Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Oh—whatpantiesamIwearing?Heliftsmeandpullsthequiltandmyduvetoutfromunderneathmeandplacesmebackdown,thistimeonthesheets.

           “Nowthen.”Helickshisbottomlipslowly.“You’rebitingthatlip,Anastasia.Youknowtheeffectithasonme.”Heplaceshislongindexfingerovermymouth,awarning.

           Ohmy.Icanbarelycontainmyself,lyinghelpless,watchinghimmovegracefullyaroundmyroom.It’saheadyaphrodisiac.Slowly,almostleisurely,heremoveshisshoesandsocks,undoeshispants,andliftshisshirtoffoverhishead.

           “Ithinkyou’veseentoomuch.”Hechucklesslyly.Hesitsastridemeagain,pullsmyT-shirtup,andIthinkhe’sgoingtotakeitoffme,butherollsituptomyneckandthenpullsitupovermyheadsohecanseemymouthandmynose,butitcoversmyeyes.Andbecauseit’sfoldedover,Icannotseeathingthroughit.

           “Mmm,”hebreathesappreciatively.“Thisjustgetsbetterandbetter.I’mgoingtogetadrink.”

           Leaningdown,hekissesme,hislipstenderagainstmine,andhisweightshiftsoffthebed.Ihearthequietcreakofthebedroomdoor.Getadrink.Where?Here?Portland?Seattle?Istraintohearhim.Icanmakeoutlowrumblings,andIknowhe’stalkingtoKate—ohno…he’spracticallynaked.What’sshegoingtosay?Ihearafaintpoppingsound.What’sthat?Hereturns,thedoorcreakingoncemore,hisfeetpaddingacrossthebedroomfloor,andicetinklingagainstglassasitswirlsinliquid.Whatkindofdrink?Heshutsthedoorandshufflesaroundremovinghispants.