Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 32: I’m Hurt

Ronan’s grip on Riven’s wrist remained firm as he led him through the halls. Riven sighed dramatically, rubbing his sore arm with his free hand.

"At least you let me put my shirt back on this time," he muttered.

Ronan ignored him, his pace was steady, he was being as gentle as he could in his agitated state.

Riven studied him, noting the way his expression remained unreadable, though his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly. That was the thing about Ronan—he always acted unaffected, but if you knew what to look for, you could see the cracks in his armor.

Riven grinned to himself. He liked finding those cracks.

When they finally reached a room, Ronan pushed the door open and all but tossed Riven inside. He stumbled onto the bed, landing with a soft bounce, blinking up at the ceiling in mild surprise.

"Oh?" Riven lifted his head, raising an eyebrow at Ronan. "Round two already?"

Ronan said nothing. He turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Riven blinked again.

"...That’s it?" he muttered, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the soft mattress. He let out a long, frustrated groan.

This was the rudest form of cockblocking! Not only was Ronan interfering with his fun, but he kept running away afterward! What was his deal? First, he acted like nothing happened, then he pulled Riven away the moment he got close to Raphael, and now he just abandoned him in a room?

It was infuriating.

Riven huffed, flipping onto his back. He let himself sink into the bed, stretching out his limbs. His muscles ached from training, and his bruises throbbed dully beneath his clothes. He reached up, touching one of the more painful spots on his ribs, and winced.

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

Riven turned his head just in time to see Ronan stride in, his expression as unreadable as ever. But this time, he was holding something in his hand.

A jar of cream.

Riven blinked, then sat up on his elbows. "Wait, don’t tell me..."

Ronan walked straight to the bed, not saying a word. Without hesitation, he reached for the buttons of Riven’s shirt.

Riven’s brain stalled.

He knew Ronan had a habit of taking control, but this? This was unexpected.

Riven swallowed, feeling a strange flutter in his stomach as Ronan unfastened each button with practiced ease. The callused pads of his fingers brushed against Riven’s skin as he worked, sending small sparks up his spine.

Riven inhaled sharply, trying not to wiggle. His body felt oddly sensitive under Ronan’s touch, and something about the way the Alpha’s golden eyes remained so focused on his task made Riven feel... funny.

"Wow," Riven murmured, forcing a smirk onto his lips to cover up the strange heat rising to his face. "Didn’t realize you were this eager to undress me, Ronan. You could’ve just asked."

Ronan didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he pushed Riven’s shirt off his shoulders, revealing the dark bruises blooming across his fair skin.

His gaze darkened.

Riven, usually quick with a quip, found himself momentarily quiet under the weight of Ronan’s stare.

Then, Ronan dipped his fingers into the jar and scooped up some of the cool, thick cream. Without warning, he pressed it against one of the worst bruises on Riven’s ribs.

Riven shivered.

The cold sensation jolted through him, making his muscles tense. His breath hitched, and he grabbed onto the sheets beneath him, his fingers twisting into the fabric.

Ronan’s hands were warm.

His fingers, rough from years of training, contrasted sharply with the cool cream as he spread it over Riven’s skin in slow, deliberate strokes.

Riven’s breath stuttered.

The feeling was... Odd.

It didn’t hurt, not as much as he thought it would. Maybe it was the numbing effect of the cream, or maybe it was the fact that Ronan’s touch was gentler than he expected.

Or just that the view in front of him was so good he forgot about his pain.

Riven’s lips parted slightly, his gaze locked onto Ronan’s face. His silver eyelashes quivered as he worked, his expression unreadable but his hands betraying a certain softness.

Riven swallowed.

For once, he didn’t make a joke. He just watched him.

Ronan’s fingers traced along his ribs, pressing the cream into his skin with a steady, almost rhythmic motion. It was different from the way Raphael had applied it earlier—Raphael had been hesitant, nervous, but Ronan? Ronan was sure of himself. He moved with purpose, with intention.

Ronan finished with his ribs and moved to his shoulder, his fingertips grazing over the bruises there. The contrast between the coolness of the cream and the heat of Ronan’s touch made Riven shiver again, though this time, it wasn’t entirely from the temperature.

Ronan didn’t say a word as he worked. He was quiet, methodical. But Riven could feel the tension in his movements, the slight tightness in his grip, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly.

Riven bit his lip.

Then, just as Ronan was about to close the lid of the jar, Riven reached out and caught his wrist.

Ronan looked at him, his golden eyes sharp and questioning.

Riven leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I’m still hurt," he murmured, his fingers tightening around Ronan’s wrist.

The words hung between them, heavy with implication.

Ronan’s eyes stared at Riven with hidden intentions, "Where?" He asked with a hoarse voice.

Riven quickly turned around revealing his back... His back, which was filled with bite marks.

The Alpha quickly understood the implication. This little omega was mad. His rational self would have ignored him and just left, but he was the furthest thing from rational when it came to Riven.

He looked at that pretty fair back which was marked red by his teeth, he subconsciously licked his lips. His fingers curled slightly, the tension in his body coiling tighter.