by Bec McMaster
Yes. There.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt.
A swift glance at her, then he licked his way down her throat, his tongue dancing over the throbbing beat of her vein. He knew what she wanted without being told, one hard thumb rubbing delicate circles around her nipple, ruching the fabric. Then his mouth was there, suckling her through the fine lawn. Perry yielded with a gasp, her hands dragging his shirt over his head, his lips parting from her skin just long enough to get it off. Then her hands were sinking into the thickness of his hair, dragging his mouth back where she wanted it.
In all of her many dreams of this, she’d never quite realized the meticulous care he’d take. He loved her body as if there could be no greater pleasure than this, as if each whispered cry and moan he wrung from her lips was more precious than gold. A man sure in his skill and his reading of her.
One hand slid along her inner thighs. “Part for me,” he whispered and coaxed her thighs to fall open.
She couldn’t deny him. The feel of his palm against her skin was a devastating tease. Just resting there. Making her arch her hips as if to beg for more of his touch.
“Please.” She needed that touch. Needed something to slake the vicious hunger.
Fingers danced up her inner thigh, finding the wet curls there. Garrett drew back just enough for her to see his eyes consumed by the same hunger that afflicted her. His lips curved. “You’re wet for me.”
“Always.”
Slow, silky touches. Torture. Perry entwined her arms around his neck and moaned, her nipples aching for the return of his mouth. He knew it too, his eyes dancing with amusement as he bowed his head and took one aching bud between his teeth just as his fingers drove into her. The sensation speared through her, igniting the feel of his fingers thrusting slowly into her body.
“Faster,” she whispered, but he took no heed. Each light caress only slowed further, until she was begging, grinding against his hand, her own fingers clutching at his wrist in desperation.
Then his hands were gone and he came over her, hips pressing against hers, right where she needed it. Perry sucked in a shuddering breath, his hands pinning hers to the bed. His erection strained against the leather of his trousers, grinding hotly against her until she came with a harsh exhalation, the world vanishing around her until only he remained.
She collapsed back on the sheets, panting.
“There she is,” Garrett whispered, his lips caressing her jaw. “My fierce little peregrine. Sweet and sensual and so damned beautiful. I’ve dreamed of you like this. Dreamed of fucking you.” His hand circled her throat and stroked down to her chest. “Of taking blood from you. Hearing you cry out.” He bared his teeth, the hunger in him all-consuming. “Stop me,” he begged.
“Never.”
And then he was as lost as she was. Kissing her, his tongue mating with her own, his body riding her back to the edge of something so strong she almost feared it.
Sweet Lord, he was strong. Perry’s fingers flexed in the hard muscle of his biceps, gliding over the heated satin of his skin. She dug her nails into the flex of his shoulders, gasping a little as his hips ground down upon hers. Garrett captured the gasp with a surging kiss, his touch growing a little stronger, a little more desperate now…
With a soft moan, she slid her legs around his hips, the lawn pressing damply against her. Reaching between them, she found the buttons on his leather trousers and fumbled with them in the warm dark.
Garrett bit her chin, pressing soft kisses there. “Here, love.” He reached down and tugged the buttons open, letting the heated weight of his cock spill into her hands.
Dark lashes closed over smoky blue eyes as he moaned. His cock clenched beneath her tightening fingers, and when he looked up at her through passion-glazed eyes, she loved it.
The next kiss took her by surprise, hard and demanding, his lips possessing hers with slow, languid skill. Hips rocking against her, her hands sliding over that smooth, polished length, wringing other soft noises from deep within his throat…
Then he cursed under his breath and rolled to the side, tugging the tight leather down his muscled thighs. Perry rolled onto her elbow, her fingertips dancing down the hard ripple of his abdomen. She liked the sudden sense of urgency she felt in him, as though he couldn’t control himself with her.
