Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The fucking lip biting gets me every time.
    And now, here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, the modest hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.
    You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?
    I knew it would lead to this. All week . . . I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator and disappeared into the depths of my building. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five fucking days to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting . . . for anything. I’ve never actively pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Steele is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer . . . will she? Will she even make a good submissive? I shake my head. There’s only one way to find out . . . so here I am, a fucking ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland.
    Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been at the forefront of my mind. It’s the reason I’m here. Why no boyfriend, Miss Steele? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose . . . Shit. I’ve been suffering from these ludicrous thoughts since I met her.
    That’s why you’re here.
    I’m itching to see her again—those blue eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams. I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. I roll my eyes—I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based shit. I just need a distraction . . . and right now the only distraction I want is working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.
    You’ve come all this way. Let’s see if little Miss Steele is as appealing as you remember. Showtime, Grey. I climb out of the car and stroll across the lot to the front door. A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk in.
    The store is much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it is almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual crap you’d expect. I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items . . . Velcro, split rings— Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Steele and have some fun.
    It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Unthinking, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger. My cock twitches in response. Fuck! What am I, fourteen? My reaction is fucking irritating. Maybe this adolescent response will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her . . . and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.
    She is thoroughly absorbed in her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she is attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.
    She glances up and freezes, pinning me with intelligent, discerning eyes—the bluest of blue that seem to see right through me. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She just stares, shocked I think, and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.
    “Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise.”
    “Mr. Grey,” she whispers, breathy and flustered. Ah . . . a good response.
    “I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele.” A real pleasure. She’s dressed in tight T-shirt and jeans, not the shapeless shit she was wearing earlier this week. She’s all long legs, small waist, and perfect tits. She continues to gape, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and tip her chin up to close her mouth. I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was worth the journey.
    “Ana. My name’s Ana. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did in the interview, and gives me a fake