Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Hesetsapunishingrhythm—in,out,andhereachesaroundandfindsmyclitoris,massagingme…ohjeez.Icanfeelmyselfquicken.

           “That’sright,baby,”heraspsashegrindsintome,anglinghiships,andit’senoughtosendmeflying,flyinghigh.

           Whoa…andIcome,loudly,grippingfordearlifeontothesinkasIspiraldownthroughmyorgasm,everythingspinningandclenchingatonce.Hefollows,claspingmetightly,hisfrontonmybackasheclimaxesandcallsmynamelikeit’salitanyoraprayer.

           “Oh,Ana!”Hisbreathingisraggedinmyear,inperfectsynergywithmine.“Oh,baby,willIevergetenoughofyou?”hewhispers.

           Wesinkslowlytothefloor,andhewrapshisarmsaroundme,imprisoningme.Willitalwaysbelikethis?Sooverwhelming,soall-consuming,sobewilderingandbeguiling.Iwantedtotalk,butnowI’mspentanddazedfromhislovemakingandwonderingifIwillevergetenoughofhim?

           Iamcurledonhislap,myheadagainsthischest,aswebothcalm.Verysubtly,Iinhalehissweet,intoxicatingChristianscent.Imustnotnuzzle.Imustnotnuzzle.Irepeatthemantrainmyhead—thoughIamsotemptedtodoso.Iwanttoliftmyhandanddrawpatternsinhischesthairwithmyfingertips…butIresist,knowingthathe’llhateitifIdo.Wearebothquiet,lostinourthoughts.Iamlostinhim…losttohim.

           IrememberthatIhavemyperiod.

           “I’mbleeding,”Imurmur.

           “Doesn’tbotherme,”hebreathes.

           “Inoticed.”Ican’tkeepthedrynessoutofmyvoice.

           Hetenses.“Doesitbotheryou?”heaskssoftly.