Page 318 of Let Me In

From somewhere low and ancient, the part of me that only wakes for her rises. Fierce, unstoppable.

I spill into her, deep and full, hips locked tight to hers as the wave crashes through me. Once. Then again. And again. Each pulse a vow, a tether, a quiet roar of homecoming.

My breath catches in my throat as I stay there. Buried, trembling, utterly hers.

I don’t pull out.

Because this is the place I return to.

The only place I’m whole.

Don’t even think about it. Because this is where I’m meant to be. Where I belong. Inside her. With her. Not just because I ache for it—but because it calms the ache. Because it quiets the part of me still prowling for danger. Every breath I take is hers. Every beat of my heart. Every piece of me I thought I lost in the dark—she’s holding it now. Keeping it safe.

I’m wrecked—sweating, shaking, softer than I’ve ever been. But she’s there. Her arms looped tight around me, her body still curled beneath mine, a shelter and a homecoming all at once. She holds me like I’m not just allowed here, but needed.

I brace my forearm beside her head, shifting just enough to keep from crushing her.

But I don’t leave her body.

Can’t.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

She cups my face, thumb brushing my jaw. Her hand is warm, trembling slightly, like her body’s still catching up to what we just became. Her eyes—glassy, open, filled with everything I don’t deserve but she gives without hesitation—search mine.

I lower myself onto my elbows, our skin brushing. My chest to hers. Her heartbeat to mine.

I breathe her name against her temple, and it’s not just sound, but surrender. A grounding.

My palms frame her hips, holding her like they’re the only thing keeping me tethered. Solid. Real.

And I stay.

Inside her. Deep and still.

Even as the heat fades and the shaking slows.

Even as dawn begins to stretch its pale light across the edges of the world.

Because that’s what this is.

Not release.

Return.

We stay like that, our bodies joined and unmoving, breath syncing in the hush. Not speaking. Just breathing. Just being. Her arms remain around my back, her thighs still bracketing mine, her warmth enveloping me like I’ve always belonged there. And maybe I have.

Her body soft beneath mine, the heat between us slowly melting into something deeper—something that feels like forgiveness. My chest pressed to hers. Her arms looped tight around me. And I’m still inside her. Still held. Still home.

She shifts slightly, and I groan again—quiet, broken—not from arousal, but from ache. From the way she still holds me like I’m welcome there.

“Don’t go,” she whispers, barely audible.

“I won’t,” I murmur, brushing my nose against her temple.

“Not ever.”

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