Chapter 133: 133

He stood up and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure, raw frustration. He paced the small space for a second before kneeling in front of me again, forcing me to look at him. He peered into my eyes, searching for an answer I wasn't ready to give.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice falling to a whisper that broke my heart. "Did I do anything wrong? I'm sorry, okay? I really am sorry for whatever it is. Just don't shut me out."

Seeing him like that—this powerful Alpha reduced to begging on a bathroom floor because he thought he’d upset me—made a wave of pity wash over me. I looked at his face, seeing the genuine distress written in every line, and I realized he truly didn't get it. He wasn't playing a game. He was just as lost as I was.

"You don't understand, Adrian," I said, my voice cracking. I looked down at my hands, unable to meet his eyes. The words felt like they were being dragged out of me. "You only pleasured me. You spent all that time on me, making sure I felt... everything. But what about you? You didn't penetrate me, or..."

I trailed off, the sentence dying in the air. I didn't know how else to put it without sounding desperate or ungrateful. I was trying to tell him that I wanted to be his in every way, that I wanted to feel his pleasure just as much as he’d made me feel mine, but the words felt like they were stuck in my throat. I sat there on the edge of the tub, the silence of the bathroom feeling heavier than the entire drive back to the pack house.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, and the longer it lasted, the more I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I was sure I had just made things incredibly awkward, exposing a level of insecurity that a Luna shouldn’t possess. Finally, I forced myself to look up from my hands, expecting to see confusion or maybe even a hint of annoyance on his face. Instead, I found him smiling down at me. It wasn't a mocking smile, but there was a definite light in his eyes that I hadn't expected.

"What?" I asked, my voice snapping with a bit of defensive edge. "Is it funny? Am I a joke to you right now?"

He let out a short, breathy laugh and shook his head, though the warmth didn't leave his expression. "No... no, baby. Please, tell me that isn't the reason why you were crying."

He was trying so hard to look serious, pulling his features into a mask of composure, but I could see the amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. It made me feel even more exposed. I looked away again, staring at the tiled wall of the bathroom as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"It’s not funny, Adrian," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I’m sitting here questioning everything, feeling like I’m not enough or that you’re just doing this out of some sense of duty, and you’re laughing."

"You thought I didn't desire you?"

He spoke my deepest, darkest thought out loud, framing it as a simple question. It hit me like a physical punch. I didn't answer, but my silence was enough of a confirmation. He moved closer, his presence once again wrapping around me, but this time it felt different—slower, more deliberate.

"I did desire you, Ashley," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that low rumble that always made my skin tingle. "I still do. Trust me, it took everything I had to stop where I did. But I just don't want to rush things. Not this time. Especially since this is our first real time back together, I want us to build something that lasts."

I finally looked back at him, seeing the raw sincerity in his eyes. The amusement was gone now, replaced by a focused, steady intensity.

"I want you to feel comfortable with me first," he continued, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from my face. "I don't want to do something like that just because we saw each other almost naked and got driven by desire with no reasoning. I’ve made mistakes before, Ashley. I’ve let my instincts drive me when I should have been thinking about you. I want you to want me first—not just need me in the heat of a moment. I want it to be a choice."

I just sat there on the edge of the tub, looking at him. His words were sinking in, shifting the way I saw the entire morning. He wasn't rejecting me; he was protecting me. He was trying to prove that he valued my comfort and my heart more than his own physical release.

It was the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for me, yet I felt a massive internal debate starting up. A part of me wanted to scream that I did want him, that I’d been wanting him since the moment I saw him again, and that I was more than ready to bridge that final gap.

But the words stayed stuck in my throat. I chose not to say it. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was just the lingering fear that if I moved too fast, I’d break the fragile peace we’d just found.

"Thank you," I whispered instead.

Even as I said it, I felt like total shit. Here he was, being the perfect mate, being patient and kind, and I had just finished crying like a child because I didn't get my way. I felt small and ungrateful, and I hated the way my emotions were swinging like a pendulum.

"C’mon, take your bath," he said, sensing that I needed a minute to myself. He bent down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of my head. It was a sweet gesture, one that didn't demand anything in return. "I’ll be right outside if you need me."

He headed out, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.