Page 233 of Let Me In

My breath hitches.

He takes a step forward. I take one back—automatically—but there’s nowhere to run. The porch rail hits my spine.

“That I went and got it back for you?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He smiles—slow, dark, dangerous.

“Say it.” His fingers curl tight around my hip. “Say thank you.”

I hesitate for only a split second, scrambling for the answer he’s looking for. When my voice comes, it’s breathy and soft.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes. His jaw ticks, once, twice, and he swallows before speaking, the sound of his voice pure gravel and want. “Gonna take you now, baby.”

I nod before he even finishes the sentence.

“Gonna take you hard.” It’s not a warning, but a promise. Heat floods between my thighs, soaking my panties. “You ready for that?”

My response is whimpered and needy. Because god, yes, I need that. Need it more than anything.

“Please, Daddy.”

That’s when it snaps, his very last thread of control.

His mouth crushes mine, and all the restraint from before is gone. Teeth. Tongue. Heat. One hand fists the blanket between my shoulder blades while the other grips my jaw like he can’t decide whether to kiss me or devour me.

He pulls back just long enough to speak, after a low, brutal sound escapes his throat.

“Inside. Now.”

He doesn’t wait. He grabs me—lifts me—like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around him instinctively, the blanket falling as he carries me across the threshold. The front door bangs shut behind us with the force of his foot.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

There’s no stopping in the hall. No reverent undressing. He carries me straight to the bedroom, drops me on the bed, and stands over me like a storm ready to break.

His chest heaves. His eyes are black.

He unbuttons his flannel slowly. One snap. Then another. Peeling it off like a warning.

“I’ve been thinking about this since I left.”

He pulls the shirt off, revealing that lean muscle and the grease still streaking his arms.

“How you’d look when I brought that bike home. How wet you’d be when you realized what I did for you.”

He kneels on the bed, and his hands go to my leggings.

“You barefoot, wrapped in my blanket, waiting like this?” he says, voice thick. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”

And I don’t. Not really. Not until now. Until I hear that voice, dark and low, almost wrecked, say those things to me.

It hits somewhere deep, low in my belly. A jolt of heat and disbelief that he could sound like that for me. That I made him like this.

It’s filthy. Possessive. And it makes me ache everywhere.

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