss Grey and Mr. Kavanagh,” Taylor says.

Ana clings to me as she tiptoes up the stone steps to the oak front door. Taking pity on her, I bend

down, unstrap and remove each of her shoes. “Better?”

She nods and gives me a bleary smile. She’s tipsy.

“I had delightful visions of these around my ears,” I whisper, looking wistfully down at her fuck-me

heels, but she’s too tired for that. I open the door and we head upstairs to our bedroom. She stands,

swaying, beside our bed, eyes closed, hands loose at her sides. “You’re wrecked, aren’t you?” I stare

down into her sleepy face.

She nods and I start to unbuckle her coat.

“I’ll do it,” she mumbles, and tries to brush me off.

“Let me.”

She sighs and resigns herself to her fate.

“It’s the altitude. You’re not used to it. And the drinking, of course.” I smirk down at her and ease her out

of her coat, tossing it aside onto a chair. Taking her hand, I lead her into the bathroom.

She frowns.

“Sit,” I order.

She slumps onto the chair and closes her eyes. She might fall asleep if I’m not quick enough. In the

vanity I find the Advil, cotton balls, and moisturizer that Mrs. Bentley has supplied, and fill a small glass

with water. I turn back to Ana and gently tip her head back. She opens eyes that are smudged with

makeup. “Eyes closed,” I order.

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