The invitation is not for me/Приглашение не для меня - стр. 7

"I'll help," Andrew decided. – "Don't argue. If you don't feel sorry for yourself today, tomorrow you won't be able to walk at all."

He was right, and I let myself be picked up in his arms. The room was also dark. I didn't know where to turn on the light, and Andrew just hadn't seen fit to do so. Darkness, a bedroom, and a man – the combination made me a little uncomfortable, and I hastily tried to move away from him, leaning on my sore leg. I staggered; Andrew picked me up and pulled me against him. His breath traveled down my neck, and my legs weakened for another reason.

The lock on my dress moved, and a trail of light kisses traveled down my back. The dress fell to my feet, followed by my bra. Principles and moral attitudes also scattered to the corners of my consciousness and lurked so that I couldn't find them. The world shook, changing our position in space. The weight of a man's body added to the kisses. He pulled me under his thighs and pulled me to him, pressing me against his groin.

Consciousness made one last attempt to stop it. To order the barely familiar man to stop. But the first push put an end to extraneous thoughts. His hands, his lips seemed to have time everywhere, the movements becoming sharper, faster, more passionate. All that was left to do was claw at the sheet, scream, and then try to breathe.

Reality ceased to be clear, lost color, feeling, and contours, and even blacked out for a while.

While I was trying to catch my breath, get my thoughts in order, and not burn with shame, Andrew kissed my shoulder, got up, and walked out. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I jumped up. For some reason, I couldn't find any of my things, not even my dress. I couldn't run out of the apartment in a blanket!

"A shower will do us good," Andrew informed me.

I shuddered and tried to hold onto the blanket that was crawling away. Andrew was slowly but surely getting rid of it. It was too late to say anything about shame, and even more so to educate him about the fact that we didn't know each other very well.

"What shower? I have a bandage," I mumbled

From the context, I realized that Andrew was planning to shower together. I was right. Scooping me up in his arms, he carried me into the bathroom and sat me down on the pouf, then, unwrapping the bandage, imprinted a few kisses on my knees.

"Looks like this isn't going to be just a shower," I realized.

"What are you doing?

It was the stupidest question I could think of, but I asked it anyway. I wanted some way to show that I wasn't a willful puppet. But the result wasn't very good.