Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 125: Be Desired

Ronan wasn’t kissing back as much as he was enduring it—and it thrilled Riven to no end. The Alpha was barely holding it together, so focused on getting them back to their room, trying not to lose control and take Riven right there, against the nearest wall, the floor, anywhere.

And Riven? He was loving every second of making him suffer.

Ronan finally reached the door to their room, his steps slower now, deliberately careful. The taste of Riven still lingered on his lips, intoxicating, maddening.

He kicked the door shut behind them with a soft thud, not wanting to break the tension with a slam. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow from a bedside candle casting dancing shadows on the walls. He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he walked to the bed and leaned forward, placing Riven gently onto the soft mattress as though he were the most precious thing in the world.

The moment Riven’s back touched the bed, he reached up, already ready to pull Ronan down with him, but Ronan stopped him with a hand on his chest. Their eyes met, and in that gaze was something wordless, something raw—hunger, yes, but also reverence.

Ronan lowered his head slowly and kissed Riven again. He felt more relaxed. He was assured that Riven did not hate him too much. And he felt an intense sensation of relief overcome him.

His lips pressed against Riven’s with a kind of worship, like he was tasting something forbidden, something he wasn’t sure he deserved but needed anyway.

Riven’s fingers curled into Ronan’s shirt, tugging lightly, urging him closer, but Ronan pulled back just enough to trail the kiss to the edge of Riven’s cheek. A gentle brush, a whisper of affection. Then another, down toward his jaw. The kisses continued lower, soft and purposeful, until his mouth found the sensitive spot just under Riven’s ear.

Riven’s breath hitched. His hand found its way to Ronan’s hair again, fingers threading through it as his head tilted to the side, giving him more room to explore.

That annoying collar was a hindrance, but he simply tugged on it once with his teeth before letting it go. His focus was on Riven, such things did not matter. In fact, he was already planning to get him something to mark Riven as his.

Ronan exhaled against his neck, hot and heavy, before pressing another kiss there—slow and sensual. The scent of his mate filled him, making the Alpha’s head spin. His mouth moved down, peppering kisses from the curve of his neck to his collarbone, each one a promise of restraint, each one an act of worship.

Riven squirmed under him, not in discomfort, but in anticipation.

Ronan finally looked up, his hand coming up to the hem of Riven’s shirt. "May I?" he asked, voice low, rasping against the shell of Riven’s ear. freёwebnoѵel.com

Riven gave him a look—impatient, demanding. "Obviously."

With a quiet chuckle, Ronan helped him out of his shirt. It was smooth and slow, the fabric brushing along Riven’s skin before being cast aside. When he pulled back to look, he paused.

Riven’s body was lean, not overly muscular, but toned. His skin was soft under the warm light, his muscles subtly defined—especially along his abdomen, where faint lines hinted at strength and control.

He was lean, but he was also strong. Ronan would admit that his resilience was admirable.

The narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso—it all made Ronan’s mouth dry.

"You’re perfect," Ronan said quietly, running his hand slowly over Riven’s side, fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above his hip. "So damn beautiful."

Riven blinked at him.

What was with him and his waist? He did not get it. Why was Ronan so attracted to his waist? Well, he was the one to talk. He was very much interested in the body part that was bulging inside Ronan’s black trousers. Everyone has their own thing, thought Riven. And he was very much interested in Ronan’s thing.1

"I know..." He looked at himself in the mirror several times after transmigration. He was one good-looking half-wolf. Very hot, 10/10.

Ronan smiled, dipping lower, pressing a kiss to the center of Riven’s chest. "Good."

He didn’t stop there. He took his time, his lips brushing over Riven’s skin, moving with a slow purpose down the center of his torso. Each kiss was deliberate. First, between his pecs, then below them, down to the soft definition just above his stomach.

Ronan’s mouth moved lower, stopping just at the ridge of his abdominal muscles. He took a moment to press his palm lightly to Riven’s stomach, feeling the tension there—the strength beneath the softness. Then he leaned in and kissed the edge of one of the lines, just to the side.

"We should wrestle sometimes... On a mat, not on the bed." Ronan whispered against Riven’s hot skin.

Riven felt like there were butterflies in his stomach. He could not sit still!

Riven was silent for a second. Then he reached up, resting his hand on Ronan’s head, fingers brushing the soft strands of silver-white hair.

"I’m glad," he said softly, almost a whisper. "That you like it, I mean."

There was something vulnerable in that moment. Something gentle that contrasted with the fire of their earlier kisses.

Of course, he was vain. But it also felt truly wonderful to be desired.

Ronan stayed where he was, letting his lips linger just over Riven’s abdomen. His hand brushed along his side again, memorising every curve, every ridge of bone and muscle beneath skin. He kissed a little lower, then a little higher again, teasing, tasting.

Riven’s breath grew uneven. His body was warm all over now, but especially under Ronan’s mouth.

For a few moments, they didn’t speak. The only sounds were the rustle of sheets, the quiet breaths, and the faint hum of candlelight flickering against the walls.

Ronan didn’t rush. He wasn’t interested in racing to the end. He just wanted to savour—to let Riven know, through every touch and every kiss, that he was treasured.