Page 321 of Let Me In

“What I needed.”

God.

I lean down. Press a kiss to the small of her back.

Then one just lower.

“I’m going to put more lotion on, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

Her voice is barely a whisper now. Drowsy. Open.

I warm it between my hands again.

And then—slow, reverent—

I touch her.

Not to arouse.

Not even to soothe.

But to witness.

To honor what I asked of her.

What she gave.

My hands glide over her skin in long, slow strokes.

Tracing every line. Every muscle. Letting my hand learn the map of her, not just in memory, but in the quiet now. In the stillness she gifted me. Each stroke a vow—silent, sacred. This is mine to hold. To protect. To worship. And I do.

Every part of her I’ve touched in pain and in love and in the space where the two met.

She sighs beneath me. Her body slackening further.

“You did so well for me,” I whisper.

“So good, baby.”

I finish with a kiss to the swell of her cheek.

Then gently redress her, just in soft cotton shorts this time.

She makes a quiet, broken sound, and I climb back into bed.

Pull her into me.

Tuck her against my chest.

Press a kiss to her forehead.

Another to her temple.

Another to her lips.

“I love you,” I say again, just because I can.

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