Chapter 4: The Anchor's Private Hours（第四章：主播的私密时光）

　　The rest of the day unfolded in a series of vignettes more intimate than any film. Lauren, after her shower, dressed not in anchor-woman armor, but in a loose, silky robe that clung to her damp skin in places. She worked at her desk, the robe gaping slightly as she leaned forward, offering fleeting, maddening glimpses of the curve of a breast, the shadow of cleavage. I was a statue in the corner, my gaze a laser focused on every shift of fabric. She’d chew on the end of her pen, lost in thought, and I’d imagine the taste of the plastic, mixed with the faint taste of her lip balm.

　　接下来的白天在一系列比任何电影都亲密的片段中展开。劳伦洗完澡后，没有穿上主播的“盔甲”，而是换上了一件宽松的丝质睡袍，睡袍贴在她有些潮湿的皮肤上。她在书桌前工作，身体前倾时睡袍微微敞开，短暂而诱人地瞥见胸部的曲线、乳沟的阴影。我像角落里的雕像，目光如激光般聚焦在布料的每一次移动上。她会咬着笔头沉思，而我则想象着塑料的味道，混合着她唇膏的淡淡气息。

　　At one point, she took a phone call, pacing the living room. It was clearly a personal call. Her voice was low, intimate. "I miss you too," she murmured, leaning against the window frame, looking out at the city. A boyfriend? A lover? A sharp, possessive jealousy twisted in my gut. I'm here, I wanted to scream. I see the real you. But I was silent, invisible. When she hung up, she looked sad, vulnerable. She hugged herself, the silk of the robe straining across her back. The urge to go to her, to put a transparent arm around her, was so strong it was dizzying. But the memory of those prison stories was a bucket of ice water. Comfort wasn't mine to give. I was a thief, not a companion.

　　有一次，她接了个电话，在客厅里踱步。显然是个私人电话。她的声音低沉而亲密。“我也想你，”她低声说，靠在窗框上，望着外面的城市。男朋友？情人？一种尖锐的、占有欲强的嫉妒在我胃里扭曲。“我在这里，”我想大喊。“我看到了真实的你。”但我沉默着，隐形着。她挂断电话后，看起来有些悲伤、脆弱。她抱住自己，睡袍的丝绸在她背上绷紧。想要走到她身边、用一条透明的手臂搂住她的冲动如此强烈，令人眩晕。但那些监狱故事的记忆像一桶冰水。安慰不是我该做的事。我是个小偷，不是伴侣。

　　Evening approached. She ordered takeout and ate on the couch, watching a news program—her own network, a critical eye on her colleagues. It was fascinating to see the professional behind the persona. Then, she did something that caught me completely off guard. She switched off the TV, and in the sudden quiet, she began to stretch, not like the yoga routine, but with a slow, sensual grace. She put on some soft, ambient music. She stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, and just… moved. It wasn't dancing, not really. It was a slow, undulating exploration of her own body. Her hands ran up her sides, over her ribs, along her neck. She arched her back, the robe tightening across her chest, outlining her form against the city lights outside the window. It was a private performance, a moment of pure, unadulterated autoeroticism. I felt like I was witnessing something sacred and forbidden. My blood was fire. This was beyond any fantasy I had ever concocted. She was lost in the sensation, a goddess worshiping the temple of her own skin. The view was utterly intoxicating, a symphony of subtle movements and hinted curves. I didn't dare breathe, afraid to break the spell.

　　夜幕降临。她点了外卖，坐在沙发上吃，看着新闻节目——她自己电视台的节目，用批判的眼光看着她的同事。看到人设背后的专业人士，这很迷人。然后，她做了一件让我完全措手不及的事。她关掉电视，在突如其来的寂静中，她开始伸展，不像早晨的瑜伽，而是带着一种缓慢、性感的优雅。她放了一些轻柔的环境音乐。她站在房间中央，闭着眼，只是……移动着。不是跳舞，不完全是。这是一种缓慢的、波动的对自己身体的探索。她的手抚过身体两侧，越过肋骨，沿着脖颈。她弓起背，睡袍在胸前绷紧，在窗外的城市灯光映衬下勾勒出她的身形。这是一场私人表演，一个纯粹、不掺杂质的自体性感的时刻。我感觉自己正在目睹某种神圣而禁忌的事物。我的血液像在燃烧。这超越了我曾经编造过的任何幻想。她沉醉在感觉中，一位崇拜着自己身体这座神殿的女神。这景象令人彻底沉醉，是细微动作和隐约曲线的交响乐。我大气不敢出，生怕打破这魔咒。

　　It lasted maybe ten minutes. When she stopped, she was breathing slightly harder, a faint smile on her lips. She seemed… refreshed. Centered. She padded to the kitchen for a glass of water, and I finally allowed myself to exhale, my entire being thrumming with the afterimage of what I'd seen. This was the core of my obsession. Not just the body, but the raw, unguarded humanity of her. I was collecting these moments like precious stones.

　　这大概持续了十分钟。她停下来时，呼吸稍微有些重，唇边带着一丝淡淡的微笑。她看起来……神清气爽。更平静了。她轻轻走到厨房去倒水，我终于允许自己呼气，我的整个存在都因刚才所见景象的余韵而震颤。这就是我痴迷的核心。不仅仅是身体，而是她那种原始、不设防的人性。我像收集宝石一样收集着这些时刻。

　　Later, as she got ready for bed, she went to the closet. I held my breath, thinking of the missing panties. But she didn't seem to notice. She pulled out a delicate nightgown, even more sheer than the robe. As she changed, she stood with her back to me, the nightgown floating down over her shoulders. When she turned, the thin fabric did little to hide the silhouette of her body, the dark points of her nipples faintly visible against the light from the window. It was the most explicit view I'd had yet, yet it was still veiled, still a suggestion rather than a revelation. It was perfect. She climbed into bed and turned out the light.

　　后来，当她准备睡觉时，她走进了衣帽间。我屏住呼吸，想着那条丢失的内裤。但她似乎没有注意到。她拿出一件精致的睡裙，比睡袍更薄。她换衣服时背对着我，睡裙从肩头滑落。当她转过身时，薄薄的布料几乎无法隐藏她身体的轮廓，在窗外的光线映衬下，乳头的深色点状隐约可见。这是我所得到的最直白的景象，然而它仍然蒙着面纱，仍然是一种暗示而非揭示。这很完美。她爬上床，关了灯。

　　I stood in the darkness of her room, the scent of her stolen clothes in my pocket, the images of her private dance burned into my mind. I had crossed a line today, multiple lines. I had eaten from her mouth, taken her sweat-soaked clothes, witnessed her most vulnerable moment. Yet, the ultimate line remained. I had not touched her. I had not revealed myself. The fear of the consequences was the cage that allowed the beast to pace, but never break free. Tomorrow, she would go to work, and I would have the run of her apartment. The thought of what other treasures I might find was a siren song I had no intention of resisting.

　　我站在她房间的黑暗里，口袋里是她被偷衣物的气味，她私密舞蹈的画面烙印在我脑海中。今天我已经越界了，越过了很多条线。我吃了她吃过的东西，拿走了她被汗水浸湿的衣服，目睹了她最脆弱的时刻。然而，最终的界线依然存在。我没有碰她。我没有暴露自己。对后果的恐惧是关住野兽的笼子，允许它踱步，但永不挣脱。明天，她会去上班，而我将在她的公寓里自由探索。想到我可能找到的其他宝藏，这是一首我无意抵抗的塞壬之歌。