"I've wanted to do that," Riven whispered against Ronan's skin, voice laced with satisfaction. "Since the moment you marked me."
Ronan didn't respond with words. He didn't need to. The slow, steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his shoulders remained relaxed beneath Riven, said everything. He was allowing it. He wanted it.
Riven smiled softly and placed a kiss on the fading bite, then began to move lower.
His lips pressed along the line of Ronan's spine—slow, measured, and deliberate. Each kiss was a silent vow, a wordless appreciation. He traced the bumps of vertebrae like a sacred path, occasionally brushing his nose along the dips between muscles, breathing in Ronan's scent.
Always that warm, rich scent that somehow felt so… him. Strong, grounding, a little bitter, but addictive in its own way. Riven didn't even know why Ronan smelled like that—something about scent glands and pheromones—but he didn't care. He loved it.
