Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(24)

"Well, what have we here?" Christian plants a kiss where, until this morning, I had pubic hair—then scrapes his bristly chin across me.

"Ah!" I exclaim. Wow . . . that's sensitive.

Christian's eyes dart to mine, full of salacious longing. "I think you missed a bit," he mutters and tugs gently, right underneath.

"Oh . . . Damn," I mutter, hoping this will put an end to his frankly intrusive scrutiny.

"I have an idea." He leaps naked out of bed and heads to the bathroom.

What on earth is he doing? He returns moments later, carrying a glass of water, a mug, my razor, his shaving brush, soap, and a towel. He puts the water, brush, soap, and razor on the bedside table and gazes down at me, holding the towel.

Oh no! My subconscious slams down her Complete Works of Charles Dickens, leaps up from her armchair, and puts her hands on her hips.

"No. No. No," I squeak.

"Mrs. Grey, if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. Lift your hips." His eyes glow summer storm gray.

"Christian! You are not shaving me."

He tilts his head to one side. "Why ever not?"

I flush . . . isn't it obvious? "Because . . . It's just too . . ."

"Intimate?" he whispers. "Ana, I crave intimacy with you—you know that.

Besides, after some of the things we've done, don't get all squeamish on me now.

And, I know this part of your body better than you do."

I gape at him. Of all the arrogant . . . true, he does—but still. "It's just wrong!" My voice is prissy and whiney.

"This isn't wrong—this is hot."

Hot? Really? "This turns you on?" I can't keep the astonishment out of my voice.

He snorts. "Can't you tell?" He glances down at his arousal. "I want to shave you," he whispers

Oh, what the hell. I lie back, throwing my arm over my face so I don't have to watch.



"If it makes you happy, Christian, go ahead. You are so kinky," I mutter, as I lift my hips, and he slips the towel beneath me. He kisses my inner thigh.

"Oh, baby, how right you are."

I hear the slosh of water as he dips the shaving brush in the glass of water, then the soft swirl of the brush in the mug. He grasps my left ankle and parts my legs, and the bed dips as he sits between my legs. "I'd really like to tie you up right now," he murmurs.

"I promise to keep still."

"Good."

I gasp as he runs the lathered brush over my pubic bone. It's warm. The water in the glass must be hot. I squirm a little. It tickles . . . but in a good way.

"Don't move," Christian admonishes and applies the brush again. "Or I will tie you down," he adds darkly, and a delicious shiver runs down my spine.

"Have you done this before?" I ask tentatively when he reaches for the razor.

"No."

"Oh. Good." I grin.

"Another first, Mrs. Grey."

"Hmm. I like firsts."

"Me, too. Here goes." And with a gentleness that surprises me, he runs the razor over my sensitive flesh. "Keep still," he says distractedly, and I know he's concentrating hard.

It only takes a matter of minutes before he grabs the towel and wipes all the excess lather off me.

"There—that's more like it," he muses, and I finally lift my arm to look at him as he sits back to admire his handiwork.

"Happy?" I ask, my voice hoarse.