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Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3) When unworldly student Anastasia Steele first encountered the driven and dazzling young entrepreneur Christian Grey it. Download fifty shades freed from reading sanctuary in eBook pdf format. E L James - 02 - Fifty Shades - Balajise Book World. put pen to .. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in.

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Fifty Shades of Grey. E L. James is . I am under its full glare. He smirks and . Fifty! I shield my eyes from the sun as I watch him go. He's such a tease what. Fifty Shades Coffee N . The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. Hmm a Christian Grey Fifty Shades punishment fuck. Pdf Fifty Shades Freed: Book Three of the Fifty Shades Trilogy (Fifty Shades . The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare.

Look Inside. Apr 17, Pages Buy. Jun 26, Pages Buy. Jan 29, Pages Buy. Jan 17, Pages Buy. Jun 19, Minutes Buy.

Jun 26, Pages. Jan 29, Pages. Jan 17, Pages. Jun 19, Minutes. Apr 17, Minutes. Determined to keep her, Christian agrees. Now, Ana and Christian have it all—love, passion, intimacy, wealth, and a world of possibilities for their future. But Ana knows that loving her Fifty Shades will not be easy, and that being together will pose challenges that neither of them would anticipate.

And Christian must overcome his compulsion to control as he wrestles with the demons of a tormented past.

This book is intended for mature audiences. When unworldly student Anastasia Steele first encountered the driven and dazzling young entrepreneur Christian Grey, it sparked a sensual affair that changed both of their lives irrevocably.

After twenty-five years working in TV, E L James decided to pursue her childhood dream, and set out to write stories that readers would fall in love with. Join Reader Rewards and earn your way to a free book! Join Reader Rewards and earn points when you purchase this book from your favorite retailer. Read An Excerpt. Hardcover —. Buy the Audiobook Download: Apple Audible downpour eMusic audiobooks. Also in Fifty Shades of Grey Series. Also by E L James. And to Pam and Gillian for Saturday morning coffee and hauling me back to real life.

Also thanks to my editing team Andrea, Shay and the ever lovely and only occasionally frothing Janine, who tolerates my frothing with patience, fortitude and a great sense of humour. Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time. I brush her hair because she likes that. I shake her. My tummy hurts. It is hungry.

I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair to the sink, and I have a drink. The water splashes over my blue sweater. Mommy is still asleep. Mommy wake up! She lies still. She is cold. I fetch my blankie, and I cover Mommy, and I lie down on the sticky green rug beside her.

I have two toy cars. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the freezer I find peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly.

They make my tummy hurt. I sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the freezer is something. It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue is stuck to it. I eat it slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water.

I play with my cars, and I sleep beside Mommy. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked up bitch. Get out of my way, you little shit. He kicks me, and I hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. The lady policeman is here.

I stay by Mommy. Stay away from me. The lady policeman has my blankie, and she grabs me. I scream. I want my Mommy. The words are gone.

I have no words. She is sunshine, she is light. No obeying. I can do that. We will. I stare up through gaps in the sea grass parasol at the bluest of skies, summer blue, Mediterranean blue with a contented sigh.

Christian is beside me, stretched out on a sun lounger. My husband—my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless, and in cut-off jeans—is reading a book predicting the collapse of the Western banking system. He looks more like a student than the hotshot CEO of one the top privately owned companies in the United States.

I open my eyes and gaze out at the Fair Lady anchored in the harbor.

We are staying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht. Built in , she floats majestically on the water, queen of the all the yachts in the harbor. Honestly, boys and their toys. Sitting back, I listen to the Christian Grey mix on my new iPod and doze in the late afternoon sun, idly remembering his proposal. Oh his dreamy proposal in the boathouse.

I can almost smell the scent of the meadow flowers. I am sprawled on his chest in the flowery bower in the boathouse, sated from our passionate lovemaking. A big wedding with all the trimmings? Tell me.

Just friends and family. What does he want? Would they mind? Could I be any happier? I want you too much to wait any longer.

But okay—a month it is. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in one swift move pulls my sun lounger into the shade of the parasol. Turn over. I want to do your back. Oh, Christian. I frown and he smirks.

My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow. I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta. Et quelque chose a manger.

Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held aloft, her high blond ponytail swinging provocatively. His shorts fall a little and hang.

Christian takes his shorts off, stepping out of his flip- flops. I lose my train of thought. Put me down! He chuckles. I clasp my arms around his neck. He grins. He inhales sharply and leans back, eyes smoky but wary. The chill of the Mediterranean is soon forgotten as I wrap myself around my husband. He wraps my ponytail around his wrist and tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. He trails kisses from my ear down my neck.

