Page 3 Fifty Shades of Grey. E L. James is currently working on . My husband — my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless, and in cut-off jeans. —is reading a book. States by Vintage Books, a division of. Random Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed are works of fiction. Vintage eISBN: Trilogy cover. E-book ISBN A CIP catalogue record E L James is currently working on the sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey and a new romantic thriller with.
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Book III of the Fifty Shades Trilogy. When unwordly student Anastasia Steele first encountered the driven and dazzling young entrepreneur Christian Grey it. Nov 26, CHAPTER I can barely breathe. Do I want to hear this? Christian closes his eyes and swallows. When he opens them again, they are bright. Editorial Reviews. Review. THE "NEW YORK TIMES "BESTSELLING FIFTY SHADES Trilogy Previous page. 1. Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades, Book .
His face is turned toward her but covered by unkempt brown hair.
One arm is beneath the pillow that supports his head, the other extended toward her. He has broad, defined shoulders, and on his biceps is an elaborate tattoo that is partially hidden by the bedding. His back is sun-kissed with a tan that fades as his hips narrow to dimples and to a pale, taut backside. His long, muscular legs disappear beneath a knot of gray duvet and silver silk bedspread, though his foot sticks out over the edge of the mattress.
He stirs, the muscles in his back rippling, and his eyelids flicker open to reveal unfocused but brilliant green eyes. Their eyes meet, but he shifts and turns his face away. Gone is my teasing, flirtatious husband, replaced by a cold, calculating master of the universe. He narrows his eyes for a moment then gives me a cool, chilling smile. A shiver runs down my back. He picks up his Black- Berry and presses a speed dial.
My scalp prickles. I hear you, just do it. Christian is mad. His mouth is pressed in a hard line. He broke her jaw, her left arm, and four of her ribs because she was fucking me. What he did to Elena. That was her prerogative. I am going to bankrupt him.
He arches a brow, amused. Christian is really quite scary sometimes. He brushes his lips against mine. Keep my family safe. Christian gazes down at me, his eyes darkening. His lips part as he inhales and, in a deliberate move, the tips of his fingers brush against my sex.
Desire detonates like an incendiary device igniting my bloodstream. I grasp his head, my fingers weaving into his hair, and tug hard so my lips find his. He gasps, surprised by my assault, giving my tongue free passage into his mouth.
He groans and kisses me back, his lips and tongue hungry for mine, and for a moment we consume each other, lost in tongues and lips and breaths and sweet, sweet sensation as we rediscover each other.
Oh, I want this man. I want him here, now, in the open air, in our meadow. I scramble to unbutton his shirt, all fingers and thumbs. I release him. This is what we do. He groans in defeat as his mouth finds mine, molding my lips to his. One hand cradles my head while the other skims down my body to my waist, and he eases me onto my back and stretches out beside me, never breaking contact with my mouth.
He pulls back, hovering over me and gazing down. Inside and out. He groans once more, and his mouth captures mine, pushing me into the soft grass beneath the blanket. My heart soars. Oh, Christian. His lips move to my throat, leaving tender kisses in their wake, and his fingers follow, deftly undoing each button of my blouse.
Tugging my blouse apart, he kisses the soft swell of my breasts. He murmurs appreciatively, low in his throat, and the sound echoes through my body to my deep dark places.
I watch his tongue taste and trace the line between my bra and my breast, tantalizing and teasing me. Taking my bra cup delicately between his teeth, he pulls it down, freeing my breast and nuzzling my nipple with his nose in the process. It puckers at his touch and from the chill of the gentle fall breeze.
His lips close around me, and he sucks long and hard. He stares at me, warring with himself. His hands glide over the top of my thigh-highs. He grasps both of my breasts, and I throw my head back, pushing them into his welcome, expert hands.
He kisses me, his fingers still teasing me. Take it slow. I want to savor you. He kisses the right corner of my mouth. Oh, my man can kiss. I caress his face, my fingers moving tentatively down to his chin then to his throat, and I start again on the buttons of his shirt, taking my time, as he continues to kiss me. Slowly I pull his shirt apart, my fingers trailing over his clavicles, feeling their way across his warm, silky skin.
My beautiful man. I lean down, and my kisses follow the tips of my fingers. My teeth graze his jaw and kiss his throat. He closes his eyes. Christian lost and aroused is just so exhilarating. My tongue trails down his sternum, twirling through his chest hair.
