The Alpha of Bleake Isle

Chapter Twenty-ThreeMAIRWEN

Sex was rather wonderful.

I rolled my hips, shivering as cool air trickled through the parted curtains, teasing against the sweat that beaded on my back and between my breasts. Beneath me, the Alpha of Bleake Isle groaned and twisted, body bucking up, pleading with me.

I gri

"You love to torture me," he rasped, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching for a breast with his free hand. I stiffened, but he was gentle, brushing his thumb across my nipple till it pebbled for his touch.

"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 ma

"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."

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."