Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           “Hmm…thatdress,”hemurmursapprovinglyashegazesdownatme.“Welcomeback,MissSteele,”hewhispersand,claspingmychin,heleansdownandproffersagentle,lightkissonmylips.Thetouchofhislipstominereverberatesthroughoutmybody.Mybreathhitches.

           “Hi,”IwhisperasIflush.

           “You’reontime.Ilikepunctual.Come.”Hetakesmyhandandleadsmetothecouch.“Iwantedtoshowyousomething,”hesaysaswesit.HehandsmetheSeattleTimes.Onpageeight,there’saphotographofthetwoofustogetheratthegraduationceremony.Holycrap.I’minthepaper.Icheckthecaption.

           ChristianGreyandfriendatthegraduationceremonyatWSUVancouver.

           Ilaugh.“SoI’myour‘friend’now.”

           “Soitwouldappear.Andit’sinthenewspaper,soitmustbetrue.”Hesmirks.

           Sittingbesideme,hiswholebodyisturnedtowardme,oneofhislegstuckedundertheother.Reachingover,hetucksmyhairbehindmyearwithhislongindexfinger.Mybodycomesaliveathistouch,waitingandneedful.

           “So,Anastasia,youhaveamuchbetterideaofwhatI’maboutsinceyouwerelasthere.”

           “Yes.”Where’shegoingwiththis?

           “Andyetyou’vereturned.”

           Inodshyly,andhiseyesblaze.Heshakeshisheadasifhe’sstrugglingwiththeidea.

           “Haveyoueaten?”heasksoutoftheblue.

           Shit.

           “No.”

           “Areyouhungry?”He’sreallytryingnottolookannoyed.

           “Notforfood,”Iwhisper,andhisnostrilsflareinreaction.

           Heleansforwardandwhispersinmyear.