Updated on August 5, 2015
50 Shades Freed – Chapter One
Christian has just woken from a nightmare about his disturbed childhood. Ana is next to him in bed, comforting him. What a wonderful, happy, healthy relationship they ha … no, I can’t say it with a straight face.
Read the Prologue here.
50 Shades Freed
I stare up through gaps in the sea-grass parasol at the bluest of skies.
Christian is beside me, stretched out on a sun lounge.
They are married. They are in Monaco. They are on their honeymoon.
We are staying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht … built in 1928.
For someone who spent the first two books being appalled by the trappings of wealth, she sure has taken a lot of interest in the stonking great yacht.
Honestly, boys and their toys.
Yes, because female millionaires wouldn’t spend their money on boats and gadgets.
Flashback everyone! Flashback to the boathouse when he proposed!
“Can we marry tomorrow?” Christian murmurs.
Nice to see he’s giving her time to think about it, as always.
“Could we do it here?” he asks tentatively.
She spent a WHOLE BOOK deciding whether to sign the Dom/sub contract, yet she’s just wandering into marriage like it ain’t no thang?!
He strokes my hair. Could I be any happier?
All right, Chandler.
They decide to get married within a month (I say ‘they’ decide, I mean Christian does). End of flashback. I hope this isn’t going to become a thing.
“You’ll burn,” Christian whispers in my ear, startling me from my doze.
“Only for you.” I give him my sweetest smile.
From creepy to cheesy in only five words!
He … pulls my sun lounge into the shade of the parasol.
OK, the first time might have been a mistake, but again? SUN LOUNGE-R.
His fingers skim over my breasts, spreading the [sun tan] lotion.
Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my hideously expensive bikini.
So was he just … rubbing sun cream into her bikini?
When he’s finished, he slaps my behind.
“You’ll do, wench.”
He sits back down on his lounger.
Oh, thank God. Lounger.
He picks her up to carry her into the sea, and she squeals with excitement. Everyone else looks on, bemused, because they apparently haven’t seen a touchy-feely attractive couple on a beach before. Oh, they’re so kooky and adorable!
I run my teeth along his jaw, his stubble tickly against my tongue.
I cannot imagine how this is sexy.
“Shall I take you in the sea?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Oh, please. It’s the middle of the day on a public beach.
“Not with an audience.”
Who ever thought Christian would be the prude?
Back at the lounges our drinks have arrived.
I THOUGHT WE HAD DEALT WITH THIS.
Oh crap, it’s time for another flashback. This time it’s their wedding day.
“Finally, you’re mine,” he whispers.
Yes, the marriage contract officially signs her over as your property.
“Don’t let anyone take that dress off but me, understand?”
Because she would definitely cheat on you ON YOUR WEDDING DAY.
Kate pulls me into a Katherine Kavanagh Special Hug.
Damn, I haven’t named my mates’ hugs. I’m a bad friend.
Christian’s grandmother comes over and, like no grandmother character ever (ha!), immediately tells them they should have kids RIGHT NOW. Christian sweeps her off to dance, saying “Laters, baby,” because he hasn’t yet realised that it’s tragically uncool to say that.
“I’m happy to see you happy, but I’m serious Ana,” says José, “I’ll be here … if you need me.” His dark eyes shine with sincerity.
I mean it, Ana. Please. Love me.
“I have [to dance] with Christian’s grandfather.”
“Good luck with that, Annie.”
NOBODY has EVER called her Annie. Don’t try to introduce a cute nickname in the THIRD BOOK!
“Just remember that men are from a different planet, and you’ll be fine.”
Ah, so the key to a great relationship is to see your other half as essentially different from you. Brilliant.
“You make one hell of a bride, Annie.”
As Christian holds the door open for me, I turn and toss my bouquet … Mia triumphantly holds it aloft.
You mean someone’s going to marry that insufferable bitch?
And then I see her – Christian’s jet … Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
“Don’t tell me you’re misusing company property again!”
If you can’t fly in your own jet, what the hell is the point of being a millionaire?
On the plane, they meet their captain and First Officer Beighley, who is an attractive woman. She blushes and blinks when she talks to Christian, because it’s impossible for any female to be self-controlled or professional in his presence.
“Where are we going?” I’m unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
“Shannon … to refuel.”
Holy cow. My lifetime ambition has been to visit England.
Character development! An ambition we’ve never heard of before! (Or maybe we have, I can’t bloody remember.)
“Then Paris. Then the South of France.”
If they were just stopping to refuel in London, I would LAUGH.
“I thought we’d spend our wedding night at thirty-five thousand feet.”
…The mile high club. I’ve heard about this.
I would be rather surprised if you hadn’t.
He plants a tender kiss on my back above the first button on my dress. With infinite slowness, he unfastens each button.
Infinite slowness? Christ, these sex scenes are long enough.
I’m dressed in a tight, blush-pink satin corset with garter straps, matching lacy briefs, and white silk stockings.
And did you buy those clothes yourself? Probably fucking not.
He runs his hands down my stomach, over my belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex.
Oh yeh, baby. Put your thumbs in me.
He kneels at my feet and gently tugs off each of my white bridal Jimmy Choos.
I thought you didn’t give a shit about brands? And now you’re not even using the word ‘shoes’ any more! You’ve changed, Ana.
He frowns in admonishment. “This time it’s really mine.”
Because sex isn’t really sex until you’re married.
Leaning forward I grasp his tie – his silver-grey tie, my favourite tie.
He wore his sex tie to the wedding?!
I kiss his plain platinum wedding ring. He groans and closes his eyes.
Note to self: a man will groan when you kiss his ring.
He’s gloriously naked and looming large and ready over me.
In the movie they’ll probably have a shot of her lying on the bed, with a massive penis-shadow cast across her. That’s how I’d do it, anyway.
The small cabin is eclipsed by his dazzling beauty.
The … cabin is eclipsed by his … beauty? But … what?
“So impatient, Mrs. Grey. We have until we touch down on the Emerald Isle.”
Oh my … I’d forgotten. Europe.
Yeh, we hadn’t. Move on.
He looms up over me, his body covering mine, resting his weight on his elbows.
He slowly sinks into me.
“Ana, oh Ana,” he breathes, and he starts to move.
Balancing on his elbows, I’ll wager.
Flashback over! I don’t think it really works when it lasts for the whole freaking chapter.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Christian shouts, waking me from my very pleasant dream.
So it wasn’t a flashback, it was a detailed, chronologically accurate DREAM.
Oh no … I’m lying on my back.
She previously lay down on her front and removed her bikini top, so this means her boobs are out. On a beach in France? Unheard of!
He’s standing at the end of my sun lounge and glaring down at me.
Jesus Christ, it’s a lounge-r! LOUNGE-R!
Shit. He’s really mad.
Probably because you keep referring to it as a fucking lounge.
Until next time, folks!
Read Chapter Two.