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Ronson wasted no time, tearing from my lips and diving down. I mourned the loss of his mouth, but only until he was nuzzling and nipping and sucking on my breasts through the thin veil of my chemise. His purr vibrated into my chest and he found my nipple through the cotton, laving his tongue back and forth, creating a strange friction of slick fabric and hot pressure. His hips had drawn away from mine, but my legs could twist around his waist and back to hold him close, my fingers sliding through soft, dark curls to clutch him to me.
He was completely dressed, and I was wearing a chemise shoved up to my waist that barely disguised the soft texture of his tongue and the pattern of his teeth as he sucked a mark on the underside of my breast. We were in the library, for goodness' sake, and while it was incredibly late, there was no reason why we might not be discovered. Except Ronson's wings were lifting, stretching, shadowing us, and all anyone would see of me if they walked in was my bare legs tightening like a vice around the Alpha of Bleake Isle.
"R-Ronson, I—Please, t-touch me," I gasped, squirming and trying to press my bare sex to his body. There were too many layers, and he was mapping the heft and height of my breasts with kisses, and I'd been thinking of him making me reach some beautiful pi
But it wasn't my sex he reached to touch. With a yank of one hand, the collar of my chemise was down, the fabric now a useless, tangled circle around my waist, sleeves keeping my arms trapped to my sides.
Ronson's head lifted, eyes staring down at my chest, fingertips swirling over my right nipple, taking it and tweaking it gently to an throbbing point. He spoke between panting breaths. "You have the most divine form, omega. The sweetest, softest skin. Look at how perfectly pink you are. I would make a meal of your breasts, but once would never be enough. And these nipples—"
"Ronson," I moaned, flames of warmth licking over my skin, my body trying to stretch away from the praise.
"You're sweeter right here. Right at the tip," Ronson whispered, the tip of his tongue circling first one tight, aching peak, and then the other. "Mmm, such a pretty color too."
I gasped, slamming my eyes shut and bowing my back, trying to silence his words by drawing his attention back to his feast.
"Those corsets leave marks on your skin, Mairwen," Ronson rumbled, stroking his thumb over a red line the boning had left. "And I am jealous. The only marks you bear should be the ones I make." He snarled, and then his mouth was fastened firmly to my breast, and I yelped, tangling my fingers back into his hair, digging my heels into his ass and thrusting my hips against his stomach.
He huffed a laugh around my nipple, but before I could blush or apologize or do anything but writhe and beg for more, he was suckling, a taut strand of pressure pulling my sanity up from between my legs and right out of my shouting throat. He worked my other breast in his hand, rolling and squeezing, pinching and tugging until I whimpered with the violent pulse of need.
"That's cheating, Mairwen," Ronson growled, and his free hand pi
This was not the soft warmth of pleasure I'd built with shy pets and strokes between my legs and over my breasts. This was the wind of a storm and the tight hook of lightning in my blood and a rolling thunder calling over the sea, warning me of its arrival before it shook the whole house.
Back and forth Ronson went, soothing and sucking and coiling the rope in me tighter on one breast, bruising and plucking and gripping the other until it grew to be too much. I bucked against the hand holding me down, unconcerned with the dig of his fingers in my soft belly or the shameless snarl that slipped from my lips when he wouldn't let me budge.
"You're going to be fun during the rut," he rasped. "What a gift you are, omega."
Omega.
Not Mouse.
Not Mairwen.
A wonderful, precious creature who was just right. Who built perfect nests and had breasts to covet, in lovely shades of pink. Who tasted sweet and—
"Do you know how badly I want to feel your pussy, Mairwen? To stroke and pet you? To feel you fluttering on my fingers, slicking my palm? But I won't. Not till you come. I said I would make you gush like this, and I'm not in the habit of breaking my vows."
"Ronson, I—"
I was close, and I was somewhere entirely new, some wild, savage place, some greater height than I'd climbed on my own.
I have no wings, I wanted to cry, but Ronson's tongue circled my nipple, and I lost words to a simple shout of praise.
"Beautiful. You're so beautiful."
My face was hot and my body was quaking, and there were salty tears slipping from the corner of my eyes, but Ronson was laving and kissing at my breast, pulling sweetly in a steady rhythm on the other, and he must've been speaking about some other part of me, some part I'd never seen before.
"The taste of you—please, omega, I need to touch—" His mouth enclosed my tender tip and I screamed, arching into his mouth, my body clenching and clasping on nothing, begging for more even as I dove into pleasure.
Ronson growled and wrapped his arm around my back, holding me tight. He could fly for us both as I fell. I was safe. I clung to him, one wave after another cresting, subsiding, taking all my strength and the rest of the world away, leaving me to float gently back into my own skin.
Feather-light kisses brushed over my chest, pausing to rest over my thrumming heartbeat. Ronson's short beard scraped between my breasts as he trailed his nose over my skin. My hands were lazy and limp on his back, soaking up the sound of his purr through my palms.
"Your jacket…" I murmured, blinking up at the high stone arches of the library ceiling, plucking at the collar of his coat.
"If I take a single stitch off, I'm not sure I can keep myself from… I'm only exploring," Ronson said, low and dark, as if to remind himself. His tongue mapped my belly button, and I squeaked and pushed at his head, not thinking about the where of directing him, only away from such a strange and silly place—
And then his breath ghosted and brushed between my legs. I froze, gasping, too afraid to glance down, afraid to move. He would be offended that I shoved him, would correct my error, or—
Calloused thumbs stroked down either side of my sex, and bristle-soft cheeks nuzzled against one thigh and then the other.
"Ronson—" I started, barely strangling his name out.
"Mairwen, the first thing you did was take my sac in hand," he said dryly. "I think I'm owed a little peek."
My mouth opened and closed, but his thumbs were sliding through embarrassing wetness, parting the folds of a place I was only just familiar with, and his face was right there.
"Fuck. Fuck, Mairwen, you're so pretty."
I made a small sound, fairly sure my heart was about to burst right out of my chest, that I might expire from some unfortunate blend of shock and horror and joy. No one had ever really called me pretty before. Certainly not beautiful. And perfect was such a ludicrous thought that I assumed I'd imagined the word in some sort of lusty fever.
But then again…no one had ever taken so close a look at these particular parts of me. I softened and let my alpha look his fill.