Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 9
Iserveupthebreakfastontotheheatedplatesandlaythemontheplacemats.Ihuntintherefrigeratorandfindsomemaplesyrup.
IglanceupatChristian,andhe’swaitingformetositdown.
“MissSteele.”Hemotionstooneofthebarstools.
“Mr.Grey.”Inodinacknowledgment.IclimbupandwinceslightlyasIsitdown.
“Justhowsoreareyou?”heasksashesitsdown.Iflush.Whydoesheasksuchpersonalquestions?
“Well,tobetruthful,Ihavenothingtocomparethisto,”Isnapathim.“Didyouwishtoofferyourcommiserations?”Iasktoosweetly.Ithinkhe’stryingtostifleasmile,butIcan’tbesure.
“No.Iwonderedifweshouldcontinueyourbasictraining.”
“Oh.”IstareathimdumbfoundedasIstopbreathingandeverythinginsidemeclenchestight.Ooh…that’ssonice.Isuppressmygroan.
“Eat,Anastasia.”Myappetitehasbecomeuncertainagain…more…moresex…yes,please.
“Thisisdelicious,incidentally.”Hegrinsatme.
Itryaforkfulofomeletbutcanbarelytasteit.Basictraining!Iwanttofuckyourmouth.Doesthatformpartofbasictraining?
“Stopbitingyourlip.It’sverydistracting,andIhappentoknowyou’renotwearinganythingundermyshirt,whichmakesitevenmoredistracting.”
IdunkmyteabaginthesmallpotthatChristianhasprovided.Mymindisinawhirl.
“Whatsortofbasictrainingdidyouhaveinmind?”Iask,myvoiceslightlytoohigh,betrayingmywishtosoundasnatural,disinterested,andcalmasIcanwithmyhormoneswreakinghavocthroughmybody.
