Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy

by Bec McMaster

  That earned him a narrow-eyed look, but she didn’t push him away this time. Instead her fingers toyed with his collar and she glanced down. “I never thought you’d have this side to you,” she admitted.

  “Roguish?”

  “Playful.”

  That made him thoughtful. He nibbled on her fingertips. This was more than pleasant. Seeing her eyes light up verwulfen bronze made his blood sing through his veins. Teasing her had begun to feel like the highlight of his day. But he wasn’t about to admit that. “You should see me in bed,” he told her instead.

  Ingrid sighed. “You’re the most frustrating man I know.”

  “That's unlikely to—"

  The kiss took him by surprise. Her fists curled in his open shirt and her soft lips brushed his. Byrnes had missed the minute change in her expression that preceded this. He stilled, letting her draw back, and tasting the soft wash of her breath on his sensitized lips.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, glancing up at him from beneath those dark lashes with a teasing glow in her eyes.

  “Liar. You’re not sorry at all.” Byrnes brushed his mouth against her cheek, nuzzling closer to her lips. “You do realize that’s not going to end there.”

  He felt her smile. “Isn’t it? Maybe I don’t want it to.”

  For too long he’d been kept at arm’s length, determined to be patient and outwait her. No more. Byrnes slid his hand up to caress her nape and drew her mouth to his. She tasted both sweet and sinful, her mouth opening to his as he deepened the kiss. The first lash of her tongue felt like it stroked along his cock. Byrnes slid his spare hand up her thigh, his fingers sinking in a little harshly as he fought to contain himself. Christ. His body ignited as Ingrid slid fully into his lap, straddling him. The kiss became hungrier. Deeper. Possessive. And it was moving in a clear direction.

  Maybe I don’t want it to?

  The game slipped away, the challenge, the conquest.... He was surprised by how much he wanted this. Her. Just her. Hands hesitating on her hips, he drew back at the thought.

  "I haven't been drinking tonight," she reminded him in a soft voice, as if she thought that the reason he'd withdrawn.

  Well, now. He swallowed, every wicked little thought that had sprung into mind at the Garden of Eden echoing loudly in his head. He knew what she was offering. Everything. It lingered in her heated gaze, in the gentle way she traced the half-open collar of his shirt. Ingrid knew exactly what she wanted, and she was determined to get it.

  And again he hesitated. What was wrong with him? There was a nervous pit in his abdomen, instinct whispering through him like it sometimes did when he knew he was in danger. But there was no danger here. Only Ingrid, with the candlelight turning her skin to molten gold, her natural perfume hovering in the air like a smoky lure and the shadows growing deeper, darker....

  No danger. But he felt like he hovered on the edge of taking a momentous step forward, and he wasn’t certain what that meant.

  "You want me to tup you," he said, and his cock jerked at the words. As far as his body was concerned, it was all in. Who could blame him? Ingrid was absolutely gorgeous; all Amazon legs, generous breasts, and muscular litheness. A Valkyrie in human form. And all his...

  "Maybe I'll tup you," she whispered, a palm pressing against his chest as he slid back on the bed, and she rose over him.

  "What about our challenge?"

  She kissed the words from his lips, her fingers trailing down his shirt and stroking the hard flex of his abdomen. "Maybe I changed my mind?"

  He couldn't fight it anymore. His mouth took hers, hard and demanding. His fingers were in her hair, gently tugging the honey-gold locks from their braid and tangling the soft strands over her shoulders. He wanted to pause, to drink in the sensation of her hair against his skin, but Ingrid had him by the lapels. She muscled him back against the wall. The bronze ring around her pupils was heating, stealing through the hazel of her eyes, as if the berserker fury roused within her. Then she was nipping at his throat, tearing at the buttons there as if to get at his skin. Byrnes tilted his head back, one hand sliding through her hair and cupping her nape.

  Sweet heaven. It had been an age since she'd been in his arms. Too long. Far too long.

  He gave himself over wholly to her, and Ingrid yanked his shirt from his leather breeches. It was as if a dam had broken somewhere inside her.

  And he liked it.

  "Yes? Or no?" she whispered.

  "Maybe," he breathed, to toy with her.

  Firm hands pushed him down flat onto the bed and then a pair of hard-toned thighs straddled him. His back hit the pillows, her knees sliding deep into the coverlet on either side of his hips.