Christian pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes warm, wanting, and amused. What sort of monster have I created? Would you have me any other way? But not right now. Not with an audience. Sure enough, several sunbathers on the beach have abandoned their indifference and now regard us with interest. Suddenly, Christian grabs me around my waist and launches me into the air, letting me fall into the water and sink beneath the waves to the soft sand below. I surface, coughing, spluttering and giggling.

I thought we were going to make love in the sea. He bites his lower lip to stifle his amusement. I splash him, and he splashes me right back. Playful, tantalizing Fifty! I shield my eyes from the sun as I watch him go. While I swim back to the shore, I contemplate my options.

At the sun loungers our drinks have arrived, and I take a quick sip of Coke. Christian is a faint speck in the distance. Put this in your pipe and smoke it. I shut my eyes and let the sun warm my skin. I beam at my husband. I am married. I am Mrs. Christian Grey. I am giddy with joy. Holy crap. How does he do this, even here with all these people staring at us?

I nod mutely. Jeez, I hope no one can hear us. Luckily Reverend Walsh has discreetly stepped back. I glance at the throng gathered in their wedding finery. Who knew that even Elliot could scrub up so well? All wear huge, beaming smiles—except Grace, who weeps graciously into a dainty white handkerchief. I melt. He looks divine in a simple black tux with silver waistcoat and tie.

Later the wedding party is in full swing. Carrick and Grace have gone to town. They have the marquee set up again and beautifully decorated in pale pink, silver, and ivory with its sides open, facing the bay.

We have been blessed with fine weather, and the late afternoon sun shines over the water. Ray and my mother are dancing and laughing with each other. I feel bittersweet watching them together. I hope Christian and I last longer. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. The saying haunts me. Kate is beside me, looking so beautiful in her long silk gown. She glances at me and frowns. Are you watching your mom and Ray?

I love him so much. I giggle. Trust Kate to point out the obvious. She pulls me into a Katherine Kavanagh Special Hug. You look stunning, Anastasia. I love that the lace is just off the shoulder—demure, yet alluring, I hope.

He bends and kisses me. Such lovebirds. And I think you can call me Grandma. Now, you two seriously need to get working on my great-grandkids.

Christian blinks at her in horror. He glances back at me, practically pouting, and rolls his eyes. I think I monopolized too much of your time on the dance floor as it is.

If you need me. Good luck with everything. He frowns, not understanding, and tugs gently on my hand, halting me. His eyes light up. I flush and let go of his hand. You look beautiful. And I want to be the one to undress you. I frown. Taylor has your main suitcase. Neither Mia nor Kate has managed to inveigle the information out of him.

I turn to where my mother and Kate are hovering nearby. Her brow furrows briefly. Kate tries to disguise her snort as a cough. I narrow my eyes at her. Neither she nor my mother have any idea of the fight Christian and I had about that. Jeez, can my Fifty Shades sulk. The memory is sobering. Kate rolls her eyes and tactfully moves away to leave us alone. Oh, Mom! Beginning a new life. Christian is from a different universe, if only she knew. He looks so dapper in his black tux and pale pink waistcoat.

Tears prick the back of my eyes. Oh no. You make one hell of a bride, Annie. When he releases me, Christian is back at my side. Ray shakes his hand warmly. The rest of the wedding guests have formed a long human arch for us to travel through, leading round to the front of the house.

Waiting with smiles and hugs at the end of the arch are Grace and Carrick. In turn they hug and kiss us both.

Grace is emotional again as we bid them hasty good- byes. Taylor is waiting to whisk us away in the Audi SUV. As Christian holds the car door open for me, I turn and toss my bouquet of white and pink roses into the crowd of young women that has gathered. Mia triumphantly holds it aloft, grinning from ear to ear. Taylor holds the car door open for him. As Taylor pulls away, our wedding guests shower the vehicle with rice. Christian grasps my hand and kisses my knuckles.

Where are we going? Taylor does not head for the departure terminal as I expect but through a security gate and directly on to the tarmac. Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. They have a brief discussion, then Christian opens my door—and rather than stepping back to give me room to climb out, he leans in and lifts me. He carries me effortlessly up the steps, and Taylor follows with my small suitcase. He leaves it on the threshold of the plane before returning to the Audi.

Beside Stephan stands a dark-haired woman in her what? Early thirties? Anastasia, you know Stephan. I want to roll my eyes. Another female completely captivated by my too-handsome-for-his-own-good husband.

I smile kindly at her. After all—he is mine. The interior is all pale maple wood and pale cream leather. Another young woman in uniform stands at the other end of the cabin—a very pretty brunette. Weather is good from here to Boston.

Fifty Shades Freed

Taking my hand, he leads me to one of the sumptuous leather seats. There must be about twelve of them in total. We sit in two single seats facing each other with a small, highly polished table between us.

The champagne is delicious.

