“Don’t what?”
She shakes her head, the motion small, frustrated.
“Don’t be like this.”
Because if he is, she will not be able to hold the rest in place.
His fingers slow slightly, then continue, just as steady as before. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.
That is exactly the problem.
The next breath breaks in her chest, uneven and unsteady, and she cannot stop what follows.
The tears come harder this time, pulling something loose in her that she has held rigid for too long. Her hand lifts, gripping his forearm—not to push him away, but to hold onto the solidness of him as everything else shifts.
Ronyn doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
He lets her take what she needs from him without comment, his arm firm around her, his hand still working gently through her hair, grounding her in a way that feels real, honest, solid.
Her shoulders shake once. Then again. The sound she makes is quiet, but it feels louder than anything she could say.
“I don’t…” she starts, her voice catching. “I don’t know how to do this.”
His thumb presses lightly against her arm, a small, steady reassurance. “You do,” he says. “You just need to let yourself.”
She does not know how to be different.
Not really.
The habits are too ingrained, the instincts too sharp, the damage too old to unravel in a single moment.
But she knows this: what she has been doing is not working. It has never worked. And if she keeps going the way she always has, she will lose him. Just like she has lost everything else that ever mattered.
Her fingers tighten slightly against his arm. Holding on. This is not change. Not yet. But it issomething.
A decision. Small. Fragile. Dangerous.
She exhales.
And lets herself try.
Something in her finally gives.
Jax leans into him fully then, no hesitation left in the movement, her body seeking the contact instead of resisting it.
Her fingers tighten on his arm. Holding. Taking. And for the first time in longer than she can remember, she lets herself.
Her breath shudders as she exhales, the words slipping out before she can stop them.
“I need you.”
The admission hangs there, fragile and unguarded.
Ronyn stills behind her. He doesn’t pull away, though some part of her expects him to, and he does not tighten his hold. He just steadies, absorbing the weight of it.
Jax swallows, her throat tight, but she forces herself to continue, because if she stops now she will lose the courage to say it at all.
“Make love to me.”
