Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 133: I Was The Bottom

Hmmm...

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

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

Then I sll 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 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 , hand splayed on my waist, holding 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 ho.

I don’t move. I just breathe him in.

The room slowly cos 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 ss—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 mories co in fragnts, 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 mories 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 ti 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 sowhere deep and warm. His lashes lift, and his dark eyes find mine—soft, hazy, full of sleep and sothing warr.

"Good morning," I whisper.

His lips curve. A slow, sleepy smile that lights up his whole face. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling 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 from sowhere 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 . 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 , 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 gently, easing back until I’m leaning against them.

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

Then I feel it.

Sothing 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 mory. 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 sothing that sounds like guilt.

"I’m sorry."

He swallows. "I didn’t an to hurt you. I consulted with a doctor, and he said the first ti... it hurts. It’s normal."

Mortification crashes over .

"Consulted... with a doctor?" The words co out strangled, barely a whisper.

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

"Yes." A pause. "Because..." He ets my eyes.

"It was my first ti too."

I stare at him.

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

He consulted a doctor. He prepared.

He wanted—wants—this to be good for .

For us.

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

"I promise," he whispers.

"I’ll be gentler next ti."

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 cos out weak, embarrassed, full of everything I can’t say.

"Not the Oga."

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

And sohow—despite the pain, despite the embarrassnt, 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.