under his shadows

chapter 13 : Losing control

Ray's Pov

Ray didn’t mean to get this close.

He told himself all day — all the way through the things he’d done, the messes he’d cleaned, the men he’d dealt with — that when he came back to her, he would be steady. Controlled. He would make her feel safe, not shaken.

Then she touched him.

Just her fingers brushing his hand, light as breath.

And everything inside him cracked.

Now she was against the wall, looking up at him with those eyes that never seemed afraid of him, even when she should be… especially now, when he was holding himself together by threads.

Her voice still echoed in him:

I’m not running.

He had no defense against that.

His pulse hammered so hard it almost hurt. He braced one hand against the wall beside her head, not to trap her — but to keep himself from touching her. Touching her would be the end of his control. He knew it. He felt it in the way his breathing refused to steady.

She was wearing his jacket.

He had told her not to.

He had begged her not to.

Because seeing her wrapped in something of his felt too intimate, too close to something he’d never allowed himself to want.

She was right there.

Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath brushing his collarbone.

Close enough that her scent curled around him, erasing the entire world he walked through to get back to her.

“Laura…”

He whispered it like a warning.

Like a surrender.

Her fingers lifted again — slow, hesitant — and she touched the side of his wrist. Just that. Just skin to skin.

The smallest touch.

The touch that undid him completely.

His hand moved before he could stop it, sliding to her waist — not gripping, not pulling, just resting there, trembling with restraint. She felt so small, so warm, so real under his palm.

She gasped softly, just once, and he felt it all the way down his spine.

“I shouldn’t…” he breathed.

He didn’t know if he meant touch her or want her or let her see him like this.

She looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper. Then don’t stop.

His control shattered.

He leaned in until his forehead rested against hers — gentle, desperate — the closest he could get without crossing a line he wasn’t sure he trusted himself with.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the fabric of her shirt, feeling the heat of her body beneath it. “I’m trying not to scare you.”

“You aren’t,” she whispered.

He almost laughed — a breathless, pained sound.

I scare myself.

Her hand slid up his chest, slow, tentative, leaving heat in its wake. When she reached the place just over his heart, he closed his eyes. Hard. Because if he looked at her, he would lose every piece of restraint he had left.

“I waited for you,” she said, soft and honest. I was scared. And all I wanted was for you to come back.

His other hand rose, shaking, and he cupped her cheek. Her skin was warm under his palm. Softer than he remembered. Softer than he deserved.

“I came back,” he whispered.

His voice broke on those two words — not weak, but raw.

She leaned into his touch, and he felt something in him fall to its knees.

He pressed his forehead more firmly to hers, breathing her in, his body drawn to hers like gravity.

He was losing the fight.

He knew it.

He wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the words barely audible.

Because if you don’t, I won’t.

And God help him …

he wanted her not to.

For a heartbeat, the world held still.

He waited barely breathing, every muscle drawn tight — for her to pull away, to whisper stop, to remind him of the line he’d been forcing himself not to cross.

Instead, she lifted her chin.

Just a little.

Just enough that her lips brushed the corner of his mouth when she whispered:

I don’t want you to stop.

Something inside him broke open — quietly, completely.

He exhaled her name like a confession. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, his fingers threading gently into her hair, guiding her closer with a restraint so thin it trembled.

The first kiss wasn’t rushed.

He found her mouth slowly, as if memorizing the moment before it happened — the warmth of her breath, the small hitch in her chest, the way she leaned toward him like she’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

Their lips met softly.

Soft … but devastating.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as though she needed something solid to hold on to. He kissed her again deeper this time — and the sound she made, quiet and surprised, nearly undid him.

His thumb stroked along her jaw, slow and reverent, as if afraid she might disappear if he touched too much too quickly. Her body pressed against his, warm and trembling, and he felt himself unraveling in ways he never had before.

“ Laura…” he breathed against her lips, as if the word could anchor him.

But she didn’t let him retreat.

Her fingers curled at the back of his neck, pulling him in. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, hearts stumbling against each other.

He kissed her again — slower, deeper — his hand sliding to the small of her back, drawing her gently against him. She wasn’t trapped; she was held, supported, treasured.

She gasped softly, and he leaned in, letting his mouth trail along the curve of her cheek, the edge of her jaw, stopping when he felt her shiver.

Tell me if this is too much, he murmured against her skin, his voice rough and low.

“It’s not,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his throat, sending sparks down his spine.

It’s you.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the last threads of control — but she touched his face with both hands, guiding him back to her, pulling him into another kiss that was slower, surer, filled with something that felt dangerously like trust.

He softened then — not in desire, but in the ache of wanting her more gently than he ever thought he could want anything.

His lips lingered on hers, tender, unhurried, almost trembling with the force of everything he wasn’t saying.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, she was breathless, flushed, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across her lower lip, how long I’ve wanted this.

She leaned into his touch.

Then don’t hold back.

His breath shuddered.

He kissed her again— slow, reverent, like she was the one thing in the world he could be gentle with— and drew her into his arms, holding her close enough that he finally, stopped shaking.