Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Withonethrust,he’sinsideme,andIcryoutagain,listeningtohismuffledmoanatmyear.Myarmsarerestingonhisshouldersashethrustsintome.Jeez,it’sdeepthisway.Hethrustsagainandagain,hisfaceatmyneck,hisharshbreathingatmythroat.Ifeelthebuildupagain.Jeez,no…notagain…Idon’tthinkmybodywillwithstandanotherEarth-shatteringmoment.ButIhavenochoice…andwithaninevitabilitythat’sbecomingfamiliar,Iletgoandcomeagain,andit’ssweetandagonizingandintense.Iloseallsenseofself.Christianfollows,shoutinghisreleasethroughclenchedteethandholdingmehardandcloseashedoes.

           Hepullsoutofmeswiftlyandsetsmedownagainstthecross,hisbodysupportingmine.Unbucklingthecuffs,hefreesmyhands,andwebothsinktothefloor.Hepullsmeintohislap,cradlingme,andIleanmyheadagainsthischest.IfIhadthestrength,I’dtouchhim,butIdon’t.Belatedly,Irealizehe’sstillwearinghisjeans.

           “Welldone,baby,”hemurmurs.“Didthathurt?”

           “No,”Ibreathe.Icanbarelykeepmyeyesopen.WhyamIsotired?

           “Didyouexpectitto?”hewhispersasheholdsmeclose,hisfingerspushingsomeescapedtendrilsofhairoffmyface.

           “Yes.”

           “Yousee,mostofyourfearisinyourhead,Anastasia.”Hepauses.“Wouldyoudoitagain?”

           Ithinkforamomentasfatiguecloudsmybrain…Again?

           “Yes.”Myvoiceissosoft.

           Hehugsmetightly.

           “Good.SowouldI,”hemurmurs,thenleansdownandsoftlykissesthetopofmyhead.

           “AndIhaven’tfinishedwithyouyet.