Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Hewieldsthescissorsandpassesonebladeundertheplastic.

           “IdeclarethisAnaopen,”hebreathes,andcutstheplastic.

           Igiggleandrubmywristsasthey’refreed.Ifeelhisgrin.

           “Thatissuchalovelysound,”hesayswistfully.Hesitssuddenly,takingmewithhimsothatI’moncemoresittinginhislap.

           “That’smyfault,”hesays,andshiftsmesothathecanrubmyshouldersandarms.Gentlyhemassagessomelifebackintomylimbs.

           What?

           Iglanceupathimbehindme,tryingtounderstandwhathemeans.

           “Thatyoudon’tgigglemoreoften.”

           “I’mnotagreatgiggler,”Imumblesleepily.

           “Oh,butwhenithappens,MissSteele,’tisawonderandjoytobehold.”

           “Veryflowery,Mr.Grey,”Imutter,tryingtokeepmyeyesopen.

           Hiseyessoften,andhesmiles.

           “I’dsayyou’rethoroughlyfuckedandinneedofsleep.”

           “Thatwasn’tfloweryatall,”Igrumbleplayfully.

           Hegrinsandgentlyliftsmeoffhimandstands,gloriouslynaked.IwishmomentarilythatIweremoreawaketoreallyappreciatehim.Pickinguphisjeans,heslidesthembackon,commando.

           “Don’twanttofrightenTaylor,orMrs.Jonesforthatmatter,”hemutters.

           Hmm…theymustknowwhatakinkybastardheis.Thethoughtpreoccupiesme.

           Hestoopstohelpmetomyfeetandleadsmetothedoor,onthebackofwhichhangsagraywafflerobe.HepatientlydressesmeasifI’masmallchild.Idon’thavethestrengthtoliftmyarms.WhenI’mcoveredandrespectable,heleansdownandkissesmegently,hismouthquirksupinasmile.

           “Bed,”hesays