And Riven? He just lay there, shirtless and warm, heart fluttering wildly, soaking in every second of being seen. He was there muttering Ronan’s na, so soft that the alpha could barely hear it.
Riven bit his lip hard. He would rush Ronan, but that was not his style. He enjoyed going slow and letting the temptation completely overco him. And the way Ronan was acting now was so tempting.
The Alpha would kiss his abdon and waist, but he would also move to the base of his shaft and gently run his tongue over it. But again, abandoned it for his waist.
At this point, he was sure that Ronan, just like earlier, wanted him to whimper and beg.
And as Ronan pressed one more kiss to the dip just above his hip, Riven smiled softly to himself, eyes slipping closed. He was going to ask him, he had no other choice.
Ronan had never known he could feel like this—so desperate, so raw. It was strange, how a powerful Alpha like him. Only Riven could bring him to his knees.
There were tis Ronan looked at Riven and forgot how to breathe.
But now... ever since he dragged Riven back with the excuse that they were fated mates, a thread of doubt had lodged deep in his chest. A doubt that without it, he would have never agreed to co with him.
He had been afraid. Afraid Riven would choose to walk away. Afraid Riven would never co back to him unless the stars forced it. So he used the one thing he thought could keep them together: the mate bond.
And Riven had forgiven him. Still, the guilt remained.
Ti healed... It had to... He held hope.
Riven talked to him... Reluctantly, at first. There were tis when Riven barely hid the hate he carried for him. For leaving him twice. For forcing him to run away.
Even now, after being forgiven, after being allowed to hold Riven, kiss him, love him—there was always that flicker of fear.
Does he really want ? Or is this just sothing he’s trying to accept?
So Ronan needed to hear it. Over and over. He needed Riven to say it—not out of obligation, not because he was forced—but because he ant it. That was why he was so obsessed with making Riven beg, with coaxing those words from his lips. It wasn’t dominance. It wasn’t power.
It was fear.
Fear that Riven would wake up one day and just leave.
But each ti Riven said his na in that breathless, stubborn way, each ti he whispered, "I want you, Ronan. Now stop teasing ..."
Ronan lunged forward, breath catching in his throat, his hand cupping Riven’s cheek with a kind of reverence that bordered on desperation. His lips brushed the corner of Riven’s mouth, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say that again," he pleaded, eyes searching, burning. "Please, Riven."
Riven blinked, stunned. How many tis did he have to say it for Ronan to believe it? He was not too surprised, considering how much he had tortured this bad wolf.
Well, he could say this not so bad wolf now.
His cheeks ward, a rosy blush creeping across his face, but he didn’t shy away. Not this ti.
"I want you, Ronan," he said softly, his voice like a balm against the wounds Ronan didn’t dare show. He reached out, fingers curling into Ronan’s hair. "So stop teasing so cruelly."
Ronan let out a shaky breath that turned into a laugh, low and fond. The smile that spread across his face was nothing like the cocky smirks or the smoldering grins Riven had grown used to with Soren. It was soft. Honest. Almost boyish. And in that smile, Riven saw sothing that made his breath hitch. Love and not lust.
For a mont, he didn’t know what to do with that kind of emotion. He’d seen desire in Ronan’s eyes before, yes, but this was different. No longer reverant, but genuine love.
So Riven did the only thing he could. He smiled back, that rare genuine smile that only Ronan ever got to see. He reached up, looping his arms around Ronan’s neck and pulling him in, kissing him softly. Just a brush of lips. Barely a breath of contact.
Then, without warning, Riven shoved him back—gentle, playful, but with just enough force to surprise him.
Ronan landed flat on his back with a small, startled sound, his white hair fanned across the pillow like a silken halo. He looked up at Riven, startled, amused, adoring.
Riven climbed on top, straddling him with a quiet confidence, placing his hands firmly on Ronan’s broad chest. His legs frad Ronan’s hips, and he tilted his head, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"You’re not getting to be the only one who sees everything," he said, tapping a finger against Ronan’s chest. "Off. Now."
Ronan blinked, caught sowhere between awe and desire. "Don’t you want to do it yourself?"
Riven blinked. Actually, he would like that. He wanted to be the dominant one always! It would never happen with Soren. That man was a top through and through and incredibly stubborn. Ronan however... Would be willing to indulge Riven’s fantasies for a bit.
Ronan let out a warm laugh, the sound rich and full, like sothing that had been buried deep inside him and was only now finding its way to the surface. He sat up slightly so that Riven could reach his buttons easier without having to bend too much.
The mont the shirt was off, Riven’s eyes drifted downward, taking in the sharp lines of Ronan’s torso—the strength that defined him but never overwheld. He’d seen it before, those scars and lines.
Riven leaned forward, placing his hands on Ronan’s now-bare chest, fingers splayed like he wanted to morise every dip and ridge.
"Better," he murmured.
He touched and went along with each and every scar, slow and steady. Sotis, he would bend down and kiss them, too.
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