Lin Mu collapsed onto his side, breath shallow, chest tight. The glow in his limbs faded quickly, not from exhaustion, but from dread.
It had happened again.
He turned his head slowly, afraid to look but unable to stop himself.
Xue Lan lay still.
Her long lashes trembled, her cheeks flushed from expectation, not fulfillment. Her legs remained parted slightly, her core still wet—but not from her own release. She hadn't even moaned.
Not once.
She was quiet. Not in the dreamy way of a woman satisfied, but in the fragile silence of one trying not to make someone feel worse.
And that silence cut deeper than any sword.
"I'm sorry," Lin Mu whispered.
Xue Lan blinked, and then quickly shook her head. "No, don't… it's okay."
She sat up, adjusting the pillows behind her. Her robe had slipped lower, exposing the soft curve of her breasts, her nipples still stiff, untouched. She noticed it too and tucked the robe around herself.
Lin Mu looked away.
His cock, still wet, had already gone limp. Small. Useless.
"I wanted to…" he began, his voice breaking. "I thought maybe this time—"
"You were gentle," she said quickly. "You were sweet."
She smiled. It wasn't fake. It wasn't cruel. It was just… sad.
He knew that smile.
She reached over and touched his cheek. "You made me feel loved."
"But not… satisfied," he said, barely audible.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
He felt it in her silence. Saw it in the way she looked past him for a moment, like something else had taken her thoughts away.
And that was what truly gutted him.
Not the failure. Not the quick finish. Not the size he had been cursed with.
But the fact that even when she smiled and stroked his hair, she had already begun to drift away—if only a little.
And he was still inside her.
"I'm going to wash up," she said gently.
He nodded, unable to speak.
As she moved past him, he watched the way her hips shifted, the dampness between her thighs, the way her robe clung to her body. She was so beautiful. And he had done so little for her.
When she disappeared behind the curtain, he stared at the sheets, at the small wet patch he'd left behind.
His shame pressed in like a vice.
But underneath it, deep in the core of his body, a strange feeling stirred.
His cock twitched.
Soft. Humiliated. Still aching from release… but twitching.
Because a part of him—dark, sick, and quiet—was aroused by the failure.
He didn't know why.
He hated it.
And yet… it was there.