It was like the difference between drowning in the ocean and drowning in a fish pond. A kind of rape, I said. You don't ask me about my lovers, and I won't ask you about yours. Shit, he whispered, and leaned his face against the top of my head.
I wrapped my hand around him, about halfway down, then bent my face back over him and slid him into my mouth, until I came to my hand. Zerbrowski grim. His eyes were closed, his face screwed tight with pain. I held him as close as I could, as close as I'd wanted to hold Micah.
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