Page 141 of Let Me In

“The rules. The structure. The kind of care that doesn’t just stop… when it’s hard.”

His hand stills, heavy and warm at the base of my spine. Like those words lit something inside him, something old and fierce and certain. His fingers flex slightly, like he’s holding more than just me. Like he’s holding the truth of what I need. And maybe what he needs, too.

I breathe in.

Out.

Then, even quieter—

“About Daddies.”

Saying it out loud feels like stepping off a ledge. Like offering the most fragile part of myself and hoping it won’t be dropped.A tremor rises through me, my breath thinning to a hush as everything in me braces.

It almost feels silly, saying it like that.

Too exposed. Too much.

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t shift away.

His hand smooths over my back, anchoring me right there in his arms.

“Yeah?” he says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I nod, my voice a whisper.

“I always thought… it was just a fantasy. Just something for other people. Not something I could ever actually have. Is that… what this is?”

He breathes out.

Long and quiet.

Then tilts my chin just enough for me to see him.

His eyes are all stormlight and steel—steady, reverent.

“Emmy,” he says, low. “That’s exactly what I want to be for you.”

His words land low, like a vow that roots itself inside me.

That’s exactly what I want to be for you.

They echo somewhere inside me I didn’t know was hollow. Like light filling a room that’s only ever known shadows. He is so certain, but it’s more than that—it’s claiming. Not sharp. Not loud. Just a quiet possession, like a vow he intends to live by. His thumb brushes my cheek, and the weight of his gaze holds me there, soft and unshakable.

“You let me in, little one,” he murmurs. “Now you don’t have to go it alone again. Not ever.”

His voice deepens slightly, the edge of it rough with something older, steadier. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, sweetheart. To give this. To be this. For someone who needed it like you do.”

His eyes don’t waver. One hand lifts, brushing the side of my face, his thumb sweeping beneath my eye like he could ease every ache he’s never seen. There’s something fierce in his stillness, something claiming in the way he doesn’t look away.

I blink, slow and heavy. Tears still cling to my lashes, but they don’t fall.

Not this time. Not from pain.

I shift just enough to rest my head back against his chest. Let myself melt into him, every inch of me wrapped in arms that don’t let go.

His hand finds the curve of my spine again. Rubs slow and warm—rhythmic and sure, like he’s soothing a storm only he knows how to calm. Like he’s reminding me I’m safe. That I’m his. That he’s not going anywhere. His breathing slows, his palm flattening with care, reverence threading through every movement. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

---