Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Onehandremainsinmyhair,theothertravelsdownmyspinetomywaistanddowntomybehind.Hishandflexesovermybacksideandsqueezesgently.Heholdsmeagainsthiships,andIfeelhiserection,whichhelanguidlypushesintome.

           Imoanoncemoreintohismouth.Icanhardlycontaintheriotousfeelings—oraretheyhormones?—thatrampagethroughmybody.Iwanthimsobadly.Grippinghisupperarms,Ifeelhisbiceps.He’ssurprisinglystrong…muscular.Tentatively,Imovemyhandsuptohisfaceandintohishair.It’ssosoft,unruly.Ituggently,andhegroans.Heeasesmetowardthebed,untilIfeelitbehindmyknees.Ithinkhe’sgoingtopushmedownontoit,buthedoesn’t.Releasingme,hesuddenlydropstohisknees.Hegrabsmyhipswithbothhishandsandrunshistonguearoundmynavel,thengentlynipshiswaytomyhipbone,thenacrossmybellytomyotherhipbone.

           “Ah,”Igroan.

           Seeinghimonhiskneesinfrontofme,feelinghismouthonme,it’ssounexpected,andhot.Myhandsstayinhishair,pullinggentlyasItrytoquietmytoo-loudbreathing.Hegazesupatmethroughimpossiblylonglashes,hiseyesascorchingsmokygray.Hishandsreachupandundothebuttononmyjeans,andheleisurelypullsdownthezipper.Withouttakinghiseyesoffmine,hishandsmovebeneaththewaistband,skimmingmeandmovingtomybehind.Hishandsglideslowlydownmybacksidetomythighs,removingmyjeansastheygo.Icannotlookaway.Hestopsandlickshislips,neverbreakingeyecontact.Heleansforward,runninghisnoseuptheapexbetweenmythighs.Ifeelhim.There.