Page 69 of Let Me In

I groan again, low and guttural—not from need, not just from pleasure, but from the weight of it. The gravity of being here. Inside her. Claimed and claiming. Her warmth pulls me in, holding me like I’m not a burden but a homecoming.

The way she takes me in. Not just my body, but everything. The way her thighs tighten slightly, her breath hitching, her hips tilting to cradle me deeper. It’s not just reception; it’s welcome. Full-bodied and instinctive.

She lets me bring all of it.

The history, the violence, the shame.

Doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t close off.

She just receives me.

Wraps around me like I’m safe.

Like I’m worthy.

Like there’s still a man inside all the wreckage who deserves this. Her.

She pulses around me, a soft and helpless squeeze. I shudder, not from pleasure, but from coming home.

“Daddy—” she murmurs, voice thin and reedy.

“I’ve got you,” I rasp, my voice a lifeline. “You’re safe. You’re mine.”

My hips begin to move—slow and deliberate, each thrust deep enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips, but tender enough to feel like presence, not pressure. This isn’t about friction.

It’s about being.

Being inside her. With her. Known by her.

Seen, and not cast away.

She holds me tighter, legs wrapping around my waist, her body guiding mine in a rhythm built on instinct and trust.

Legs wrapping around my waist, ankles hooking behind me, guiding me deeper with instinct and trust.

And I let her.

Let her draw me in.

Let her keep me.

Let her have me.

“God,” I breathe, voice splintering. “I love you.”

Her breath catches, shallow and sudden, like her body can’t quite hold it in.

Her eyes shine—wet, wide, glowing—not just with tears but with light. The kind that makes my chest ache. The kind that says, without a word, that I’m home.

“I love you too,” she breathes.

The words land—not like a jolt, but like a homecoming.

And we move like that for a long time. Unrushed. Without edge. With no goal but us.

Bodies slow and learning. Hearts rebuilding. Everything soft and certain, like breath meeting breath in the quiet between storms.

She sighs beneath me, hands sliding into my hair, tugging gently like she doesn’t want to let go of anything—not the rhythm, not the closeness, not me.

But I feel it building in her.

That tremble in her thighs.

That quiet tension coiling low in her belly.

Her breath falters with every push, every withdrawal.

And her fingers curl harder in my hair, like she needs help crossing the edge.

So I give it to her.

I slow.

Still.

Draw my hips back just enough to reach between us.

My hand slides between her legs, finds her center; soft, swollen, slick with need and utterly open to me. My touch is not teasing, not testing, but giving. Rubbing slow, tight circles. I’m determined, ferocious with the need to feel her come apart around me.

She gasps.

Back arches.

Eyes fly to mine.

“That’s it,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

She bites her lip.

Shakes her head once—not to say no, but like she can’t believe I want to.

But I do.

God, I do.

“Don’t hold back, little one.” My voice is low, gravelled—wrecked with love, with reverence.

My fingers work her slowly, not teasing, not pushing. Just coaxing.

Firm circles. Steady swipes. Timed to the slow, grounding rhythm of my hips. The pressure inside her is constant, anchoring us both.

Every movement meant to comfort, to claim. To hold her in that space between surrender and safety.

“Come for me,” I whisper. “Let go, baby. I need you to.”

Her walls flutter around me—so soft, so wet, so real. Her breath stutters, and her hands fly to my back, clutching hard—desperate, instinctive.

Then she breaks.

A soft cry leaves her lips as a tremble ripples through her limbs, her wide eyes locking on mine.

She doesn’t hide. Doesn’t turn away.

She lets me in—completely—and I see it all: the vulnerability, the trust, the breathtaking rightness of her surrender.

Her body trembles around me, shudders wracking her in waves, and I don’t move faster.

I stay.

Buried deep.

Braced over her, fingers coaxing her through every last ripple.

She moans my name—

Not like a plea.

Not like a curse.

But like a truth.

Like it lives in her chest.

Like it steadies her breath.

Like she knows who she belongs to.

My jaw clenches.

I fight the edge, fight the urge to follow her, because this? This is the whole point.

I wanted her to feel it first.

To know it deep.

To carry it in her spine.

That she’s not just wanted.

She’s worshipped.

Held holy.

Mine.

When the spasms ease, I still my hand, draw it back with reverence.

I brush the hair from her temple, thumb resting against the high curve of her cheekbone. Her skin is warm there, flushed and tender, and I linger a beat longer than I should—just to feel it. Just to anchor myself in the reality of her, trembling and real beneath me.

She’s glowing.

Breathless.

Undone.

Whole.

And I’ve never loved more than I do in this moment.

Raw and shining and safe beneath me.

“Good girl,” I whisper, voice wrecked. “So good for me.”

She doesn’t speak.

Just nods, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting on a slow exhale.

But I feel it.

In the looseness of her limbs.

In the way she still holds me, even now.

In the way her body makes space for mine.

And now—

Now I let myself go.

She’s still trembling beneath me.

Soft little aftershocks pulsing through her.

Her breath stutters, then slows.

Settles.

And her arms stay wrapped around my back, like she doesn’t want to let even a second of space open between us.

And I don’t move.

Don’t rush.

Don’t chase the edge the way I usually do.

Being inside her like this, with her body fluttering around me, warm and open and so goddamn mine… it’s already more than I ever thought I’d be allowed to feel.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in deep—slow and anchoring.

Letting the rhythm begin again.

Slower now. Deeper. A cadence that sinks rather than surges.

Because I’m full of her—her softness seeping into every nerve ending, every breath.

Her sounds still echo in my ears. The way she let go, like falling into my hands was safety, not risk.

And now, I need the rest of it.

The finish. The claiming. The quiet seal to this sacred thing.

The tether that keeps me here—rooted in this body, this life—when the dark tries to call me back.

My hips move, steady and sure, and her body welcomes every inch.

Still warm. Still wet. Still home.

She moans softly, spent but open, her body pliant and welcoming beneath me. One hand slides up the back of my neck, fingers curling into my hair, while her heel presses into the small of my back—wordless and instinctive, urging me closer, deeper.

And that’s all it takes.

I groan—deep and raw—cracked wide open by her, by everything she’s given me.

My hands settle firm on her hips, claiming. Not as grip, but grounding. As if holding her is the only thing that can hold me.

My rhythm falters, breath catches and stutters out like it’s bracing for what’s coming.

And then—

It hits.

Heat, sharp and searing.

The tightening that coils deep in my spine and pulls through every nerve.

The release—unstoppable, consuming, holy.

I come with a sound caught between a groan and a gasp—not loud, but deep and reverent. Less like a growl, more like a breath punched from my lungs by the force of what she means to me. Sacred. Shaking. A quiet breaking open.

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.