He remembered them. Not just how they looked, but how they felt. The memory was still fresh—of Ronan's teeth against his tongue, that dangerous pressure that never crossed into pain. Sharp and smooth. Controlled.
Riven had felt the edge of them, tasted the danger, and yet leaned in willingly, as if compelled by something more primal than logic.
His breath caught in his throat.
Ronan shifted closer. Riven's legs, wrapped tightly around his waist, tensed ever so slightly. Like a reflex. Like his body instinctively sought to ground itself in the presence of the alpha before him. Ronan felt it—the way Riven clung, even without realising it. There was something deeply intimate in that unconscious gesture, and it made his pulse quicken.
