She grinds against him, her breath rising and falling in the same pattern he’s seen in other lovers.
The one that signals release approaching.
He doesn’t move. Just lies there. As if he’s not part of whatever she’s experiencing.
A moan tears from her throat. Her body shudders atop him, her climax rippling through her body with a powerful surge. Her groan fills the space—all relief and ragged.
But Ronyn? He feels nothing.
No.
He feels hollow.
Empty.
So thoroughly occupied, yet so completely alone.
Jax falls to the side, skin slick with sweat, hair tangled and unruly.
She pants, chest heaving from exertion.
Heartbeats pass with the only sound that of her breathing.
Ronyn doesn’t move.
He can’t.
The room goes quiet in that strange, heavy way it does when something intense has just ended.
Not peaceful.
Not soft.
Just… still.
Ronyn doesn’t move at first.
He’s lying beside her, breathing unevenly, watching the slow way her body settles—the way she closes herself back up like a door locking from the inside.
She doesn’t look at him.
Doesn’t reach for him.
Doesn’t say anything.
Just stares at the ceiling like she did something alone.
Because she did.
A long moment passes.
Then another.
Ronyn lets out a short breath through his nose. Not a laugh or a joke. Just air leaving a body that suddenly feels… unnecessary.
“… You done?”
Jax glances at him, mildly irritated—like the question itself is inconvenient.
