Page 147 of Let Me In

Not until I nod.

And even then—he doesn’t devour.

He sees.

Then—his hands come to my waist.

“Let me help, sweet girl,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the band of my pants. “Will you stand for me?”

I nod again, barely more than a breath.

He rises with me.

Guides me up by the hips, my legs still shaky from what came before.

He holds me steady.

Lets me lean into his chest while he slowly, carefully, peels the fabric down.

First my pants. Then my underwear.

Every movement slow enough that I could stop it. But I don’t.

I let him undress me like he’s unwrapping something he treasures.

And when he kneels again, guiding the clothes past my knees—

He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh.

I gasp. Barely.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stands.

Hands at my hips again.

And gently, reverently—he turns me.

So I’m facing away.

So he can see.

The red is still there.

Across the curve of my cheeks. Down the tops of my thighs. The places where his palm met skin again and again—firm, unyielding, full of love.

I feel him take a breath behind me. It's quiet, but full—like he’s holding something heavy and reverent in his chest. I swear I can feel the exhale skim my spine, and in that moment, it’snot just breath—it’s him, present and steady, grounding me with nothing but his nearness.

His hand comes up—not to touch, but to hover.

A whisper above the heat.

And then—

“So good for me,” he murmurs. “So brave.”

My throat tightens.

---