Freed

by James, E L

  But generally, no work and all play has been invigorating.

  I smile fondly at Ana, and still she sleeps.

  I have discovered new facets to my wife.

  She adores London.

  She loves afternoon tea at Brown’s Hotel.

  She loves pubs and the fact that Londoners spill out of them and drink pints and smoke on the sidewalks.

  She loves Borough Market, especially the Scotch eggs.

  She’s not keen on shopping, except at Harrods.

  She is not a fan of English ale, but then neither am I. It’s warm.

  Who drinks warm beer?

  She’s not keen on shaving…but she’ll let me shave her.

  Now, that’s a memory I’ll treasure.

  She loves Paris.

  She loves the Louvre.

  She loves the Pont des Arts, and we left a padlock there to prove it.

  She loves the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles.

  “Mr. Grey. It is no hardship to see you from every angle in here.”

  She loves me…or so it would seem.

  I’m tempted to wake her, but we enjoyed a late night yesterday. We saw Le Songe, a ballet based on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, at L’Opéra de Monte-Carlo, then went to the casino, where Ana won a few hundred euros at the roulette table. She was thrilled.

  Her eyes flicker open, as if I’ve willed her awake. She smiles. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Grey, good morning. Sleep well?”

  She stretches. “I had the best sleep and the best dreams.”

  “You are the best dream.” I kiss her forehead. “Sex, or morning swim around the yacht?”

  She smiles her oh-so-sexy smile. “Both,” she mouths.

  Ana is bundled up in a robe fresh from her swim, sipping tea and reading one of her SIP manuscripts as we’re served breakfast on deck. “I could get used to this,” she says, dreamily.

  “Yes. She’s a fine, fine vessel.” I stare at Ana and swallow the last of my espresso. Ana quirks an eyebrow, but before she can respond, our steward Rebecca sets a plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon in front of each of us.

  “Breakfast,” Rebecca says with a warm smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “This is great.” I return her smile.

  “I’m good, thank you,” Ana says.

  “Let’s go to the beach today,” I suggest.

  Rarely do I get the opportunity to read so much. But on my honeymoon I’ve devoured two thrillers, two books on climate change, and now I’m reading Morgenson and Rosner’s tome on how greed and corruption led to the 2008 financial crisis, while Ana is dozing beneath a parasol at the Beach Plaza Monte Carlo. Stretched out on a sunbed in the afternoon sun, she’s wearing a rather fetching turquoise bikini that leaves very little to the imagination.

  I’m not sure I approve.

  I’ve asked Taylor and his two French cohorts, the Ferreux twins, to keep a lookout for any photographers. The paparazzi are parasites who will stop at nothing to invade our privacy. For some bizarre reason, probably since the Star ran its gossip piece on Ana, the press are thirsty for pictures of us. Why, I don’t know or understand—it’s not like we’re celebrities, and it makes me mad. I don’t want my wife appearing on Page Six wearing practically nothing just because it’s a slow news day.

  The sun has shifted so Ana is under its full glare, and it’s been a while since I applied her sunscreen. I lean over and whisper in her ear, “You’ll burn.”

  She startles awake and grins. “Only for you.”

  My heart beats a little faster.

  How does she do that with just three short words and a smile?

  With a swift tug, I drag her bed into the shade. “Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey.”

  “Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey.”

  “My pleasure, and I’m not being altruistic at all. If you burn, I won’t be able to touch you.”

  Ana curls her lips in a smirk.

  I narrow my eyes. “But I suspect you know that, and you’re laughing at me.”

  “Would I?” She bats her lashes, trying, and frankly failing, to look innocent.

  “Yes, you would, and you do. Often.” I kiss her. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.” I nibble at her lower lip.

  “I was hoping you’d rub me down with more sunscreen.”

  Deep joy.

  “It’s a dirty job, but that’s an offer I can’t refuse. Sit up.”

  I love this. Touching her. Out here. In public.

  She presents her front to me, and I squirt some sunscreen on my fingers, then slowly and thoroughly, so as not to miss a spot, massage it into her skin. Her shoulders, her neck, her arms, the tops of her breasts, her belly. “You really are very lovely. I’m a lucky man.”

  “Yes, you are, Mr. Grey.” Her coy demeanor stirs my blood.

  “Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your back.”

  She lies down and I undo the strap of her bikini.

  “How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on the beach?” she asks, her voice soft and languid, like the day.

  I squirt more sunscreen on my hand and rub it into her skin.

  “Displeased. I’m not very happy about you wearing so little right now.” I don’t want some sleazy fucking pap ogling my wife through a lens while she’s relaxing on the beach. They’re everywhere. Like vermin.

  Ana looks defiant.

  I lean down and whisper in her ear. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?”

  “No. It’s a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey.”

  This isn’t a game, Ana.

  Her back and legs are done. I slap her backside. “You’ll do, wench.”

  My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. It’s Ros with her morning report.

  It’s early in Seattle. I hope she’s okay.

  “My eyes only,” I warn Ana half-jokingly, and slap her ass once more before I take the call. Ana wriggles her backside provocatively, and closes her eyes while I talk to Ros.

