Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 17
Henoticesmywide-eyedreaction,andhesmilesaslow,sexysmile.
“Hmm…thishaspossibilities,butIthinkweshouldwaituntilSunday.”Heleansdownandnuzzlesmyearwithhisnose.
Iflush,butthenIfeelsevenshadesofscarletfromhisheat.
“You’reveryhot,”Imurmur.
“You’renotsobadyourself,”hemurmurs,andpresseshimselfagainstme,suggestively.
Iflushsomemore.That’snotwhatImeant.Hepropshimselfuponhiselbow,gazingdownatme,amused.Hebendsand,tomysurprise,plantsagentlekissonmylips.
“Sleepwell?”heasks.
Inod,staringupathim,andIrealizethatI’vesleptverywellexceptmaybeforthelasthalfhourwhenIwastoohot.
“SodidI.”Hefrowns.“Yes,reallywell.”Heraiseshiseyebrowsinconfusedsurprise.“What’sthetime?”
Iglanceatmyalarm.
“It’sseventhirty.”
“Seventhirty…shit.”Hescramblesoutofbedanddragsonhisjeans.
ItismyturntolookamusedasIsitup.ChristianGreyislateandflustered.ThisissomethingIhaveneverseenbefore.Ibelatedlyrealizethatmybehindisnolongersore.
“Youaresuchabadinfluenceonme.Ihaveameeting.Ihavetogo—IhavetobeinPortlandateight.Areyousmirkingatme?”
“Yes.”
Hegrins.“I’mlate.Idon’tdolate.Anotherfirst,MissSteele.”Hepullsonhisjacketandthenbendsdownandgraspsmyhead,hishandsoneitherside.
“Sunday,”hesays,andthewordispregnantwithanunspokenpromise.Everythingdeepinmybodyuncurlsandthenclenchesindeliciousanticipation.Thefeelingisexquisite.
