Page 241 of Let Me In

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so full of me I can still see it,” he murmurs. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I hear him move—bare feet on hardwood, the creak of the bathroom door, the low rush of water. Everything in him still has purpose, still wired tight to the need to do. To care.

He returns moments later, warm washcloth in hand.

His eyes fall on me—flushed, trembling, spent—and something tightens in his expression. Not lust. Not hunger.

Devotion.

“Flip over for me, sweet girl.”

His voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking the command in it. I obey with a whimper, every muscle languid.

Cal kneels behind me on the bed and parts my thighs with gentle hands. His breath catches when he sees the mess between them—his release still spilling from me.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “That’s mine. All of that. You did so good for me.”

The cloth is warm. Soft. He wipes me slowly, reverently, his free hand stroking over the small of my back.

“Gotta take care of what’s mine,” he says. “Make sure she’s clean. Soothed. Worshipped like she deserves.”

A soft sound leaves me—something like a choked sob. Something like peace.

He leans down, presses a kiss just below my navel.

“Still with me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He smiles against my skin.

“That’s my girl.”

He sets the cloth aside, but his hands linger.

They move slowly—one gliding up the curve of my waist, over my ribs, fingertips tracing the faint press of each one like he’s memorizing them. Like they belong to him. Like he’s grounding himself in the shape of what’s his.

Then, with that same quiet certainty he always moves with, slips in beside me.

His arm curls under my shoulders, the other beneath my knees, and he lays me flat against the mattress, head nestled into pillows, as if I’m something fragile. Precious.

But it’s what he does next that makes my breath stop.

He comes over me.

All of him.

Not just hovering. Not bracing.

Covering.

The full weight of his body presses against mine—chest to chest, stomach to stomach, his legs settling on either side of my hips, his skin blazing hot against every inch of me.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask permission.

He just lowers himself like I’m the ground he was made to rest on.

His mouth finds my temple.

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