Page 303 of Let Me In

“That I will come home.”

And this one—this one carries the weight of a promise. The quiet certainty that he means every word.

My body shudders. My breath catches.

And the tears come.

Quiet and steady.

Like rain that had been building in the air all morning and finally found the sky too heavy to hold.

I don’t sob. I just… let go.

Not of him—but of everything else. The guilt. The shame. The constant fear that I’m too much, too messy, too hard to love.

Because he won’t let me disappear.

Not under him.

Not ever.

The air shifts around us. Cal hasn’t stopped, but I feel something shift. The rhythm of him, quiet and sure. A hush that anchors instead of silences.

The first half was him reaching me. Pulling me out of the place where I vanish.

Now… now he’s holding me there.

In the light.

In the open.

So I stay. Held. Known.

His hand steadies on the curve of my backside—warm, firm, unmoving for a long moment, like he’s waiting for me to feel how sure he is.

And then—he begins again. Not faster. Not harder.

But with a deliberateness that makes my breath shiver.

These aren’t swats meant to startle. They’re deliberate. Deep. Made to stay. Meant to linger in the muscle and memory of me.

Each one reminds me—his love holds firm, steady as the hand that guides me. The structure he offers isn’t fleeting—it’s a promise made real.

That I am his.

Each one lands in the same place, with unhurried force. Thighs. Sit spots. The heat already building, blooming low and deep until it pulses through me—something I’ll feel long after, a reminder not just on my skin, but threaded through every breath and heartbeat.

I whimper once. Not from the pain—but from the weight of it. The truth in it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Just warm. Anchored. The kind of praise that sinks into my skin, deep and meant only for me.

Like a rope tightening around my center, pulling me home.

“Taking it so well for me.”

Another swat.

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