Chapter 133: I Was The Bottom..

Hmmm…

The sound escapes me before I’m even awake—a slow, sleepy groan that seems to come from somewhere deep and content.

My lips curve into a smile before my eyes open, pulled by something I can’t name.

Then I smell him.

Fresh red rose. Warm and intimate and everywhere. It’s not just in the air—it’s on my skin, in my hair, sinking into my lungs with every breath.

His scent, wrapped around me like a second blanket.

My smile deepens. I don’t know why yet. I just know it feels right.

I open my eyes slowly. The light is soft, diffused through curtains.

It’s morning.

And he’s here.

Deniz.

His face is inches from mine, peaceful in sleep. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks in soft crescents. His lips are slightly parted, his breath warm and steady against my forehead.

One arm is wrapped around me, hand splayed on my waist, holding me close even in unconsciousness.

My face is pressed against his bare chest. His skin is warm, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. A slow, steady rhythm that feels like home.

I don’t move. I just breathe him in.

The room slowly comes into focus around us. The golden candlelight is gone, replaced by pale morning sun painting everything in soft gold and white. The sheets are a tangled mess—wrapped around our legs, twisted between our bodies, barely covering anything at all.

Rose petals are everywhere. Scattered across the pillows, pressed between our skin, clinging to the sheets. A few are caught in Deniz’s dark hair, tiny specks of crimson against the black.

Proof.

Evidence of love made under candlelight.

My smile widens, helpless and warm and so full it aches.

I lift my hand slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake him. My fingers find his hair—soft, disheveled, tangled with petals. I brush through it gently, plucking a petal free, watching it drift down to join the others on the sheet.

I pause. Just look at him.

Last night.

The memories come in fragments, scattered like the petals around us. The dinner table. Candlelight on his face. Wine—sweet on my tongue, then bitter, then warm in my chest. His laughter, low and real. Being lifted, carried.

The bedroom. Candles. Roses everywhere.

Kisses. So many kisses.

Then… nothing. Gaps where memories should be.

A wall where a door should stand.

I got drunk. The realization is slow, settling into my bones like the ache I’m just beginning to notice.

Two glasses. My first time drinking, and I got drunk on two glasses.

A small, embarrassed smile touches my lips.

Of course I did.

I look back at him.

His eyes flutter.

Slowly. Lazily. Like he’s surfacing from somewhere deep and warm. His lashes lift, and his dark eyes find mine—soft, hazy, full of sleep and something warmer.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

His lips curve. A slow, sleepy smile that lights up his whole face. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, eliminating the last whisper of space between us.

“Morning,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, low, perfect.

I shift. Just a little. Trying to get comfortable, to find a position that doesn’t pull at the growing ache in my—

I freeze.

Pain.

Sharp, sudden, tearing through me from somewhere low in my back down to… lower.

It’s not unbearable, but it’s there, insistent, demanding attention.

I flinch. A small, sharp cry escapes before I can stop it.

“Ahh—”

I sit up too fast. The motion makes it worse, sends another wave of pain through me. My hand flies to my back, pressing against the source, as if I can push it away.

“Zyren!”

Deniz is sitting up instantly, his hands reaching for me, his face shifting from sleepy warmth to sharp, urgent worry.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He moves without waiting for an answer, grabbing the two fluffy pillows from beside us and arranging them behind my back. His hands guide me gently, easing me back until I’m leaning against them.

I sink into the support, grateful, breathing through the ache.

Then I feel it.

Something warm. Slick.

Moving slowly down from… there.

My eyes fly wide. My face ignites—a burning wave of heat that starts in my cheeks and spreads down my neck, my chest, everywhere.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Last night.

The gaps in my memory. The way my body aches in places I didn’t know could ache.

I was the bottom.

“Zyren?”

His voice again, softer now, worried. His hand finds my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“Does it hurt much?”

I look at him. At his dark eyes full of concern, at the flush spreading across his own cheeks. I can’t speak.

I just nod, small and slow and burning.

He wipes the corner of my eye. When did tears start forming? I didn’t even notice.

His voice drops, soft and full of something that sounds like guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

He swallows. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I consulted with a doctor, and he said the first time… it hurts. It’s normal.”

Mortification crashes over me.

“Consulted… with a doctor?” The words come out strangled, barely a whisper.

He hesitates. His cheeks deepen to crimson, spreading down his neck. He looks down for a moment, then back up at me, vulnerable and open and utterly beautiful.

“Yes.” A pause. “Because…” He meets my eyes.

“It was my first time too.”

I stare at him.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and warm and somehow right.

He consulted a doctor. He prepared.

He wanted—wants—this to be good for me.

For us.

His dark eyes hold mine, soft and earnest and burning with something that makes my chest ache.

“I promise,” he whispers.

“I’ll be gentler next time.”

I keep staring. Disbelief and warmth and tenderness all tangled together, pressing against my ribs.

Shouldn’t that be my line?

“I’m the Alpha.”

My voice comes out weak, embarrassed, full of everything I can’t say.

“Not the Omega.”

He just looks at me. Love and amusement and something infinitely tender in his dark eyes. His thumb traces my cheek again, soft as a promise.

And somehow—despite the pain, despite the embarrassment, despite everything I thought I knew about who I’m supposed to be in this world—I wouldn’t change a single thing.

Not a single petal.

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