The light in the room cast shadows over the defined lines of his abdomen, every ridge of muscle emphasized as he peeled the shirt off. His shoulders flexed, broad and powerful, as he tugged the fabric over his head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.
His chest was well-built and perfectly defined, his biceps straining as he moved—powerful and unmistakably masculine. The faint scars scattered across his skin only added to his rugged appeal, telling stories of countless battles and hardships.
Riven took a deep breath. He realised that there was a new one, a newly healed wound to the side of Ronan's body, reaching to his V-line.
Ronan's muscles shifted under his skin as he leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of Riven's head, caging him in. "I hope my appearance is pleasing to the eye." He whispered.