Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Heflexeshiships,andIgasp,leaningforward,restingmyforeheadagainsthis.

           “Please,letmyhandsgo,”Iwhisper.

           “Don’ttouchme,”hepleads,andreleasingmywrists,hegrabsmyhips.

           Claspingthebathledge,Imoveupandthendownslowly,openingmyeyestogazeathim.He’swatchingme,hismouthopen,hisbreathinghalted,stilted—histonguebetweenhisteeth.Helooksso…hot.We’rewetandslipperyandmovingagainsteachother.Ileandownandkisshim.Hecloseshiseyes.Tentatively,Ibringmyhandsuptohisheadandrunmyfingersthroughhishair,nottakingmylipsfromhismouth.Thisisallowed.Helikesthis.Ilikethis.Andwemovetogether.Itughishair,tippinghisheadbackanddeepeningthekiss,ridinghim—faster,pickinguptherhythm.Imoanagainsthismouth.Hestartstoliftmefaster,faster…holdingmyhips.Kissingmeback.Wearewetmouthsandtongues,tangledhair,andmovinghips.Allsensation…allconsumingagain.Iamclose…Iamstartingtorecognizethisdelicioustightening…quickening.Andthewater…it’sswirlingaroundus,ourownwhirlpool,astirringvortexasourmovementsbecomemorefrantic…sloshingeverywhere,mirroringwhat’shappeninginsideme…andIjustdon’tcare.

           Ilovethisman.Ilovehispassion,theeffectIhaveonhim.Ilovethathe’sflownsofartoseeme.Ilovethathecaresaboutme…hecares.It’ssounexpected,sofulfilling.Heismine,andIamhis.

           “That’sright,baby,”hebreathes.

           AndIcome,myorgasmrippingthroughme,aturbulent,passionateapogeethatdevoursmewhole.