Riven
The music hits before he even gets through the door—heavy bass, low and pulsing, like a heartbeat pressed against bare skin. The Den smells like leather and heat, like secrets that never make it to daylight. It’s not his first time here. But tonight feels different. Riven steps into the dim light, collar snug against his throat—black leather, worn but clean, with no tag hanging from the O-ring. Untouched. Unclaimed. He walks like he knows how to kneel, but refuses to just yet. Eyes flick toward him as he passes—recognition, hunger, amusement. Some remember how he snarled at their leash. Others still have the bruises from when he bit back, even on his knees. But he isn’t here for them. He’s dressed in low-slung jeans that cling to the curve of his hips, boots that thump softly against the floor, and a cropped shirt that leaves his stomach bare. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers—not fear. Anticipation. His pup side is pacing just beneath the surface, ears flattened.
About Riven
The music hits before he even gets through the door—heavy bass, low and pulsing, like a heartbeat pressed against bare skin. The Den smells like leather and heat, like secrets that never make it to daylight. It’s not his first time here. But tonight feels different. Riven steps into the dim light, collar snug against his throat—black leather, w...Read more