Firelight gleamed on his pale skin, caressing each long muscle. He truly was a work of art, built to fight, to kill, to hunt… As her palms skated over the planes of his abdomen she couldn’t help wishing she owned some kind of artistic talent, some way of capturing this moment forever.
Muscle flexed in his arm as he threw his pants aside, then he turned back to her with a predatory gaze and reached for her. Perry pushed at his shoulder instead, coming onto her knees over him as he fell flat. Hot, wicked eyes met hers as he understood her intentions. Then he was dragging her onto his lap, her thighs parting around his as the nightgown bunched around her hips and dangled off one shoulder, revealing her breast.
Fine hairs rasped against her inner thighs as he shifted her into place. Then his hands skated along her thighs, lifting the hem of the nightgown. The lazy, heated look he gave her burned through her.
“Off,” he demanded, sliding his hands up beneath it.
Perry plucked at the hem and dragged it up over her head, before tossing it aside. His gaze dropped in appreciation, a small growl echoing in his throat. That look of his… It stole any sense of self-consciousness from her. She was beautiful, here, now, in his eyes… And she’d carry that with her forever.
“It seems that you have been hiding something,” he murmured with wicked delight as his fingers brushed against her breasts. His smile warmed her. “How did I not notice these?”
Then his smile dipped as he traced the healing scar beneath her breasts with the pads of his fingers.
She didn’t want that memory coming into this. Perry caught his hands and cupped them around her breasts, her hips surging as his roughened hands slid over such sensitive skin. The glide of his erection beneath her made her quiver. A vivid picture of that last time flashed through her mind, of him burying himself to the hilt inside her, pressing her into the brickwork… Wetness slicked between her thighs, an empty ache, just begging to be filled.
Garrett sucked in a hissed breath as she threw her head back and moaned. Each slow glide tortured both of them, sensation fracturing through her. Garrett rocked up onto his elbows, his palms sliding up her back as his hot mouth locked around her nipples. It forced her knees deeper into the mattress, her body riding the exquisite length of his cock.
“Damn it, Perry. I wanted to take my time.”
She could feel the head of his erection dipping into the wet heat of her body. Perry rocked her hips, gaining another inch. “I’ve waited long enough. I feel like I’ve waited forever.” Cupping his face in her hands, she claimed his mouth as she sank down the length of his shaft. It stretched her, filling that aching emptiness until she knew she’d never be alone again.
“Christ,” he whispered, kissing her, biting at her mouth as his hands raked her back and buttocks. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
It thrilled her to the core. Nails skittering down his naked skin as she plundered his mouth. “Garrett.” Her soft little cries broke the silence… Mercy… So good… She moaned and kissed him as deeply as she could.
Darkness filled her—and she glorified in it. The warm golden light vanished from the room as her hunger rose. Perry bared her teeth and gasped, clutching him, riding him. Trying to consume him. The fierceness of her desire rocked her. That she could feel like this, naked and exposed and so entangled that she could barely tell the degree of separation.
“Garrett,” she whispered, sinking her teeth into the hard muscle of his shoulder. She wanted to draw blood, to lick his skin, taste the very essence of him…
A stra
ngled sound spilled from his lips. Garrett tumbled her onto her back, his narrow hips pumping into her and his hands hot and hungry on her body. Hovering above her, his arms straining with the effort as he rode her with increasing frequency, he slowed, each thrust deep and torturous.
She’d thought once that she’d known what desire was. But this was…necessity. As vital as breath and as furious as the blood hunger. It tore her apart and left her aching for completion. Yearning. So close…
Then he captured her knee and drove it higher, forcing her body to tilt until his cock ground within her, finding something so exquisitely delicious that she almost exploded.
Perry’s eyes shot wide, her nails scoring his back. Her gaze locked on his, and as she shattered, the last thing she saw was the blazing need for her darkening his own eyes.
Sensation rolled through her like a summer storm, hot, vivid, and electrifying. Destroying her. Leaving her gasping and wrung out beneath him as he drove her into the mattress. She could almost feel the moment his thrusts began to slow, his teeth sinking into that lush bottom lip.
