Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Irubitallovermyself,fantasizingthatit’shim—himrubbingthisheavenlyscentedsoapintomybody,acrossmybreasts,overmystomach,betweenmythighswithhislong-fingeredhands.Ohmy.Myheartbeatpicksupagain.Thisfeelsso…sogood.

           “Breakfastishere.”Heknocksonthedoor,startlingme.

           “O-okay,”IstutterasI’myankedcruellyoutofmyeroticdaydream.

           Iclimboutoftheshowerandgrabtwotowels.IputmyhairinoneandwrapitCarmenMirandastyleonmyhead.Hastily,Idrymyself,ignoringthepleasurablefeelofthetowelrubbingagainstmyoversensitizedskin.

           Iinspectthebagofjeans.NotonlyhasTaylorbroughtmejeansandnewConverse,butalsoapaleblueshirt,socks,andunderwear.Ohmy.Acleanbraandpanties—actually,todescribetheminsuchamundane,utilitarianwaydoesnotdothemjustice.TheyareexquisitelydesignedfancyEuropeanlingerie.Allpalebluelaceandfinery.Wow.Iaminaweandslightlydauntedbythisunderwear.What’smore,theyfitperfectly.Butofcoursetheydo.IflushtothinkofBuzzCutinsomelingeriestorebuyingthisforme.Iwonderwhatelseisinhisjobdescription.

           Idressquickly.Therestoftheclothingisaperfectfit.Ibrusquelytowel-drymyhairandtrydesperatelytobringitundercontrol.But,asusual,itrefusestocooperate,andmyonlyoptionistorestrainitwithahairtiewhichIdon’thave.Ishouldhaveoneinmypurse,whereveritis.Itakeadeepbreath.TimetofaceMr.Confusing.

           I’mrelievedtofindthebedroomempty.Ihuntquicklyformypurse—butit’snotinhere.