CHAPTER 184: THE UNIVERSE IN MY ARMS: DID I HURT YOU?

The sound that escaped me wasn’t a word.

It was a confused, breathy puff of air—the auditory equivalent of a question mark.

Hurt me?

The thought was so absurd, so utterly alien to the reality of the last hour, that my brain couldn’t form a proper response. No one had ever apologized to me after something like this... Not even when it hurt.

And that’s when the memory, the one I kept locked away in a cold, dark box, broke free.

Max. A night a year ago. It had been clumsy and painful, a sharp, tearing sensation that had made me yelp. When we were done, I’d curled away from him, biting my lip against the stinging throb. The sheets were smeared with blood. Not a lot, but enough. I saw his eyes flick to the stain, then to me, his expression one of pure annoyance.

"Seriously?" he’d sighed, as if I’d spilled wine on his favorite shirt. "You’re making a mess."

And I, stupid and desperate for his approval, had been the one to apologize. "I’m so sorry, Max. I don’t know why... I’m sorry."

He never touched me again that night. He never asked if I was okay. He just rolled over and went to sleep, leaving me to clean myself up in the bathroom, shame coiling in my gut like a venomous snake.

But Adrien...

Adrien, who had just taken me apart so thoroughly I doubted I’d ever remember my own name, was holding me like I might shatter, his voice breaking on the words Did I hurt you?

His arms—the same arms that had pinned me to the wall like a lifeline—were trembling.

The man who had hoisted my entire weight with sheer strength was now shaking from the possibility that he might’ve gone too far.

It took a monumental effort, but I managed to push myself up slightly, my muscles screaming in protest. I twisted in his hold, a clumsy, boneless movement until I could face him. The moment my eyes met his, my breath caught in my throat.

The savage heat was gone.

What remained was a raw, cracked open version of Adrien—one I’d never seen before.

He looked wrecked.

His honey-brown eyes were slick with guilt. The sharp angles of his face were tight with restraint, his mouth set like he was bracing for a verdict.

For a second, I thought the broken look on his face would break me, too. It was a chasm of self-recrimination, and it was all for me.

My hand, trembling with a life of its own, lifted from his shoulder. I laid my palm flat against his cheek. The skin was hot, slick with sweat, the stubble a rough counterpoint to the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

He flinched.

Just slightly.

As if expecting me to pull away.

And that—that—is what finally broke me.

A sound tore from my chest, a choked, wet sob that was half laugh, half wail. Tears I didn’t know I had stored up began to spill from my eyes, hot and fast.

Adrien went still.

"Shit. Princess—what did I do?" he breathed. "Tell me where I hurt you. Please."

His voice cracked on the last word, and that—combined with the way his hands had gone frantic on my body—made it even worse.

I shook my head, gasping. "No. No—you don’t understand." My voice wavered as tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks. "You didn’t. You didn’t hurt me."

His jaw locked. "Then why are you crying?"

"Because you asked," I said, a tremble threading through my words.

My voice cracked on the last syllable.

"I’m crying... because you asked."

His brows furrowed. He didn’t get it.

"I’m crying because you took me apart, and you were worried about putting me back together," I sobbed, pressing my forehead to his. "No one has ever... No one has ever cared enough to ask if I was okay after."

The confession hung between us, raw and wounded. I saw the moment understanding dawned in his eyes, chasing away the fear and replacing it with something fierce, protective, and so full of aching tenderness that it stole my breath all over again.

His arms tightened around me, pulling me flush against his body until not even air could pass between us. He didn’t speak. He just held me, one hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair while I cried. He held me while I mourned the girl who apologized for her own pain, and he held me while I celebrated the woman who was finally being cherished.

When my sobs finally subsided into shuddering breaths, he tilted my chin up. His lips met mine, not with the brutal claiming of before, but with a reverence that felt like a vow. It was a soft, searching kiss that healed more than it aroused. It tasted of salt and regret and a deep, unconditional love that I was only just beginning to comprehend.

When Adrien pulled back, the last of my sobs had melted into the steady rhythm of our breaths. I was still pressed against him, but the raw edge of the moment had dulled. I could feel the softness returning to my limbs, the heat from earlier fading into something manageable.

His gaze flickered over my face, searching for something—was it confirmation, relief? He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he just watched me with that soft intensity I couldn’t quite get used to, like he was seeing me for the first time every time he looked.

"You good?" he asked quietly, his thumb brushing the side of my face.

I nodded, a small, genuine smile finally curving my lips. "I’m good," I whispered, my voice still a little hoarse, but clear. "Better than good. Thank you."

His thumb stilled on my cheek, then gently stroked down my jawline. A soft breath escaped him, the tension draining visibly from his shoulders. It was a subtle shift, but I could feel the ripple of relief that went through his strong frame. His eyes, still a little shadowed with concern, softened further, crinkling at the corners as a faint smile touched his own mouth.

"Just... thank you?" he murmured, a hint of his usual playful lilt returning, though still subdued. "You’re killing me here, Princess."

I chuckled, a soft, wet sound, and leaned into his touch. "What else am I supposed to say? I don’t think there’s a word for... this." I gestured vaguely between us, at the tangle of our limbs, the lingering scent of sex and tears, the profound shift that had just occurred.

He pulled me closer still, one hand slipping under my back to hold me more securely. "There doesn’t have to be," he said, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "Just... know that you never have to apologize for anything with me. Especially not for feeling."

A beat passed, thick with unspoken things.

Then—

"Do you..." He hesitated, clearing his throat. "Do you still feel hot?"

I blinked. "What?"

He looked down at me, his face unreadable. "The drug in your system. Is it still burning through you?" His hand drifted down my side, slow, testing. "If you are....You can use me. Until you feel like yourself again."

My jaw dropped. How did he figure out I was drugged?

"Adrien—"

"I’m serious." His tone was grave, but his mouth twitched slightly like he knew how that sounded. "If your body still feels too much, too wired, I want you to—"

I smacked his chest with the flat of my palm.

He didn’t flinch. Just raised a brow. "What?"

"You’re such a pervert," I muttered, even as heat pooled low in my stomach.

"I am," he said without shame, sweeping an arm under my thighs and lifting me again. "A very serious one, with a very specific medical purpose."

I groaned. "You’re unbelievable."

"Still feel hot?" he repeated, tilting his head down toward me. "Because I’m running out of patience here, and if you say yes, I’m going to put you back on that wall."