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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 pla
"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.