Your graduation. He looks like a small boy. His grin broadens and he shakes his head. I gasp. Holy cow. I can hardly believe it. My lifetime ambition has been to visit England.

Oh my. As the plane taxis out on to the runway, we sip our champagne, grinning inanely at each other. And what a feast it is—smoked salmon, followed by roast partridge with a green bean salad and dauphinoise potatoes, all cooked and served by the ever-efficient Natalia. He shakes his head and runs his finger across his bottom lip as he looks questioningly at me, his expression dark and unreadable. His lips curl up in a small, secret smile and Natalia retreats.

He leads me to the back of the cabin. The cabin is cream and maple wood and the small double bed is covered in gold and taupe cushions. It looks very comfortable. Christian turns and pulls me into his arms, gazing down at me.

I gape at him, my heart pounding. He takes my breath away. How can he infuse so much promise into those two words? Willingly I comply and his hands move to my hair. Gently he pulls out each hairpin one at a time, his expert fingers making short work of the task. After our long, tiring but exciting day, I want him—all of him. When my hair is free of pins, he runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my scalp. I close my eyes and savor the sensation. His fingers travel on down, and he tugs, tilting my head back to expose my throat.

I groan. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and trails a finger across the top of my back from shoulder to shoulder following the lace edge of my dress. I shiver in anticipation. He plants a tender kiss on my back above the first button on my dress.

I close my eyes and tilt my head, giving him easier access to my neck, and I fall further under the spell that is Christian Grey, my husband.

He peels my dress down my arms so that it pools at my feet in a cloud of ivory silk and lace. I do so and he gasps.

He just gazes at me, his eyes wide with want. You look sensational. My breath shallows, and he repeats the journey over my breasts once more, his tantalizing finger sending tingles down my spine. He stops and twirls his index finger in the air, indicating that he wants me to turn around. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me against him, and he nuzzles my neck. Gently he cups my breasts, toying with them, while his thumbs circle over my nipples so that they strain against the fabric of my corset.

Leaving my breasts bereft he runs his hands down my stomach, over my belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex. I stifle a moan. His fingers skate down each garter, and with his usual dexterity, he simultaneously unhooks each one from my stockings.

His hands travel around to my behind. Leaning down, he pulls back the cover on the bed. He grasps the top of my left stocking and slowly peels it off, running his thumbs down my leg. He repeats the process with my other stocking. I will always be yours, husband of mine. He pauses, gazing at me, eyes wide, eyes wanting. I want to undress my husband, my Fifty. He sits back on his heels, and leaning forward I grasp his tie—his sliver-gray tie, my favorite tie— and slowly undo it and pull it free.

Then he kisses his fist and shoves them into his pants pocket. Grey, so romantic. Grey—hearts and flowers. He groans and closes his eyes. His lips find mine, his hands curling around my head, holding me, stilling me as our tongues glory in each other. Abruptly Christian kneels up, leaving me breathless and wanting more. I want to kiss every inch of them. Starting here.

Everything south of my waistline convulses. His tongue glides up my instep and his teeth skim my heel and up to my ankle. He trails kisses up the inside of my calf; soft wet kisses. I wriggle beneath him. I can feel him hard against my behind.

The small cabin is eclipsed by his dazzling beauty and his want and need of me. He leans down and peels off my panties then gazes down at me. He crawls back onto the bed and trails kisses up my right leg this time. He pushes my legs wider apart. I close my eyes and surrender to his oh-so-adroit tongue.

My hands fist in his hair as my hips swing and sway, slave to his rhythm, then buck off the small bed. He grabs my hips to still me. I sense his smile against my belly as his journey continues north.

We have until we touch down on the Emerald Isle. Gazing up at me, his eyes are dark like a tropical storm as he teases me. He runs his nose down mine, and I run my hands down his strong, supple back to his fine, fine backside. We aim to please. I want to see you. What have I done? I am suddenly very awake, my erotic dream forgotten. I must have turned over in my sleep. His eyes blaze with fury. He reaches down, scoops up my bikini top from his sun lounger and tosses it at me.

Holy shit! Why do I keep forgetting about them? I grasp my breasts in panic, hiding them. Do you want to be all over the cover of Star magazine? Naked this time? The paparazzi! As I hurriedly scramble into my top, all thumbs, the color drains from my face. I shudder. The unpleasant memory of being besieged by the paparazzi outside SIP after our engagement was leaked comes unwelcome to mind—all part of the Christian Grey package.

He pulls on his shorts, even though his trunks are dripping wet, then his gray T-shirt. The waitress is back in a moment with his credit card and the check. Reluctantly, I wriggle into my turquoise sundress and step into my flip-flops. Once the waitress has left, Christian snatches up his book and BlackBerry and masks his fury behind mirrored aviator glasses. My heart sinks. In fact I look odd with my top on. I sigh inwardly, my spirits sinking. I thought Christian would see the funny side. They have been patiently watching us and everyone else on the beach from the verandah.

