“Of course not,” she smirked. “But it was nice to hear it regardless.”
Growling, I reached for her and hauled her onto my lap, her squeals of laughter filling my ears. If anyone had told me a while back that I would be enjoying myself like this, with a woman that I actually loved, I would have shot them dead and then laughed at their corpse.
Yet here I was, sitting on this lumpy-ass couch with Leda and not having a care in the world right now. She was what was right in my life. She was what made these moments happen, making me feel like it wasn’t all about violence and revenge.
It was something more meaningful, something deeper.
“I know I try your patience sometimes,” Leda was saying, her fingers sliding across my shoulder. “But it’s only because I care.”
I silenced her with a quick kiss. “I don’t mind. In fact, it drives me fucking hot to hear you like that. It’s one of the things that I love about you.” Hell, there wasn’t much I didn’t love about her. She was clearly my other half, and the shit I had put her through to have this with her only proved that she was far too good for me.
Her eyes softened and I kissed her again, sliding my hand to cup the back of her neck and angle her just right. The kiss wasn’t demanding, but more like I was relearning her mouth and her lips all over again. “I ache for you,” I told her between the kisses. “I burn for you and you alone.”
I could fuck every woman in lower Manhattan, and nothing would compare to what I had with her.
It was fucking love. It was utter devotion to someone who saw something in me that I couldn’t even see. Leda knew every recess of my black soul, and it didn’t matter to her.
I was fucking humbled before her.