Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 8
Thewallsarewhite,andthefurnishingsarepaleblue.Theenormousbedisultramodern,madeofrough,graywoodlikedriftwood,fourpostsbutnocanopy.Onthewallaboveitisastunningpaintingofthesea.
Iamquakinglikealeaf.Thisisit.Finally,afterallthistime,I’mgoingtodoit,withnoneotherthanChristianGrey.Mybreathisshallow,andIcan’ttakemyeyesoffhim.Heremoveshiswatchandplacesitontopofachestofdrawersthatmatchesthebed,andremoveshisjacket,placingitonachair.He’sdressedinhiswhitelinenshirtandjeans.Heisheart-stoppinglybeautiful.Hisdarkcopperhairisamess,hisshirthangingout—hisgrayeyesboldanddazzling.HestepsoutofhisConverseshoesandreachesdownandtakeshissocksoffindividually.ChristianGrey’sfeet…wow…whatisitaboutnakedfeet?Turning,hegazesatme,hisexpressionsoft.
“Iassumeyou’renotonthepill.”
What?Shit.
“Ididn’tthinkso.”Heopensthetopdrawerofthechestandremovesapacketofcondoms.Hegazesatmeintently.
“Beprepared,”hemurmurs.“Doyouwanttheblindsdrawn?”
“Idon’tmind,”Iwhisper.“Ithoughtyoudidn’tletanyonesleepinyourbed.”
“Whosayswe’regoingtosleep?”hemurmurs.
“Oh.”Holyhell.
Hestrollsslowlytowardme.Confident,sexy,eyesblazing,andmyheartbeginstopound.Myblood’spumpingthroughmybody.Desire,thickandhot,poolsinmybelly.Hestandsinfrontofme,staringdownintomyeyes.He’ssofreakinghot.
