Page 176 of Let Me In

I swallow.

Then—soft, shaky, true:

“I want you.”

He exhales like that just saved his life. The words are barely out before he’s kissing me harder—even deeper.

There’s no hesitation now. No apology in the way his hands slide up my thighs, firm and certain and hot. One of them finds my hip, grips it like it belongs to him. The other—planted by my head, bracing him over me as he deepens the kiss.

He growls low when my legs part for him without needing to be told, the sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest where need and restraint have been warring for hours.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I shiver, my hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back. All that muscle. All that steadiness.

His thigh nudges mine wider.

He shifts between my legs, and I feel the full press of him, thick and hard and already there.

Not demanding.

Not teasing.

Just inevitable.

“I thought about this,” he says, voice like smoke and stone.

“About what?”

“This.” His mouth grazes my jaw, my neck. His teeth barely scrape my collarbone. “You. Spread out in my bed. Looking up at me like you need me.”

“I do,” I whisper.

His hand wraps around my throat—not tight. Just there. Anchoring me. Claiming me. The weight of it doesn’t scare me. It stills something inside me instead—like my body knows I’m safe under him, held in place not by force, but by the depth of his care.

His thumb brushes my jaw.

“Say it again.”

His voice is rougher now, edged with something raw. His eyes darken, steady and unblinking, as if the words are the only thing tethering him to control. There's a flicker in his throat, a breath caught like restraint is costing him everything.

My lips part, and I say it louder.

“I need you.”

His cock drags against my entrance, thick and unrelenting. But he doesn’t press in, not yet. Not until his mouth dips back to mine, and he growls it:

“Mine.”

The word sinks into me like heat—low and searing. My breath shudders out. My whole body answers to it, like that one word anchored me in place.

He shifts, one hand still braced beside my head, the other gliding down between us. Fingertips teasing where I’m already soaked. Already open for him.

I gasp—hips tilting toward him, chasing that touch.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs.

The pad of his thumb brushes where I need it most. Slow, deliberate, and claiming.

---