He tastes so good. He smells so good. I kiss first one, then two of his small round scars, and he grasps my hips, so my fingers halt on his chest as I gaze down at him. His breathing is harsh. I pull and roll it gently with my teeth. He sits me down again, and I push against him, delighting in the feel of him hot and hard beneath me.
He runs his hands up my thighs, pausing where my thigh-highs stop and my flesh begins, his hands running small teasing circles at the top of my thighs so that the tips of his thumbs touch me.
I gasp. His fingers trace the elastic along my belly then slide inside, teasing me, before grabbing my panties tightly and pushing his thumbs through the delicate material. My panties disintegrate.
His hands splay out on my thighs, and his thumbs brush against my sex once more. He flexes his hips so his erection rubs against me. He rubs his nose against mine. I want to feel all of you. I feel each blessed inch of him fill me. I try to lift myself off him for some welcome friction, but he holds me in place. I throw my head back and let out a strangled cry of pure pleasure. He shifts, rolling his hips, but holds me in place. I groan. His lips are at my throat, kissing me. I cup his face and kiss him, consuming him.
Please, Christian. My inner goddess is unleashed, and I push him down on the ground and start to move, savoring the feeling of him inside me.
With his hands around my waist he matches my rhythm. I have missed this. I love this. He cuddles me against his chest, cradling my head. Closing my eyes, I savor the feel of his arms around me. My hand is on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as it slows and calms. I kiss and nuzzle him, and marvel briefly that not long ago he would not have let me do this. I raise my head.
You, me and. How do you feel, incidentally? I look up at him, trying to gauge his expression. Images of us together, in the playroom; the Tallis, the table, on the cross, shackled to the bed.
I love his kinky fuckery—our kinky fuckery. I can do that stuff. I can do that for him, with him. I can do that for me. My skin tingles as I remember the riding crop. I nuzzle him once more. I love him so. Two days since the promise of well, maybe when we get home was made. Well, so do I. I flush, thinking what that could possibly entail. I glance at the billiard table. My thoughts are interrupted by soft, lyrical music that fills the apartment.
Christian is playing the piano; not one of his usual laments but a sweet melody, a hopeful melody—one that I recognize, but have never heard him play. I tiptoe to the archway of the great room and watch Christian at the piano. The sky is an opulent pink, and the light is reflected off his burnished copper hair.
He looks his beautiful breathtaking self, concentrating as he plays, unaware of my presence. I find a pale blue camisole and slip into it quickly. It will hide my bruise. From my bedside table I pick up my BlackBerry, fold the jeans neatly, and kneel by the bedroom door.
Quickly I type an email. Anastasia Grey Subject: September 21, Christian Grey Sir I await your instructions. Yours always Mrs. G x I press send.
A few moments later the music stops abruptly. My heart lurches and starts pounding. I wait and wait and eventually my BlackBerry buzzes. Christian Grey Subject: Anastasia Grey Mrs. Be ready. Be ready! My heart starts to pound and I begin to count.
Thirty-seven seconds later the door opens. He says nothing. For ages he says nothing. Oh shit. I resist the urge to look up at him and keep my eyes downcast. Finally, he reaches down and picks up his jeans.
He stays silent but heads into the walk-in closet while I remain stock-still. Oh my. My heart is thundering, and I relish the rush of adrenaline that spikes through my body.
I squirm as my excitement builds. James the 'Publishing Person of the Year', causing an "outcry from the literary world". For example, "What was Publishers Weekly thinking? It may be that power is not always that comfortable, even for those of us who grew up in it; it may be that equality is something we want only sometimes and in some places and in some arenas; it may be that power and all of its imperatives can be boring.
Instead, she wrote, the books are notable not for transgressive sex but for how women are using technology to subvert gendered shame by exploring explicit sexual content privately using e-readers. Instead of submission fantasies representing a post-feminist discomfort with power and free will, women's open consumption, sharing and discussion of sexual content is a feminist success.
Drew commented that the book was "horribly written" in addition to being "disturbing" but stated that "if the book enhances women's real-life sex lives and intimacy, so be it. A representative for the library stated that it was due to the book's sexual content and that other libraries had declined to download copies for their branches. In a public library there is usually very little that would prevent a book from being on the shelf if there is a demand for the information.