Page 90 of Deja Who
“Oh my God. You cried after I drove you away. You came up here to your tower and wept when you thought I—I did not want you—”
“Leah.”
“I should have thought of something else, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Leah! C’mon. It’s fine. I promise I’ll cry plenty of other times when you don’t do a damn thing to set me off. AT&Tcommercials make me cry, okay? iPhone commercials. When you want me to mow and it’s really hot out, I’m gonna cry like a little girl whose pet bunny got hit with a lawn mower.”
“Promise?”
He held his hand up in the Boy Scouts salute. “I swear.”
Then she was drawing him back to her, taking his hands, guiding him, touching him, stroking him, and she was whispering the same thing over and over and he groaned and shuddered and when she helped him inside her he made out the words she was saying—“I’m so sorry, I love you”—over and over, and when she arched beneath him and shivered all over, his own orgasm swamped his brain and he was slurring, “I love you, I love you, Leah” all the way down into exhausted, sated sleep.
