It's Just Sex
The words hung in the air like a damn landmine.
We need to talk.
I stayed put for a beat, still catching my breath, still tasting her skin on my tongue. My head was fogged from the sex, from the release, from the sheer physical high, but her tone… that tone cut through it all.
I straightened, reached for my balance, and then just stood up from the bed—completely naked, not giving a shit—facing her head-on.
“What do we need to talk about?” My voice was flat, but there was an edge to it I didn’t bother to hide.
Her gaze flicked over me once, almost like she was trying not to get distracted, then locked on my face. “Us.”
I stilled. My jaw tightened.
Of course.
I didn’t move, didn’t even look at her right away. I stared at the wall past her shoulder, letting silence stretch until it was almost suffocating.
Finally, I let out a humorless laugh. “We’ve talked about this, Diana. There’s nothing between us. It’s just sex.”
Her eyes narrowed, like I’d slapped her. “Just sex,” she repeated, the words coming out sharp, bitter.
I dragged a hand over my face and turned away, the anger starting to simmer low in my gut. “Yeah. That’s what it’s always been. From day one. You knew that.”
I walked to the side of the bed, grabbing my towel off the floor, not to tie it back—just to have something in my hands. My pulse was pounding, my patience already razor-thin.
Her voice rose behind me, sharp with disbelief. “We’ve been at this for five years, Ronny. Five years. Are you telling me in all that time you’ve felt nothing?”
I spun on her so fast her words barely finished hanging in the air. “We talked about it from the beginning,” I said, my tone calmer now, but in that dangerous way calm gets when it’s stretched over a boiling rage. “I told you I didn’t want love. I told you what this was, and what it wasn’t. I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t mislead you. You agreed.”
She shook her head, her bare chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. “You can’t tell me you feel nothing. Not after everything we’ve done. Not after every time we—”
“Every time we fuck?” I cut in. “Because that’s what this is. That’s what it’s always been. You keep going and coming back, and you expect me to magically turn into someone else? How the hell is that my fault?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She pushed herself up on the bed, hair wild around her face, eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and fury.
“So that’s it?” she asked, her voice breaking just enough to slip through my chest. “You’ll never feel the same for me?”
I stared at her for a long second, my teeth grinding. “I have a lot of things to take care of, Diana. My life isn’t… simple. My mind is fucked up half the time. Love—” I shook my head, my voice dropping low. “Love is not something I can give right now.”
Her brows pulled together, the hurt starting to drown out the anger. “It’s been five years now, Ronny.”
“Yeah,” I shot back. “And in those five years, I never told you otherwise.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line.
I took a step closer, not to comfort, but to make sure my next words landed exactly where I wanted them to. “If the sex isn’t enough for you, you can leave.”
The second the words left my mouth, I saw it—just a flash. That raw, unguarded hurt in her eyes. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, swallowed up by the sharp glare she replaced it with. But I’d seen it. I wasn’t ready for it. And for some damn reason, it dug deeper than I wanted it to.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” I said, my tone harder now, almost defensive. “I warned you. You stayed. That’s on you.”
She didn’t answer. She just stared at me like she was trying to burn holes straight through my skin.
I didn’t give her the chance to throw whatever she was about to throw. I turned on my heel, stalked into the bathroom, and slammed the door hard enough to make the mirror rattle.
The sound echoed in the silence, and for a second, I just stood there, my palms pressed to the counter, the air heavy and hot around me.
It's just sex.
Love.
I don't deserve it.
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