  “Hi, Ros, why so early?” I ask.

  “I can’t sleep, and I can get work done when the house is quiet.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No. It’s all good. Yesterday after we spoke, I got a call from Bill. We’re being pressured by the Detroit Brownfield Redevelopment Authority. You need to make a decision.”

  My heart sinks.

  Detroit. Damn. “Okay. Okay. Of the three sites that Bill sent through, the second was the best.”

  “The Schaefer Road site?” she asks.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Okay. I’ll push on that. There’s one more thing. Woods.”

  Hell. He’s still on our list of suspects. “What’s that asshole doing now?”

  Ros ignores my epithet. “He’s rattling his ex-employees.”

  “Poisoning the well?”

  “Yes. I think they need a visit,” she says.

  “You should go.”

  “Not from me. You.”

  “Hmm…something to consider when I get back.”

  “I think so.”

  “I fancy a trip to New York. Take the wife.”

  I hear her smile. “How’s the Côte d’Azur?”

  My gaze lingers on my dozing wife…and her pert backside. “It’s beautiful. Especially the view here.”

  “Great. Enjoy it. I’ll get on with this.”

  “You do that, Ros.”

  “You know, I think with you gone, I’m all fired up.”

  I laugh. “Don’t get too used to it. I’ll be back.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m missing you.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but I’m stumped and
don’t know what to say.

  “Afternoon, Christian.” She hangs up, and I stare at my phone, wondering if she’s okay.

  Grey, she’s fine. She’s one of the most competent people you know.

  I go back to my book.

  By mid-afternoon the temperature is scorching. I order some drinks from the hotel waitress, as I’m parched. Ana wakens and turns her attention to me. “Thirsty?”

  “Yes,” she replies, sleepily.

  She’s lovely. “I could watch you all day. Tired?”

  In the shade of the parasol, her face flushes. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Me neither.”

  I recall a vision from last night: Ana riding me hard.

  My body stirs. Shit.

  I need to cool down. Now. Standing, I make quick work of slipping out of my denim shorts. “Come for a swim with me.” I hold out my hand, and Ana blinks, a little dazed. “Swim?” I ask again. When she doesn’t answer, I scoop her into my arms. “I think you need a wake-up call.”

  She squeals and giggles at once. “Christian! Put me down!”

  “Only in the sea, baby.” Laughing, I carry her across the hellish hot sand, grateful to reach the cooler, damper shoreline. Ana wraps her arms around my neck, her eyes alight with amusement as I wade into the Mediterranean.

  This has woken her up. She’s clinging to me like a limpet. “You wouldn’t,” she says, a little breathless.

  I can’t help my grin. “Oh, Ana, baby, have you learned nothing in the short time we’ve known each other?” Leaning down, I kiss her and she grasps my head, her fingers running through my hair. Greedily, she kisses me back with a passion that catches me unawares and takes my breath away.

  Ana.

  I’m grateful I’m waist-deep in the water.

  “I know your game,” I murmur against her lips, and slowly sink into the sea, kissing her once more. The cool water, her hot, wet mouth against mine, it’s arousing. She’s wrapped around me, warm and wet, cloaking me in her long, lovely limbs.

  This is heaven.

  I consume her, our passion building while my mind empties.

  It’s just Ana, my beautiful girl, and me. In the sea.

  I want her.

  Here. Now.

  “I thought you wanted to swim,” she whispers, when we stop for air.

  “You’re very distracting.” I tug her lower lip and suck. “And I’m not sure I want the good people of Monte Carlo to see my wife in the throes of passion.”

  She grazes my jaw with her teeth.

  She wants more.

  “Ana,” I warn, twisting her ponytail around my wrist. I gently tug so I have access to her throat. She tastes of salt water, coconut sunscreen, sweat, and, best of all, Ana. “Shall I take you in the sea?”

  “Yes.” Her answer is a whisper that stokes my libido.

  Fuck. Enough.

  This is getting out of hand.

  “Mrs. Grey, you’re insatiable and so brazen. What sort of monster have I created?”

  “A monster fit for you. Would you have me any other way?”

  “I’ll take you any way I can get you, you know that. But not right now. Not with an audience.” I tilt my head to the shore.

  Ana glances at the sunbathers taking an intrusive interest in what we are doing.

  Enough, Grey.

  Grabbing her around her waist, I boost her into the air and she lands with a satisfying splash in the sea. When she surfaces, she’s laughing and spluttering with feigned indignation. “Christian!” she cries, and skates her hand across the surface of the water, splashing me.

  I splash her right back, grinning because she looks so disappointed.

  I’m not exposing her to an audience while we fuck!

  “We have all night,” I explain, delighted by her reaction. Before I change my mind and get us both arrested—though this is France, so who knows—I prepare to dive. “Laters, baby,” I call, and plunge beneath the calm, clean water and swim away. A fast crawl will cool me down and expend some of this excess energy.

  Later, feeling calmer and much refreshed, I stride up the beach, wondering how my wife is faring.

  What the actual fuck!

  Ana is topless on her sunbed.

