Download fifty shades freed from reading sanctuary in eBook pdf format. Read Online or download Fifty Shades Freed Novel. pdf Fifty Shades ronaldweinland.info Go to PDF. Nov 26, Fifty Shades Freed CHAPTER 1. CHAPTER 1 thanks for sharing read fifty shades of gray books online free ronaldweinland.info Reply. She is also the author of Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed. The author published an earlier serialized version of this story online with different .. When my hair is free of pins, he runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my.
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paper with her first novel,. Fifty Shades of Grey. .. Fifty! I shield my eyes from the sun as I watch him go. He's such a tease what .. free of pins, he runs his. Read Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3) online free from your iPhone, iPad, android, Pc, Mobile. Fifty Shades Freed is a Romance novel by E.L. James. MORE THAN MILLION COPIES SOLD WORLDWIDE FIFTY SHADES OF GREY IS SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE Now in hardcover, with a silk.
Skip to main content. Log In Sign Up. Since early childhood, she dreamed of writing stories that readers would fall in love with, but she put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her career. She finally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel, Fifty Shades of Grey. All rights reserved.
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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.
Such lovebirds. 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. He grins. 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 me alone with my mother. 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. Oh no. 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. In turn they hug and kiss us both. Grace is emotional again as we bid them hasty goodbyes.
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, the vehicle is showered with rice by our wedding guests.
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.
Beside Stephan stands a darkhaired woman in her what? Early thirties? Anastasia, you know Stephan. I want to roll my eyes. Another female completely captivated by my toohandsome-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.
Who the hell is that? Weather is good from here to Boston. 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.
My hair falls in swathes over my shoulders, one lock at a time, covering my back and down to my breasts. 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. 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 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. 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 fingers and 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.
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. Weirdly, they are identical twins. 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 quayside, 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 23 P a g e Fifty Shades Freed clamber into the motorboat.
Christian kicks the Jet Ski away from the quay, 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 quay 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. 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 sea. 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 am rich. I have done nothing to earn this money. I shudder as my mind drifts back to our conversation about prenups. It was Sunday after his birthday and we were seated at the kitchen table enjoying a leisurely breakfast.
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. 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.
His mouth drops open, and I glimpse the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He smiles lewdly at me. In one fluid move, he gets up 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 off 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 reaches forward and 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. In fact, all sets. Reaching up, he strokes my cheek with his index finger, trailing it down to my mouth.
He leans in as if to kiss me. He smiles. What does he mean? 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 inner goddess has her sequins on and is warming up to dance the rumba. 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 31 P a g e Fifty Shades Freed 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. 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 download 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.
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.