"Nicola Griffith - Yaguara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Griffith Nicola)

there was nowhere to hide.
And so every night she staggered inside and fell across her
bed in a daze; she tried not to smell the salty sunshiny musk of
CleisтАЩs skin, the sharp scents of unwashed hair, tried not to lean
toward the soft suck and sigh of rum fumes across the room.
Tried, oh tried so hard, to fall asleep, to hear nothing, see nothing,
feel nothing.
But there would be nights when she heard Cleis sit up, when
she could almost feel the weight of CleisтАЩs gaze heavy on the sheet
Jane kept carefully pulled up to her chin, no matter how hot she
was. On those nights she kept her eyes shut and her mind closed,
and if she woke in the middle of the night and felt the lack of heat,
the missing cellular hum of another human being, she did not look
at CleisтАЩs bed, in case it was empty.
But one night, Jane woke sitting up in bed with her eyes open
after a dream of sliding oh so gently over another woman, sliding
in their mutual sweat, and she saw that Cleis was gone.
IтАЩm alone, she thought, and was suddenly aware of every
muscle in her body, plump and hot, of her thighs sliding together,
wet and slippery, of her skin wanting to be bare. There are no cameras
here. She laid her hand on her stomach, felt tendons tighten from
instep to groin. And before she could really wake up and realize
what she was doingтАФtell herself that this was not the same as
being alone in her room, one she could lockтАФshe was standing
naked before CleisтАЩs empty bed, before the wooden corner post. It
came to mid-thigh, a four-by-four rounded off at the top and
polished. She stroked it with one hand, her belly with the other.
Her pubic hair was a foot away from the post; a foot, then eight
inches, six. She sank to her knees, rubbed her face on the post, held
one breast, then the other. One thick drop of milky juice ran down
the inside of her thigh. She pressed her belly to the wood, stood up
slowly, feeling the top of the post run between her breasts, down
her stomach, her abdomen, then moved away very slightly, oh so
very slowly, so the post skipped a beat then skimmed the tops of
her thighs.
тАЬOh yes,тАЭ she said, imagining Cleis lying face down in front
of her, moonlight on her buttocks. тАЬOh yes.тАЭ
She crouched down, crooning, leaning over the post, palms
resting on the bunk, feet braced on the cool dirt floor. She began to
lower herself.
The door creaked open. Jane froze. Something behind her
coughed the tight throaty cough of a jaguar; another drop of milky
juice ran down her thigh. The animal behind her rumbled deep in
its chest. Jane did not dare turn around. It rumbled again: DonтАЩt stop
. Her vulva was hot and slick and her heart thundered. The cough
behind her was closer, tighter, threatening: Do it now.
Jane licked her lips, felt the golden eyes traveling up her
achilles, her calves, the back of her knees, the tendons in her thighs,
the cheeks of her bottom. She dare not turn, and she dare not
disobey, nor did she want to.