  I quicken my pace and scan the beach as I go, catching Taylor’s eye from where he sits at the bar. He’s sipping Perrier with our French security officers, who happen to be twin brothers. Between them, they survey our surroundings. Taylor shakes his head, and I think he’s telling me that he’s not spotted any photographers.

  I don’t fucking care. I think I’m going to have a coronary.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yell, seething at Ana when I reach her.

  She opens her eyes.

  Was she feigning sleep? On. Her. Back?

  She looks around, panicked. “I was on my front. I must have turned over in my sleep,” she whispers.

  I grab her bikini top off my sunbed and toss it toward her, growling, “Put this on!”

  Fucking hell. I specifically asked you not to do this.

  Not for my fucking health. But for your privacy!

  “Christian, no one is looking.”

  “Trust me. They’re looking. I’m sure Taylor and the security crew are enjoying the show!”

  She grabs her breasts.

  “Yes,” I hiss. “And some sleazy fucking paparazzi could get a shot of you, too. Do you want to be all over the cover of Star magazine? Naked this time?”

  Ana looks horrified and scrambles to put her top on.

  Yeah! Why did you think I said no?

  “L’addition!” I snap at the waitress. “We’re going,” I say to Ana.

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  Don’t argue with me, Ana.

  I’m so fucking mad I don’t even bother to dry myself. I drag on my shorts and T-shirt, and when the waitress returns I sign the check. Ana dresses hurriedly beside me while I signal to Taylor that we’re leaving. He picks up his phone, presumably to call the Fair Lady and summon the tender. I gather my book and phone and put on my aviators.

  What the hell was she thinking?

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” Ana says quietly as she takes my belongings and places them in her backpack.

  “Too late for that,” I grumble, trying and utterly failing to bring my temper under control. “Come.” I clasp her hand and wave at Taylor and the Ferreux brothers, who follow us through the hotel to the entrance.

  “Where are we going?” Ana asks.

  “Back to the boat.”

  I’m relieved to see the tender with its Jet Ski at the dock. Ana hands Taylor her backpack, and he gives her a life jacket. Taylor looks hopefully at me, but I shake my head. He blows out a quick breath of frustration, and I know he wants me to wear one, as well, but I’m too fucking angry. Ignoring him, I check that Ana’s straps are cinched tightly. “You’ll do,” I mutter, and clamber onto the Jet Ski, then offer my hand to Ana. Once she’s behind me, I kick us away from the dock and attach the kill-cord to the hem of my T-shirt. “Hold on,” I growl, and she settles her arms around me, hugging me hard. I tense when she nuzzles my back, because…old memories, and also I’m mad at her. But, truth is, I love being in her arms. “Steady,” I mutter, and twist the ignition, starting the engine. The motor roars to life, and slowly I twist the accelerator and we race forward toward the Fair Lady.

  As we zip over the water my temper improves.

  When the tender catches up with us, Ana tightens her hold around me, and I open the accelerator to the max and we speed ahead.

  Ha! I love this!

  This is fun.

  Big-time fun.

  Enjoy the moment, Grey.

  The Mediterranean is calm and flat, so it’s easy to
fly over the brine. We tear past the yacht and out toward the open sea. The summer wind in my face, the spray, the speed at which we race across the water, and Ana clinging to me; it’s such a thrill. I steer us in an arc toward the boat—but I want more.

  “Again?” I shout at Ana. Her huge smile is all the encouragement I need, and I shoot around the Fair Lady and out to open sea again, in Ana’s tight embrace.

  I want to shout my happiness.

  But…I’m still a little pissed at her.

  One of the young stewards, Gerard, helps Ana off the Jet Ski and onto the Fair Lady’s small platform. Ana scoots up the wooden stairs and waits for me on deck. “Mr. Grey,” Gerard says, and offers his arm. I wave him away, climb off the machine, and follow Ana. She looks lovely, if a little apprehensive. Her skin glows from the fresh air and the kiss of the sun. “You’ve caught the sun,” I say absentmindedly and undo her life vest. I hand it to Greg, another of the stewards.

  “Will that be all, sir?” he asks.

  “Would you like a drink?” I ask Ana.

  “Do I need one?”

  I frown. “Why would you say that?”

  “You know why.”

  Yes, Ana. I’m mad at you.

  “Two gin and tonics, please. And some nuts and olives.”

  Greg acknowledges my request with a nod. As he leaves, I realize what Ana’s implying. “You think I’m going to punish you?” I ask.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes,” I answer without hesitation, surprising myself.

  Her eyes widen. “How?”

  Oh, Ana. You sound interested. “I’ll think of something. Maybe when you’ve had your drink.” I let my eyes stray to the horizon as various erotic images float through my mind. “You want to be?”

  Her eyes darken. “Depends.” Her cheeks flush with telltale interest.

  Oh, baby.

  “On what?”

  “If you want to hurt me or not.”

  For fuck’s sake. I thought we were over this.

  Her response irks me, but I lean over and kiss her forehead. “Anastasia, you’re my wife, not my sub. I don’t ever want to hurt you. You should know that by now.” I sigh. “Just…just don’t take your clothes off in public. I don’t want you naked all over the tabloids. You don’t want that, and I’m sure your mom and Ray don’t want that, either.”