"I don't think you know the meaning of that word, my lord," I said, leaning forward and grazing my breast against his mouth. His tongue flicked out as dark eyes stared up at me, and my breath hitched in my throat.

"I don't think you've fully considered what I will put you through in exchange." Ronson's smile was sharp, but his hands stroked softly up my back as he drew me closer. Our eyes slid shut as his lips enveloped my nipple. I whimpered and rode his length, that perfect fit inside of me, and for a few minutes we were wrapped around one another, harmony in motion, a matching rhythm of heartbeats.

I cried out, partly in delight and partly in mourning, as heat burst within and Ronson growled, sitting up and holding me close, kisses coating my throat and shoulders. His knot pushed against me and I gasped, halfway crashed from the height I'd reached, ready to fly again. Ronson's voice was buried into my skin as I thrust my hips down and accepted his knot. The grip of his teeth on my shoulder was the harsh edge against the hazy ecstasy that billowed through me at the union, and my fingers flew into his hair, tightening roughly, holding his bite at bay.

"Ronson!"

He snarled into my shoulder, fingers digging into my back, and for a moment—and the recollection of a dozen moments in the rut and heat where I'd held him back—I thought he would fight the restraint, take what he craved. I would let him. I hadn't told him so; we hadn't really discussed some of the events of the rut—neither of us were entirely lucid at the same time—but there was a strange thrill racing through me when he bit me, a kind of impossible joy.

Slowly, as pleasure simmered inside of me with the slow pulse of his knot and our release, Ronson's jaw loosened. His tongue swiped around the edges of his teeth, a glittery warmth like the shimmer of sunlight on the waves of the sea racing through me. My fingers stroked through the strands of his hair, and Ronson and I both sighed.

"Forgive me," he whispered, kissing the bruises that still healed from his bites. "Fuck, Mairwen, I⁠—"

"It's all right," I soothed, rocking on his lap. His hands gripped my hips, stilling me, and his head shook, falling back into the cradle of my palms.

He's mine, a little voice whispered.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm going—I feel as though some kind of madness is taking hold," he murmured.

It was difficult to tell—his eyes were too dark—but there was a kind of haze in his gaze that reminded me of the rut. I combed my hand through his hair, and his eyes blinked slowly.

"You really want to bite me?" I asked. He'd come so near so many times already, but that had been the rut and it had passed now, hadn't it?

Except that when he'd returned from his meeting with the betas, he'd snarled and tackled me into the nest, nearly tearing my robe in his haste to be inside of me. I hadn't been much less urgent, clawing at his trousers, rucking my hips up to draw him into me before either of us were fully undressed.

It was late now, dark outside. We hadn't left the nest.

"I don't want to hurt you," Ronson said, slowly easing back, turning us to face one another on our sides. He was still firmly fastened inside of me, but without much movement it was just a pleasant glowing feeling, a warm union.

"But…" I prompted.

He sighed, and one hand left my hip to cover his eyes. "It's… Mairwen, I know…"

"Ronson, I'm hardly in a position to run screaming from the room at the moment, just⁠—"

"Yes. I want to bite you. I-I-I've never… I have no idea what comes over me, but⁠—"

I stretched, pushing Ronson's hand away, covering his mouth with my own, breathing with him as much as kissing him until he settled.

"It is strange," I admitted, and he flinched. "No stranger than the impulse I have to let you bite me."

He stiffened and then his arms were wrapping around me, chest purring against my own, body leaning closer. I laughed and pressed my palm to his chest.

"Ronson, stop. You're not going to bite me."

"Just a little nibble," he teased, rocking closer, distracting me with a sudden wave of pleasure.

I snorted and wrestled against him, which did very little to persuade either of us to stop moving. "Hasn't it occurred to you there might be consequences, you mad beast?"

He blinked, pushing me onto my back, settling comfortably between my thighs. "Consequences?" he repeated, brow furrowing.

I stroked his shoulders. "It's not a…a reasoned impulse, is it? The urge to bite me?"

He stared at the mark on my shoulder, freshened by his latest attempt, half in hunger and half in worry. "No, it isn't. It feels like… I don't usually feel separate from my dragon, but this is his impulse. You think there might be more to it than just a monstrous desire to devour you in every manner possible?" His lips quirked and his head ducked, kissing my lips, chin, and the tip of my nose in succession.

"I think it merits some research."

"Ahhh, I see. This is an excuse for you to get back in my library," Ronson purred.

"You did catch me before I could visit today. And it's been weeks, you know," I said, fighting my grin.

This was lovely. This teasing. This man who liked me and kissed me and apparently desired me so much, he wanted to bite me. Perhaps that shouldn't have been so flattering. Perhaps Ronson was as wrong an alpha as I was an omega.

For now, I didn't mind.

"How on earth did she manage to get these done so quickly? It's only been a few days!"

"You're the alpha's omega. I'm sure she's eager to please," Ronson said, rising from the bath we'd been enjoying together, twisting a towel around his hips and pacing closer. "Go on, let's see."

My hand hovered over the delicate tissue paper, scattered with dried lavender and tied shut with a sprig of rosemary. I lifted my face and narrowed my gaze at my alpha. "Whatever she made for me, you musn't tear, slice, rip⁠—"

Ronson barked out a laugh, and for a moment I forgot the small delivery of clothes—only a partial deposit on the order Miss Pettyfer had arranged for me—or indeed anything but Ronson's smile.

"If she's done her work adequately, I agree, but if we find another narrow-boned corset designed to torture your⁠—"

"You are absurd," I said, huffing and pushing the tissue aside. My lips pursed at what I found.

"That looks like boning to me," Ronson muttered.

I sighed and pulled the contraption up from the box, my head tipping to the side. It was similar to a corset. "You may have to resign yourself to my need for structure to acquire a pleasing shape." Ronson growled, and I rolled my eyes, grateful he was at my back.

This wasn't a typical corset—at least that much was true. I pinched what I assumed was boning in my fingers and found that instead of a rigid pole inside, it was something flexible but thick enough to offer support. Instead of being slightly curved but primarily cylindrical in shape, the corset also included what could only be referred to as…cups. Rather obscenely sized ones. Made partly of lace. For my breasts.

"I suppose I'd better try it on," I murmured, standing up, finding my face unexpectedly warm. It was one thing to have Ronson tearing my clothes off, but it seemed an entirely more intimate thing to have him watching me put on my undergarments. "I'll call a maid."