  He certainly wasn't going to fight it. Byrnes curled a possessive hand around her hip, resting it on her arse. Their eyes met, and then she fisted both hands in the center of his shirt, and tore it clean up the middle.

  "I'll buy you a new one," she whispered, a heated flash of her eyes sweeping over him before she leaned down and kissed the side of his throat. Her touch was ravenous as she slid his shirt off his shoulders, licking at his neck and then suckling hard.

  Hell. His eyes rolled back in his head. Being ravished by Ingrid was definitely an experience he wouldn't say no to.

  "That's okay," he breathed, a shock of feeling shooting through him as she bit him. His fingers curled into the flesh of her bottom, his hips thrusting up in reaction. "You can tear my shirt off me anytime you like. But don't think I won't be returning the favor."

  The leather protective overcorset she wore was smooth beneath his hands. All of these fiddly straps and buckles. He wanted to explore more, but she was determined to have her own way.

  Which was quite fine by him, to be honest, if only that little doubt hadn't reared its head again.

  This wasn't surrender. This was Ingrid scratching a physical itch, and he had the sickening feeling that tomorrow she would buckle herself back into her protective corset-armor and lift her brow at him as if to say, What? Nothing would have changed. He'd have gotten what he wanted, she'd have gotten what she wanted... and yet the goal posts had shifted somewhere deep inside him.

  Grabbing her by the wrists, Byrnes rolled them until he lay nestled between her parted thighs. They both panted, and Ingrid arched up beneath him as if to demand to know why he'd stopped. Part of him didn't know why he'd stopped.

  "I've changed my mind," he told her. "This is cheating. I still have two challenges to go."

  Only this time, winning his way into her bed wasn't the prize.

  "Byrnes!" Her wrists lifted off the bed as she fought him, and she was very nearly strong enough to push him away.

  But he kissed her throat, feeling the kick of her pulse against his lips, and trailed lower, lower, heading for the smooth slopes of her breasts. Perfect ground to wage his campaign.

  "Ah, ah, ah," he told her, pressing her into the mattress and kissing his way down her throat. "I didn't say I intended to forgo the pleasure entirely. Just that I hadn't earned the right to fuck you."

  "I don't care! Byrnes!" Ingrid writhed beneath him, then gasped as his lips nibbled over the soft fleshy curve of her breast. "This is ridiculous. I said yes!”

  Not on her life. Stubbornness reared its head. He was going to win her over properly. As much as he desperately wanted to sink his cock into her wet heat, that would... not be right. Not yet.

  "Tempting," he whispered, "but I think I enjoy torturing you. Call it payback." After all, he wasn't about to admit what had caused this little change of heart, at least not until he'd had time to examine the issue at leisure himself.

  Ingrid pushed up onto her elbows stubbornly. "I'm fairly certain I could talk you into it." One hand slid between his legs and caressed the hard bulge of his cock through the leather as her eyes blazed with triumph.

  Fuck. Byrnes swallowed. "I'm fairly certain you could." He bit the tip of her nose, teeth grazing lightly against her skin. "But what's the rush?" Trailing his fingertips dow
n over her breast, he paid close attention to the soft leather covering her nipple. "Don't you want to have a little fun first?" He finally found the buckle at the side of her ribs that held her leather corset in place, and released it. "I do."

  That caught her interest. "Define 'fun.'"

  He smiled. "Off," he said, and Ingrid practically ripped her leather corset off and threw it across the room.

  Frustration, thy name was verwulfen. Byrnes leaned closer, daring to meet that incinerating gaze. "I never understand you," she growled. "I practically handed you... me on a platter."

  "I'm just slowing us down," he murmured against her lips. Such soft lips. "It is going to happen. One day."

  "I think you enjoy torturing me. And yourself."

  "Is this torture?" Resting on one elbow, he slid his other hand up the rumpled linen of her chemise, his thumb splaying into the groove of her ribs where her heart lay. The swell of her breast rode up, drawing his gaze. Then his mouth.

  "Yes," she breathed, sinking her fingers into his hair as he kissed his way between her breasts. "Torture most profound. An ache so sweet that it's almost painful."

  "Do you think that I don't feel it too?" He nosed aside the soft linen of her chemise. Her nipple sprang to view, rosy and peaked and aching for his mouth. His cock pulsed inside his pants. "Do you think that I’m not aching to be within you?”