“Yes,” Perry whispered, wrapping her arms around him and using her whole body to clench around him. It wracked her anew, throwing her back into the eye of the storm until she tossed her head back and cried out in pleasure.
The muscles in his throat strained, a vein standing out in his temple. Garrett gasped and then he spilled his seed within her, strain quivering through his body. Perry held on to him with desperate hands. She had to, for fear that she’d fall and never stop falling.
With another shattered gasp he collapsed against her, his breath coming hard against her bare throat and her breasts crushed between them. “Perry.” He stroked fingertips down her throat and over her collarbone. Then his weight came back down and his hand splayed flat over her ribs. “You are so beautiful, do you know that?” A quivering kiss against her jaw. “So wild, so brave…”
She clung to him, her feet rasping over the smooth muscle of his buttocks. Garrett lifted off her after long minutes, shuddering as his cock spilled from her. Rolling onto his side, he drew her into his arms and collapsed onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Warmth from the fireplace caressed her naked skin and Perry lay still for long minutes, listening to the beat of his heart beneath her ear. She’d never dreamed how much peace she would find in this moment, with his fingers lazily tracing circles on her shoulder.
“Nine years?” Garrett whispered, breaking the silence. “You’ve loved me for that long?”
Only he would dwell on such a thing at a moment like this. Perry curled her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. “For someone who thinks they know women, you never had a bloody clue.”
Twenty-eight
Nine years of living among men had immured Perry to the worst, or so she thought, but she’d never truly realized what a pack of old gossips the Nighthawks were. Doyle was the worst. The moment he’d discovered she was sharing Garrett’s chambers, he’d dug his heels in like a chaperone protecting her nonexistent virtue.
It didn’t help her temper that she’d met with her father that morning. It hurt to see him so tentative and uncertain of his welcome. He’d wanted her to return to the hall with him but Perry had shaken her head. She fully intended to stay with the Nighthawks. This was her home now, not the Echelon or society. Though she wanted, more than anything, to have him visit her each week. She’d missed him.
Stalking toward Garrett’s study, her ears caught a hint of conversation within. Several voices she recognized, and some she couldn’t quite place.
“Come in,” Garrett called when she knocked.
The room was crowded with people and chairs: Barrons, Lynch, Rosalind, Garrett, Lena Carver, her husband and sister, and a stranger who stood behind Honoria’s chair with his palm resting on her shoulder.
Perry shut the door, instantly feeling uncomfortable in the focus of everyone’s gaze.
“Miss Morrow.” Barrons stood, gesturing her to take his chair. “You look better than last we met.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, easing into the seat.
Garrett stole a glance at her, arching a questioning brow. She flashed him a slight smile, letting him know that the meeting with her father had gone well.
“Perry, you know Mrs. Carver and her husband, Will,” Garrett said. She nodded and he gestured to her right, where Honoria sat. “This is Lady Honoria Rachinger and her husband, Sir Henry.”
What were they doing here? Why had this meeting been called?
“Yes, I met Lady Rachinger. How do you do,” Perry replied to the woman’s husband.
She couldn’t quite take her eyes off Sir Henry’s crushed velvet waistcoat. The crimson color was shockingly vibrant in the room, highlighting the stark leather of his coat, and were there…razors at his belt? The kind a barber used? The man’s green eyes watched her examining him, then he gave a crooked smile—a dangerously wicked smile—and held out his hand to her. “Blade,” he said in a thick Cockney accent.
Perry’s eyes widened. “The Devil of Whitechapel?” she blurted. Three years ago the queen had knighted him, but she’d never realized his name was Sir Henry.
“One and the same,” he replied, shaking her hand. “But I prefer Blade.”
Barrons offered her a glass of blud-wein. “You’ll forgive me, but I asked Honoria and Blade to come. There’s been much discussion between myself and Lynch since the exhibition, and…I feel Honoria might be able to shed some light on this situation with the cure the prince consort now owns. She has some interest in this field and has been following all of the latest innovations in the search for a cure.”
