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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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There
’
s
a
knock
on
the
door
.
My
heart
leaps
into
my
mouth
,
and
I
can
’
t
seem
to
find
my
voice
.
He
opens
the
door
anyway
and
strolls
in
.
Holy
hell
,
he
’
s
been
working
out
.
He
’
s
in
gray
sweatpants
that
hang
,
in
that
way
,
off
his
hips
and
a
gray
sleeveless
T
-
shirt
which
is
dark
with
sweat
,
like
his
hair
.
Christian
Grey
’
s
sweat
;
the
notion
does
odd
things
to
me
.
I
take
a
deep
breath
and
close
my
eyes
.
I
feel
like
a
two
-
year
-
old
;
if
I
close
my
eyes
,
then
I
’
m
not
really
here
.
“
Good
morning
,
Anastasia
.
How
are
you
feeling
?
”
“
Better
than
I
deserve
,
”
I
mumble
.
I
peek
up
at
him
.
He
places
a
large
shopping
bag
on
a
chair
and
grasps
each
end
of
the
towel
that
he
has
around
his
neck
.
He
’
s
staring
at
me
,
gray
eyes
dark
,
and
as
usual
,
I
have
no
idea
what
he
’
s
thinking
.
He
hides
his
thoughts
and
feelings
so
well
.
“
How
did
I
get
here
?
”
My
voice
is
small
,
contrite
.
He
sits
down
on
the
edge
of
the
bed
.
He
’
s
close
enough
for
me
to
touch
,
for
me
to
smell
.
Oh
my
…
sweat
and
body
wash
and
Christian
.
It
’
s
a
heady
cocktail
—
so
much
better
than
a
margarita
,
and
now
I
can
speak
from
experience
.
“
After
you
passed
out
,
I
didn
’
t
want
to
risk
the
leather
upholstery
in
my
car
taking
you
all
the
way
to
your
apartment
.
So
I
brought
you
here
,
”
he
says
phlegmatically
.
“
Did
you
put
me
to
bed
?
”
