Page 301 of Let Me In

I choose him.

Even now.

The fabric of his pants is warm under my belly. His thighs solid beneath me. That warmth settles into my skin, slows my breathing, eases something tight behind my ribs. My hands tremble as I brace them on the quilted arm of the chair, fingers curling into the stitching like it might hold me steady.

He adjusts me without a word.

One hand firm at my waist, the other smoothing down the back of my thighs, grounding me in touch before movement.

Then—

He shifts his leg over mine.

Hooks it across both of mine with that calm certainty that tells me I’m not supposed to go anywhere.

It’s not force.

It’s containment.

It’s safety, wrapped around my limbs like a vow. My muscles begin to soften, breath slipping into something slow and steady, like my body is answering without needing permission.

I let out a small, broken sound. Not protest. Not even fear.

Just—

“Daddy…”

Barely more than a breath. Cracked and quiet and searching.

And he hears it.

Of course he does.

His palm stills over the small of my back, fingers splayed wide, warm. I melt into the pressure instinctively, pressing just slightly into his touch, drawn to the steadiness he offers without even thinking.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

His voice—low, unshakable—slides down my spine like balm. It settles somewhere deep in my chest, where all the shame and trembling live. I close my eyes.

Then he shifts me higher.

His free leg rises slightly, tilting my hips forward—exposing the tender curve of my bottom, the crease of my thighs. Making me open.

Vulnerable.

Accessible.

His touch lingers, a slow glide over the backs of my legs.

Then stills.

And when he begins—it’s with intention.

The first swat is not light.

Not sharp.

But firm.

---