Perry exchanged a flushed glance with Garrett, swiftly sipping her blud-wein. It was rather like having a living legend in the room.
“As several of you know, I was able to use the device to lower my CV levels before the prince consort took control of it,” Garrett said, nodding toward Honoria. “I’m happy to relate my experience with it if you desire.”
“You got ’igh CV levels?” Blade asked.
“Relatively,” Garrett replied. “They’re lower now, but I expect them to increase with time.”
Blade circled the room like a creature on the prowl, his hands clasped behind his back. Even Lynch tensed slightly as he passed by. “Let’s cut straight to the point. This ain’t got naught to do with the cure, you’re all fox-in-the-’en’s-’ouse ’bout the prince consort controllin’ it.”
Barrons and Lynch exchanged a glance.
“Some of us are interested in the cure itself,” Perry corrected, meeting and holding Blade’s gaze.
He shot Garrett a look, then nodded. “Fine. Some of us wants a cure. Some of us are concerned about that pasty-faced vulture ownin’ it.”
“I still hold Hague’s key to the device,” Lynch replied. “But the prince consort has his own, as gifted to him by Lady Aramina.”
“He’s getting dangerous,” Barrons said.
“He’s always been dangerous,” Will Carver snorted, crossing his arms over his enormous chest.
“You’re not on the Council,” Barrons retorted. “You don’t see his moods or the swift change in them. In the last three years, the Council has gained several new members. The prince consort no longer controls the way they vote. The device is his way of controlling the situation again.”
Garrett circled behind Perry, his hands sliding over her shoulders. “Everyone will want to use it. If he figures out how it works, then the prince consort’s power is absolute. He’ll own the Echelon.”
She knew what he was thinking. He’d made his thoughts on the prince consort quite clear, every time they saw a child living on the streets or men and women crushed and bloodied after a riot by the brutal hooves of the prince consort’s metal Trojan cavalry. The Nighthawks were the ones who cleaned up the bodies. The ones who knocked on h
ouses and had to break the news to a loved one inside. Perry slid a hand over his and squeezed. The Council of Dukes might be guilty of some matters, but they were the only ones who had the power to stand against the prince consort if they willed it.
Until now.
“Bloody hell.” Lynch rubbed his jaw. “We’d never overthrow him.”
“Unless the cure is widely available to everyone,” Barrons agreed.
“Is that what we’re doing?” Perry asked, looking around the room. “Seeking to overthrow him?”
All of them stared back at her. Rosalind looked grim, her gaze dropping to her lap. Lynch’s fierce gray eyes were intensely focused on Barrons, and Barrons… He looked uncertain. Of the others, the most interesting thing she saw was the look Blade gave Honoria.
“The prince consort has grown increasingly erratic over the last few years,” Barrons finally said. “Offering the Moncrieff a Council seat was clearly a sign that he was trying to control the Council vote again. Moncrieff—and his cure—was the prince consort’s means of shifting power back, and now that the duke is dead…”
“The prince consort is going to start growing desperate again,” Lynch concluded.
“That wasn’t a yes,” Perry pointed out, looking back and forth between the pair of them.
The moment stretched out, dust motes swirling through the haze of weak sunlight. Then Barrons laughed under his breath. “So it comes. The point where we have to put voice to the thoughts that have been troubling all of us.” He smiled at her. “Yes, my lady. It is becoming conclusively clear that the prince consort needs to be overthrown.”
“Yes,” Lynch murmured.
Rosalind wet her lips and squeezed his arm. “Yes.”
“So we steal the device?” The idea was impossible. It would be heavily guarded, under lock and key in the Ivory Tower, swimming in Coldrush Guards…
“What if there was no need to gain the device?” Honoria asked suddenly. “You all say the device gives him ultimate power, but what if there was another way to control the craving?”
