Holding Back

Holding Back
Reyna’s POV
The fire crackled gently in the quiet room, casting a warm glow over the walls and furniture. I sat beside Draven on the velvet couch, our knees almost touching. The space between us felt heavy. Every time his arm brushed mine, my skin tingled, like my body knew something my mind hadn’t yet dared to admit.

We weren’t saying much. Just sipping the dark red wine he had poured minutes ago, the silence comfortable but thick. He talked about an old book he found in the library, something about ancient castles and forgotten kings, but I barely heard him. His voice was deeper tonight, slower, and every now and then, he looked at me — not just glanced, but looked. His eyes would linger on my lips or down the side of my neck before quickly looking away.

I smiled, teasing. “You keep doing that.”

His brow arched. “Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.” I turned toward him fully, tilting my head. “Like you’re fighting something.”

Draven gave a short, rough laugh, then sipped his wine. “Maybe I am.”

The moment stretched between us. My heart started to beat faster. I set my glass down slowly and shifted slightly, just enough for my thigh to brush his. He went still. Didn’t pull away. His breathing changed — not louder, but heavier.

“I’m warm,” I said softly. “Are you?”

He turned his head slowly to face me, his eyes darker now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then show me,” I whispered, my hand moving to his chest. I felt the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, so strong and fast.

His jaw clenched, and he looked down at where I touched him. One of his hands came up, taking mine in his, fingers curling tightly — not rough, but firm. Like he needed to feel something real.

“There’s a part of me,” he said, voice low and strained, “that I’ve never let out. Never shown anyone.”

I leaned closer, my breath mingling with his. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he said, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist slowly. “Afraid it’ll be too much. That I’ll be too much.”

His honesty hit me like a wave. “I’m not scared of you, Draven. Not your darkness, not your heat. I want to know all of you.”

He looked at me for a long moment, searching my face, then slowly reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. The tips of his fingers brushed my cheek, sending shivers down my spine.

Then he leaned in.

His lips didn’t crash into mine. They brushed softly, once, then again. The lightest kiss. Like he was asking without words. I answered by tilting my head, parting my lips. And just like that, everything melted.

The kiss deepened, still slow but full of something I couldn’t name — something raw. His hands found my waist, pulling me gently closer. My own hands slid over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the strength he kept hidden beneath his calm.

His lips moved to my jaw, then lower, brushing the curve of my neck. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered.

“It’s not,” I breathed. “It’s not enough.”
His touch was slow, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to learn me by feel alone. Fingers gliding over the soft fabric of my dress, tracing the curve of my waist with a reverence that made my breath catch. He wasn’t rushing — no, this was something different, something deeper. His lips brushed just below my ear, warm and tender, sending sparks down my spine. “You feel like fire,” he whispered, and I could feel the ache in his voice, the way he held himself back. I tilted my head, giving him more, offering pieces of myself without words. Every time his hands moved, I felt like I was unraveling, coming apart in the best way — slowly, completely, willingly. And the way he looked at me… like I was something precious, something dangerous, something he craved but feared losing control around. It wasn’t just want; it was need. And I felt it in every breath we shared, every pause, every soft gasp between kisses that never quite reached our lips.
His lips hovered near mine, not touching, just letting the tension stretch, delicious and unbearable. I felt his breath, warm against my skin, as his fingers trailed down my spine — slow, possessive. Every nerve in my body lit up, aching for more, but he just smiled, dark and teasing, like he was savoring my every reaction.

His hands found the small of my back, fingers pressing just enough to pull me closer until our bodies touched in all the right places. The heat between us was unbearable, yet neither of us moved to end it — we just lingered there, suspended in something too thick to name. His nose brushed mine, and I could feel his breath, warm and uneven, as if he was holding back a storm. I dragged my fingers up his chest, over the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and I watched the way his eyes darkened, like the weight of my touch was undoing him. “Say something,” I breathed, needing to hear anything — a thought, a want, even a warning. But instead, he cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek, his voice a whisper rough with hunger. “If I start, Reyna… I won’t be able to stop.” And yet he still didn’t pull away. His forehead rested against mine like a prayer, and all I could do was whisper back, “Then don’t.”

He groaned softly, like he was in pain. His hands moved lower, fingers tracing the curve of my hips. Every touch was careful but full of restrained hunger.

And just when I thought he would lose control — that he’d finally fall into the same fire I was already burning in — he pulled back.

Resting his forehead against mine, his voice came out rough and deep. “Reyna... if I go further, I won’t be able to stop.”

He pulled in a shaky breath. “Can I?”