Page 184 of Let Me In

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t pull out. Just holds himself there inside me. His arms around me, hand cradling the back of my head.

My legs still locked around his waist. Our eyes still never straying. The room is silent but for the sounds of us—our breathing, our heartbeats, the soft whimper that escapes me when he whispers, broken and reverent, “That’s it, baby. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

And I realize so much of me is still trembling, but it isn’t fear anymore.

It’s the weight of being wanted like that.

Of being kept.

Of being his.

We don’t move. Not an inch. His chest is still pressed to mine, breath coming in low, unsteady gusts.

I can feel him inside me still. Not soft yet, not retreating.

Like his body hasn’t quite accepted that it’s over.

That we’ve become something else.

His weight above me is heavy, grounding, protective. Like shelter. Like a shield my body doesn’t want lifted. I breathe in the scent of him and hold still beneath the solid press of his chest. I don’t want him to move. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

His arms tighten around me.

One hand at the base of my spine, the other curled protectively at the back of my head.

Like he’s afraid that if he lets go, I’ll float away.

His mouth finds the curve of my neck, kisses it—slow and open and possessive.

He doesn’t speak yet.

Doesn’t need to.

Because every part of him is saying it already.

You’re mine.

You’re safe.

You’re staying.

I shift a little beneath him, hips twitching from the oversensitivity, and he groans softly—his cock still thick and snug inside me.

“Easy,” he murmurs against my skin. “Still so fuckin’ full of me.”

My breath hitches and I grip him tighter, too dazed to say anything back.

But the way he holds me?

It’s not just about lust.

It’s care.

Total and undiluted.

He lifts his head slowly, just enough to look down at me. His hair is damp against his forehead, eyes storm-grey and burning, tracing every inch of my face.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he asks, voice low, reverent. His eyes search mine with quiet intensity, storm-grey and soft around theedges. There’s still a flush high on his cheeks, a tenderness in the set of his jaw—like he’s trying to make sure I feel the weight of his care in every breath.

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