Page 250 of Let Me In

Another swat. And another. Firm. Warm. Sure.

I whimper. My legs twitch beneath his.

“Let go, baby girl,” he says softly.

I shake my head. Just once. Desperate. Shamed.

Another swat. Right where it reaches me.

My fingers tremble, fisting into the fabric beneath me.

“Emmy,” he says again—voice like a tether. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”

The next swat breaks me.

The sob comes like a faultline cracking open.

And Cal doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t soothe it away too fast.

He lets me cry.

Lets it pour out of me, messy and hot, as his hand strokes my back in slow, rhythmic lines—soothing as a lullaby. Each pass is grounding, familiar, reminding me I’m safe to fall apart here.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispers. “There she is.”

Another swat lands, slow and low. Not sharp—just there. Just steady.

Then another.

And another.

Each one coaxing, not correcting. Grounding me to the present. To him.

The tears fall freely now. I don’t try to stop them.

But still—he doesn’t stop either.

Because he knows me. Knows how I bury it. Knows how I’ll try to pretend I’m fine as soon as the tears dry.

So he shifts again. His hand trailing to the backs of my thighs.

And then his voice comes, low and clear. Measured by his rhythm—steady, unrelenting.

“Don’t.”

The swat lands sharp, with purpose. Like a match striking against soaked kindling, sparking something I’ve fought too long to bury. My breath leaves me in a shudder, thin and reedy, like something splitting open from the inside.

“Hold.”

Lower now. Slower. The ache curls hot and deep, a shiver skating down my spine as my thighs press together.

“It.”

Another hit. This one is harder. Focused. Like he’s pushing the panic out of me—chasing it down with control and care. My stomach flips. My eyes sting.

“In.”

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