"B-but," I stammered, eyeing the way his wings grazed and hooks snagged on the shelter I'd created.

"Mairwen, if you want us to simply sleep, or…um…talk," Ronson started, brow furrowing at the offer he was making, "we can do that instead. But you're not fussing with the nest tonight. And I need just a moment of…mmmm."

My breath hitched as the many many inches of Lord Ronson Cadogan's huge frame pressed onto me from above. He was heavy and wonderful and so warm, and his hips were thick between my thighs, chest hair prickling through my chemise to tickle at my stomach and breasts. He sighed, lying on top of me, his rough cheek scrubbing into my hair.

"Your corset is a crime. I'd like to burn it."

I laughed as much as I was able under his weight, and my hands grew curious, sliding from his shoulders to the base of his wings. I remembered going swimming in the stream of the woods with my father once when I was a little girl, clinging around his neck between his wings, their leathery surface hot from the dappling summer sunlight. It was the one and only time I'd ever had an opportunity to touch wings until now, and I remembered less of that part of the afternoon than the joy of having my father's undivided attention.

My father's wings had seemed enormous at the time, but he was a small man compared to Ronson, and the leather of his dragon was a softer taupe shade than Ronson's gleaming violet-black.

A silent gasp ruffled the hair against my ear as I tiptoed my finger over the tough join of his back to his wing, up the protected bone to the strong and hollow spines, and the curiously rough texture of the skin between them.

"No one's touched my wings in a long time," Ronson mumbled in my ear. They flexed gently, spreading as much as they were able in the small space I'd afforded them, shadowing us from the candlelight of the room outside.

I was curious about so many things. I wanted to know the texture of his hair around his brow, and how it differed from that on his chest and the scratch of his beard. I was curious about the gentle poke of his own nipples against my chest, almost close enough to touch one of mine. I was very curious about the long pressure against my right thigh, and the way every few seconds his hips would nuzzle between mine, rubbing that length to me.

But…

"Lie down on your belly," I said, pulling my hands from his back. Ronson grunted, not in outright refusal but probably disinterest, considering he didn't move a hair. "I'm exploring, and I'm starting with your wings."

He huffed at that, rising just enough to glare down at me. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Go on. Move."

Ronson's lips quirked and then he groaned, pushing against the mattress to lift himself above me, shuffling around my body. I caught a brief glimpse of a long, thick protuberance and nearly changed my mind about where to start, but Ronson dropped down at my side with a wince and a shuffle of his hips.

It took me a moment to scramble out from under Ronson's wing, tugging my chemise from where he'd trapped it with his thigh, and the whole nest rustled as I sat up, but the view was worth the struggle.

He had the most absurdly round, and perfect ass. It didn't matter that I hadn't known what a perfect ass might look like before now. I was wholeheartedly confident this one was. My mouth watered at the sight of the globes, of the curve and hollow of muscle along the sides. I forgot my goal of exploring his wings at the sight of the quick dip against his thighs, also decorated with dark curling hair, and my hand reached out of its own accord, helping itself to a squeeze of his flesh. Ronson chuckled into the bed, and his hips flexed, tightening and changing the shape of the thick muscle under my hand.

"That's not my wing⁠—"

"Shh. You'll have your turn tomorrow," I mumbled, ignoring the mess the tented sheet was making of my hair as I swung one leg over both of Ronson's and stared down at the exquisite, bronzed form below me.

He laughed, a quick bark of sound. "And I will be planning my attack every minute until then," he warned. But he squirmed, spreading his thighs until the hair on them brushed the inside of my own legs.

I watched as his motion revealed a softly furred mound of flesh between his thighs, and I reached down, grazing my fingers, marveling at the strangeness. Ronson bit off a garbled yell into the mattress, his hips kicking and wings beating once.

My eyes widened. "What's this?"

He let out a long, muffled groan, wings tucking back in, candlelight wavering through the rustling sheets of the nest. "My sac. Balls. Very sensitive," he ground out.

I snatched my hand away. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to hurt⁠—"

"It didn't hurt, Mairwen," he rumbled.

Oh.

I hesitated, torn between more curious exploring or moving onto safer territory.

"Touch me again." The words were a velvety rasp, and I glanced up, past the slight curtain of Ronson's wings, to see his knuckles pale where they fisted a pillow. "Please."

I hummed and scooted back, and Ronson's thighs spread eagerly, offering a clearer and more explicit view. I blinked for a moment, staring at the secretive shadows, the curve of his ass tucking down into the soft hair of his sac. He must've been lying on his length.

If Mother knew what I was looking at⁠—

I cut the thought out of my head and focused on the moment. I was exploring the Alpha of Bleake Isle, who had chosen me as his omega, we were alone, and tonight the rest of the island did not exist. I reached out, cupping one cheek of his ass in my hand and pushing it aside. Ronson shuddered, and I did my best to not think about him returning this study in kind tomorrow evening. With my other hand, I gathered up the tender mound between his legs, rolling it against my palm. Ronson hissed and groaned and rocked against the bed, and I bit my lips hard to avoid giggling.

It was lumpy and pulsing in my hand, and he was clearly…tortured by the touch.

He cursed and moaned my name, and I enjoyed a strange, thrilling victory. This was better by far than being chosen on a stage as hundreds of dubious eyes watched on. I had our alpha in my hands, whimpering and shivering, and all because I held a small, warm, and vulnerable part of him against my palm. His ass was clenching and his hands were scrambling in the sheets and his feet were shifting restlessly. He gasped as I squeezed him, groaned as I tugged on the handful, and let out a soft, broken cry as I molded the soft form in my grip.

"Mairwen! Stop, I'll-I'll⁠—"

I did stop, although I was a little disappointed to have my power called away.

Ronson sagged and let out a soft laugh, muttering to himself, "Not against the sheets like a boy." He twisted, glancing at me over the ridge of his wing. "Can I roll over now?"

I hummed and shook my head. "I haven't done what I came for."

His eyes narrowed. "Fine. But…no more of that just yet. I'll embarrass myself."

I wasn't entirely sure why, but that claim made me feel quite warm and delighted.

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Chapter NineRONSON

This is what comes of letting a curious, fearless virgin have free rein to explore, I thought, burying my panting breaths into the bed as Mairwen feathered light touches over the surprisingly sensitive stretch of my wings. And in spite of the sticky pool of arousal pressed between my belly and the mattress, and the painfully sharp ache of my erect cock, and the fact that Mairwen had been over my wings twice now and studied every inch of what was available to her from my position face down while leaving me simmering and ready to burst, I was grinning.