Taylor is stony-faced behind his dark glasses. Christian leads me into the hotel, through the lobby, and out onto the street. Taylor and his team shadow us. I have no idea of the time. I think it must be about five or six in the afternoon. When we reach the marina, Christian leads me onto the dock where the motorboat and Jet Ski belonging to the Fair Lady are moored.

I glance nervously up at him, but like Christian, his expression gives nothing away. Why am I the only one who has to wear a life jacket? Christian and Taylor exchange some kind of look. Jeez, is he angry with Taylor, too? Christian then checks the straps on my life jacket, cinching the middle one tightly.

He climbs gracefully on to the Jet Ski and holds out his hand for me to join him. Grasping it tightly, I manage to throw my leg over the seat behind him without falling into the water while Taylor and the twins clamber into the motorboat. Christian kicks the Jet Ski away from the dock, and it floats gently into the marina. This is my favorite part of traveling by Jet Ski. I hug him closely, my nose nuzzling into his back, marveling that there was a time when he would not have tolerated me touching him this way.

He smells good. Forgive me, Christian, please? He stiffens. I kiss his back and rest my cheek against him, looking back toward the dock where a few holidaymakers have gathered to watch the show. Christian turns the key and the motor roars to life. With one twist of the accelerator, the Jet Ski bucks forward and speeds across the cool dark water, through the marina and out to the center of the harbor toward the Fair Lady.

I hold him tighter. Taylor pulls alongside in the motorboat. Christian glances at him then accelerates again, and we shoot forward, whipping over the top of the water like an expertly tossed pebble.

Taylor shakes his head in resigned exasperation and heads straight to the yacht, while Christian shoots past the Fair Lady and heads out toward the open water.

The sea spray is splashing us, the warm wind buffeting my face and flaying my ponytail crazily around me. This is so much fun. He steers in a huge semicircle and I study the shoreline—the boats in the marina, the mosaic of yellow, white and sand-colored offices and apartments, and the craggy mountains behind. It looks so disorganized—not the regimented blocks that I am used to—but so picturesque. I nod enthusiastically. His answering grin is dazzling, and he opens the throttle and speeds around the Fair Lady and on out to sea once more.

I anxiously try to assess his mood. We are on deck aboard the yacht, and one of the stewards is standing quietly nearby, waiting for my life vest. Christian passes it to him.

I love his French accent. Christian glances at me, takes off his shades, and slips them into the collar of his T-shirt, letting them hang.

Oh, what is he thinking? He leans forward and kisses my forehead. You should know that by now. What was I thinking? I mentally castigate myself. The steward appears with our drinks and snacks and places them on the teak table. Christian takes a seat beside me and passes me a gin and tonic. I deploy my patented distraction technique. Sir Somebody-or-Other. His great-grandfather started a grocery store.

I blink rapidly. All mine? I gaze out at the sea, tuning out his conversation with Ros—I think—his number two. I am rich. I have done nothing to earn this money. I shudder as my mind drifts back to our conversation about prenups. It was the Sunday after his birthday, and we were seated at the kitchen table enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

Elliot, Kate, Grace, and I were debating the merits of bacon versus sausage, while Carrick and Christian read the Sunday paper. Then her mouth purses as some obviously unpleasant thought crosses her mind.

Christian frowns. Mia reads the column out loud. But who is the lucky, lucky lady? The Nooz is on the hunt. Silence descends, and the atmosphere in the Grey kitchen plunges to below zero. Oh no! A prenup? The thought has never crossed my mind. I swallow, feeling all the blood drain from my face. Please ground, swallow me up now! Christian shifts uncomfortably in his chair as I glance apprehensively at him. They look alternately at me then him.

Grey want. Christian looks up and glares at me. I blanch once more. She glares at Carrick and Mia. Everyone erupts into animated conversation, and Mia and Kate leap up to clear the table.

I stare down at my knotted fingers. I hope Mr. Christian reaches over and grasps both my hands gently in one of his. That stuff was all aimed at me. I wish my mom had kept her mouth shut. You left me once before. I know how that feels. He snorts and shakes his head with mock disgust. Losing Christian. Stop now. This subject is closed, Ana.

No prenup. Not now —not ever. Then he turns to Grace. I shudder as I recall the crazy shopping fest Christian demanded I go on with Caroline Acton—the personal shopper from Niemans—in preparation for this honeymoon. My bikini alone cost five hundred and forty dollars. Oh, Fifty, maybe with time.

I push the small dish of salted almonds and cashews toward him. He smirks. He licks his lips. Oh my, the look he gives me could be solely responsible for global warming. I pick up my gin and drain the glass, not taking my eyes off him.

He smiles lewdly at me. 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.

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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.

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