Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 8
Christian’seyesflickeropenandgazedownatme,darkbutsoft.He’sstillinsideme.Leaningdown,hegentlypressesakissagainstmyforeheadthenslowlypullsoutofme.
“Ooh.”Iwinceattheunfamiliarity.
“DidIhurtyou?”Christianasksasheliesdownbesidemeproppedononeelbow.Hetucksastraystrandofmyhairbehindmyear.AndIhavetogrin,widely.
“Youareaskingmeifyouhurtme?”
“Theironyisnotlostonme,”hesmilessardonically.“Seriously,areyouokay?”Hiseyesareintense,probing,demandingeven.
Istretchoutbesidehim,feelingloose-limbed,myboneslikejelly,butI’mrelaxed,deeplyrelaxed.Igrinathim.Ican’tstopgrinning.NowIknowwhatallthefussisabout.Twoorgasms…comingapartattheseams,likethespincycleonawashingmachine,wow.Ihadnoideawhatmybodywascapableof,couldbewoundsotightlyandreleasedsoviolently,sogratifyingly.Thepleasurewasindescribable.
“You’rebitingyourlip,andyouhaven’tansweredme.”He’sfrowning.Igrinupathimimpishly.Helooksgloriouswithhistousledhair,burningnarrowedgrayeyes,andserious,darkexpression.
“I’dliketodothatagain,”Iwhisper.Foramoment,IthinkIseeafleetinglookofreliefonhisface,beforetheshutterscomedown,andhegazesatmethroughhoodedeyes.
“Wouldyounow,MissSteele?”hemurmursdryly.Heleansdownandkissesmeverygentlyatthecornerofmymouth.“Demandinglittlething,aren’tyou?Turnonyourfront.”
Iblinkathimmomentarily,andthenIturnover.
