Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Hiswordscurlaroundmelikeasoft,fluffytowelfromtheHeathmanHotel,andI’msopleasedthathe’shappy.

           Hepicksatthestraponmycamisole.

           “Isthiswhatyousleepin?”heasksgently.

           “Yes,”Ibreathesleepily.

           “Youshouldbeinsilksandsatins,youbeautifulgirl.I’lltakeyoushopping.”

           “Ilikemysweats,”Imurmur,tryingandfailingtosoundirritated.

           Hekissesmyheadagain.

           “We’llsee,”hesays.

           Welieforafewmoreminutes,hours,whoknows,andIthinkIdoze.

           “Ihavetogo,”hesays,andleaningdown,hekissesmyforeheadgently.“Areyouokay?”Hisvoiceissoft.

           Ithinkabouthisquestion.Mybacksideissore.Well,glowingnow,andamazinglyIfeel,apartfromexhausted,radiant.Therealizationishumbling,unexpected.Idon’tunderstand.

           “I’mokay,”Iwhisper.Idon’twanttosaymorethanthat.

           Herises.

           “Where’syourbathroom?”

           “Downthehalltotheleft.”

           Hescoopsuptheothercondomandheadsoutofthebedroom.Irisestifflyandputmysweatpantsbackon.Theychafealittleagainstmystill-smartingbehind.I’msoconfusedbymyreaction.Irememberhimsaying—Ican’trememberwhen—thatIwouldfeelsomuchbetterafteragoodhiding.Howcanthatbeso?Ireallydon’tgetit.Butstrangely,Ido.Ican’tsaythatIenjoyedtheexperience.Infact,Iwouldstillgoalongwaytoavoidit,butnow…Ihavethissafe,weird,bathedinafterglow,satedfeeling.Iputmyheadinmyhands.Ijustdon’tunderstand.

           Christianreenterstheroom.Ican’tlookhimintheeye.Istaredownatmyhands.