Page 96 of Let Me In

“But I am.”

My throat tightens.

He kisses my hand again.

Then opens his door and comes around to mine, helping me down like I’m something breakable, his hand solid and warm over mine

But I don’t let go right away.

I’m about to step back, to take the few final steps toward the door—when his fingers tighten around mine.

“Hey.”

I look up.

And something in his gaze has changed.

It’s darker now.

Not angry.

Not afraid.

Just… full.

Full of everything he hasn’t said. Everything he’s feeling. Everything he’s trying to hold in.

He tugs my hand gently.

Just enough to bring me a step closer.

And then he leans in.

One hand slides to my jaw, rough palm cupping my cheek, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth.

And he kisses me.

Not hesitant.

Not gentle.

Hungry.

Like he’s been waiting all day. Like keeping distance all morning was a kindness he’s no longer willing to give.

And for a second, I forget how to breathe.

There’s nothing careful in it—just claim. Like he’s marking me with it. Like the taste of him, the weight of his palm at my jaw, is something he wants me to carry with me until he can give me more. And I do. I carry it. I lean into it. Because in his mouth, I feel steadied. In his hands, I feel like I belong.

His mouth is warm and sure, parted just enough to pull me in deeper, and I feel it in every inch of me—how much he’s holding back. How much he wants to give.

I rise onto my toes without thinking.

My hand curls into the fabric at his chest, clutching like I need something to hold onto or I’ll disappear.

When he finally pulls back—slowly, like he hates to—his breath is uneven. His forehead rests against mine.

“I had to do that before you went in,” he murmurs.