Learning.
Trying.
And when she leans in again, it’s not because she’s taking control.
It’s because she wants to.
“How will you make love to me, Ronyn?” she purrs seductively, the words tasting foreign as they slip past her lips.
She presses a kiss to his mouth, gently nipping at his lower lip.
He smiles against her mouth, a glimpse of his humor peeking through the seriousness of the moment.
“Are you really going to let me choose, Jaxxy?” he asks, an edge of cheek finding its way into his tone.
She huffs a laugh, a smile breaking free on her lips, too. “I deserved that,” she admits, red blooming in her cheeks.
His lop-sided smirk tilts his lips. “It hurt me, Jax,” he says, averting his gaze like he can barely stand the words.
Her chest tightens.
Because this whole time, she has not once considered how he feels. Not once considered the wounds he hides beneath his armor. So consumed by her own pain thathisdidn’t even register.
She swallows thickly.
“I am sorry, Ronyn.”
She looks up at him, eyes boring into his like she can find absolution there.
He doesn’t move, only remains hovering above her, lips swollen and flushed.
And she knows he deserves more.
“It was never about you. I hid my pain behind control and when you threatened that, I turned on you. I made you feel inferior because it’s what I needed. But it hurt you in the process, and for that… I am truly sorry,” she says, emotion snagging in her throat.
I am truly sorry.
The words hang in the air, strange and true and honest.
Ronyn is no longer smirking. All cheek swallowed by the moment.
“I accept your apology, Jaxxy. But I will not tolerate the same again. We all have wounds, and I choose who I let see mine,” he admits, and the words sound like confession.
Truth beyond his facade.
“How do you choose who sees the wounds and who sees the performance?” she asks, and she means it, her voice sincere and soft.
Because Ronyn may be performing sometimes, but gods… so is she.
And she fucking knows it.
Her mirror stares back at her—confronting, hurt, and obvious.
“I’ll show anyone who doesn’t weaponize them and turn the blade on me,” he says, and the truth cuts like one.
“That’s what I did,” she realizes. “And I’m sorry for it.”
Somehow, the words don’t taste bitter on the way out. Maybe because they’re true, or because they’re being said tohim.
