A tan hand plucked the linen and lace from my fingers. "Nonsense. I think I can manage to offer assistance."

"My lord, that isn't⁠—"

"Don't be prim, omega, or I will be forced to use these laces to tie you up and remind you that there is no one better acquainted with how pleasing your form really is than myself."

My mouth dried, and I glared up at Ronson through my lashes.

"Disrobe," he coaxed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I was only wearing a robe in the first place, having risen from the bath when the maid knocked on the door to deliver the parcel. It'd been almost a week since the rut, but Ronson was still steadfast in not allowing anyone else into the room, although he now allowed the castle staff to approach the door.

I sighed and untied the robe, sliding it from my shoulders. Ronson's shadow was cast in three directions across the floor, lit up from behind by the candlelight in sconces. A rough purr thrummed across my shoulders as the silk robe hit the floor, and I found myself fighting a smile. Whether it was his intention or not, Ronson never left me in any doubt of his interest.

"Don't get distracted, alpha," I teased, surprised by the slightly husky rasp in my voice.

Ronson grunted and cleared his throat. "Lift your arms, omega."

I shivered but obeyed, and Ronson stepped closer with a rustle of fabric as he examined the new corset and then stretched it around my form.

"I disagree, by the way," he murmured as I adjusted the shape of the contraption against my chest, swallowing hard as I realized the lace of the cups extended down over my nipples, the shelf-like cups lifting my breasts high.

"Disagree?" I asked absently. The lace felt scandalous against my sensitive tips, and I was already anticipating a reaction from Ronson when he realized.

"Your shape needs no structure for enhancement. I like you in that robe best of all," he said, soft and rough, amending a moment later, "Aside from bare, of course."

The corset fastened around me, and he hummed, one hand cupping my waist. The curve of the corset was more of a deep V, settling comfortably at the narrowest part of my stomach. It was not the slim slope of fashion, but it was comfortable, and it did prove Miss Pettyfer's point about my waist.

"Laces," I prompted, glancing over my shoulder, only to find Ronson giving my behind a heated stare.

"You don't need to be strapped in, Mairwen," he grumped.

"This corset has no straps and needs to stay up, my lord. Please, I want to see how it's meant to look."

He harrumphed but began the laborious process of tying in the laces.

"Tighter," I said.

"No."

"Ronson," I huffed, rolling my eyes and reaching my hands back to do it myself. "It's not pinching me, and if it's too loose it will chafe."

He batted my hands away. "Fine, fine. I don't see the point of this. If your dresses fit properly, what need do you have for this?" But with gentle tugs the corset grew comfortably snug. It was strange to wear it against my skin like this; I should've put my chemise on first, but I wasn't planning on keeping it on for long. Only now I realized I was wearing this corset and only this corset, my sex still exposed to the warmth of the room, the towel wrapped around Ronson's hips occasionally grazing against my bottom.

"That's good," I said, twisting a little and finding that whatever magic Miss Pettyfer had worked into her new boning allowed me a comfortable range of movement. I glanced down and blushed at the high heave of my breasts below my nose. "I think I ought to put a dress on to see⁠—"

"Oh no, you don't!" Ronson laughed, catching me by my shoulder. "I put in a good effort on those laces, I deserve a⁠—"

His hands on my shoulders had turned me to face him, and his words died on his tongue. I was staring steadfastly at his chest, but I didn't miss the telltale movement tucked beneath the towel around his hips, and it gave me the bravery to glance up to meet his eyes.

Ronson's mouth hung slightly open, still frozen mid-sentence, and slowly his hand guided me to step back, to offer more of myself to his view, his black eyes caressing slowly over me, always pausing to linger at my breasts. His purr started, loud and approving, and I blushed as my own perfume answered automatically.

"A mirror," I murmured, trying to twist out of his grip.

"I changed my mind," Ronson rumbled.

"About what?" I whispered, unable to meet his eyes again.

"This is a lovely piece of invention." Ronson's hand slid from my left shoulder, tracing the delicate edge of lace that covered one breast down into the narrow V between, the slight callus of his finger scraping against my skin.

"I think it might be a bit…" I waved my hands in front of my chest, and my eyes rose up to the ceiling.

"Oh, it is absolutely…" But Ronson's gesture was to pinch my nipple through the lace, my breath hitching roughly as his claw pressed into my flesh.

"You can't—You promised—" He hadn't. "Ronson, don't tear this off of me," I said, meaning it as a stern warning but finding it came out as a breathless plea.

His sharp smile and the dark, hungry pierce of his stare against my skin did nothing to reassure me, even when paired with him rumbling, "Oh, omega, I don't intend to take it off you at all."

I squeaked as Ronson bent just enough to scoop me off my feet, his hands helping themselves to my ass. "Alpha?"

"I think I might be jealous of your seamstress, Mairwen," Ronson growled, hefting me against his chest, marching us toward the nest.

"Miss Pettyfer?" I laughed, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"I thought I alone understood your body so well," Ronson said, his head ducking down to bury itself between my breasts. "I underestimated her."

I snorted. "I think you likely have her beat in other areas, Ronson."

He arched a brow, and I found myself riveted to the sight of his lips parting, his tongue grazing over thin lace, dragging closer to my right breast, teeth glinting briefly in a grin. "I should hope she doesn't know your taste as well as I do."

Such a claim was so patently outrageous it deserved a hearty bout of laughter, not the breathless catch in my throat as Ronson latched his mouth to my nipple and began to suckle me through lace.

"It did not come up at the fitting, no," I murmured as the shadows of the nest enveloped us and I was laid down on my back.

"Just to be sure," Ronson purred, nipping my breasts before shoving me farther up the mattress and delving between my thighs.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-FourRONSON

“Brother! Halt!"

I paused, my chin raised high, the tantalizing promise of Mairwen's perfume just a thin thread on the air, a trail for me to follow toward⁠—

"Ronson, for the love of flight!" Niall huffed, catching me by the shoulder and shaking me slightly. I glared back at my half-brother. "Don't you dare go into that library," he snapped.

"What on earth—" I tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip on my shoulder sternly.

"You can lie to yourself if you like, but not to me," Niall said, an exasperated flush spreading over his face. "Dalton is on his way here now."

I glanced at the open door of the library, my mouth watering and teeth aching. "He's not expected for another half hour⁠—"