Page 133 of Let Me In

Just eases me down, slow and sure, until the world tilts and I’m draped across his lap.

His thighs are solid beneath me.

Too real.

Too grounding.

I press my hands into the couch cushions, my chest tightening.

“I don’t—I promise I won’t do it again,” I say, voice trembling. “I mean it. I’ll be careful. I’ll follow every rule. You don’t have to—Cal, please—”

His hand settles firmly at the small of my back.

Not forcing. Just holding. Like an anchor.

It’s nothing like the books. The ones I read with flushed cheeks and trembling hands, hoping the words might fill some hollow space in me.

This isn’t fantasy.

This is real. Raw. Earned.

Earned, because he saw all of me. My fear, my silence, my hesitation, and still chose to stay. Because he didn’t demand my surrender; he waited for it. Because this isn’t about power—it’s about care, and that makes it so much more.

My breath grows quick, uneven. Not panic—but something electric, something raw. It hums low in my belly, threads through every nerve, tuned only to him.

This is what it feels like to submit—not because I’m being asked to give something up, but because I’m being shown how to be safe in someone else’s hands.

“You didn’t say the word,” he murmurs.

“I—I know. I just—”

“You’re scared.”

My eyes burn.

“But you’re still here,” he adds softly.

I go still.

And then—

His fingers hook into my waistband.

Slow.

Sure.

He begins to draw my pants down. Inch by inch. Careful. Reverent.

A tremor runs through me, breath thinning to something shallow and unsure.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He brings them just far enough to expose me. Then my underwear follows, taken down with the same quiet steadiness.

I flush. Entirely.

The cool air hits my skin like a second set of hands.

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