Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           “Please,Christian,”Iwhisper.

           “Whatdoyouwant,Anastasia?Tellme.”

           Igroanagain.Hepullsoutandmovesslowlybackintome,circlinghishipsoncemore.

           “Tellme,”hemurmurs.

           “You,please.”

           Heincreasestherhythminfinitesimally,andhisbreathingbecomesmoreerratic.Myinsidesstartquickening,andChristianpicksuptherhythm.

           “You.Are.So.Sweet,”hemurmursbetweeneachthrust.“I.Want.You.So.Much.”

           Imoan.

           “You.Are.Mine.Comeforme,baby,”hegrowls.

           Hiswordsaremyundoing,tippingmeovertheprecipice.Mybodyconvulsesaroundhim,andIcome,loudlycallingoutagarbledversionofhisnameintothemattress.Christianfollowswithtwosharpthrusts,andhefreezes,pouringhimselfintomeashefindshisrelease.Hecollapsesontopofme,hisfaceinmyhair.

           “Fuck.Ana,”hebreathes.Hepullsoutofmeimmediatelyandrollsontohissideofthebed.Ipullmykneesuptomychest,utterlyspent,andimmediatelydriftofforpassoutintoanexhaustedsleep.

           WHENIWAKE,IT’Sstilldark.IhavenoideahowlongI’veslept.Istretchoutbeneaththeduvet,andIfeelsore,deliciouslysore.Christianisnowheretobeseen.Isitup,staringoutatthecityscapeinfrontofme.Therearefewerlightsonamongtheskyscrapers,andthere’sawhisperofdawnintheeast.Ihearmusic.Theliltingnotesofthepiano,asad,sweetlament.Bach,Ithink,butI’mnotsure.

           Iwraptheduvetaroundmeandquietlypaddownthecorridortowardthebigroom.Christianisatthepiano,completelylostinthemelodyhe’splaying.