  “Byrnes!” She undid the buttons on her breeches, then wriggled out of them, revealing dangerously long legs encased in delicate stockings.

  "Imagine," he breathed in her ear, as his hand slid down over the curve of her hip and began edging her chemise up, "what it's going to feel like when I'm finally inside you."

  Ingrid moaned. “You talk too much.”

  “Oh?” He laughed and tugged her chemise lower, revealing the perfect arch of one smooth breast. More than a handful. “Didn’t you know that anticipation is one of the greatest parts of seduction?” So saying, he tugged her chemise another inch lower, until the lace neckline hovered on the tip of her puckered nipple. “Now look at this,” he breathed, brushing his lips over the lace.

  Ingrid had frozen, barely daring to breathe. Her hips shifted restlessly but she didn’t take her gaze off him.

  “It looks… soft, and yet hard.” Dragging the lace lower revealed her nipple, hardened into a bud. He blew over the tip of it, smiling evilly. “It looks… delicious.”

  “Byrnes, you—”

  He closed his mouth around that aching bud and she gasped, her hands sliding into his hair. “Oh, oh God!”

  Taking it between his teeth, he rolled it gently as Ingrid thrashed beneath him. Slowly his hand crept below the hem of her chemise, teasing at the flesh there. He was certain she’d stopped breathing.

  “See what I mean about anticipation?” he whispered, lifting his mouth and blowing again until she arched her spine, silently begging for more. Byrnes let his fingers drift higher, back and forth, back and forth—

  Until Ingrid grabbed his hand and slid it into her drawers.

  “Demanding wench.” He laughed softly, but he complied with her directive, brushed his thumb against her quivering clitoris.

  Ingrid cried out, turning her head to the side. It was becoming harder to breathe himself, his body aching for its own release, but this… this was a moment to be savored.

  "Wet," he whispered, tracing small circles there.

  Ingrid whimpered, tossing her head to the side. "Byrnes—"

  "Byrnes, you are an absolute master in bed," he whispered, sliding the tip of his finger inside her. "Say it."

  She arched her spine as he stroked her deep inside, reaching up to grip the sheets with her hands. "Oh God. I'm not going to say that!"

  "Aren't you?" He smiled, withdrew his fingers from her warm heat, and traced slick circles around her clitoris, just never quite close enough to scratch that itch.

  Ingrid's body wilted. "Damn you, Byrnes. You are...."

  "The handsomest, strongest, most intelligent and daring man you've ever met?" Reaching up with his hand, he licked his fingers as she watched him.

  A hand slid down his bare chest, her finger tangling in the soft curl of dark hair just above his belt. Two could clearly play at this game. He smothered a grunt, but his hips flexed against her, his cock hard and demanding.

  "You are," Ingrid whispered, her fingers tugging at the buttons on his breeches, "the most handsome rogue I've ever met." She bit her lip on a laugh, but it gleamed in her eyes. "You're the most dashing and daring blue blood I've ever had the fortune to get my hands on."

  That hand slid between the gaping slit of his breeches and found him. Another growl echoed in his throat as she curled hard fingers around his cock, and gave way to a groan instead. "You're so big, and strong, and this"—her hand gave a slow thrust, thumb coming up to tease the slit of him—"makes me so wet."

  Minx. Always a challenge, she was. "And I have the most wicked tongue," he told her as he breathed into the soft curls at her temple.

  "Do you?" She dared him with her gaze. "I wouldn't know."

  "Then I've been terribly remiss, my love." Byrnes slid down her body, his lips skating over the smooth curve of her abdomen. It ached to pull his cock away from that hand, but he had other plans. And if he were being honest, he was dangerously close to the edge himself. "Perhaps I'd best show you?"

  "Perhaps." She let him slide his hands up the inside of her thighs and splay them wide.

  Byrnes pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh. Then the other. All the time, he stroked his hands up and down, up and down, teasing her. Making her writhe. Ingrid was panting by the time he tugged her drawers down.

  "Byrnes!" A fist curled in his hair.

  "Yes, love?"

  "Kiss me," she gasped. "Please."

  That was what he wanted to hear. Rearing up, he pressed his face under the hem of her chemise and found the slick heart of her.

  The first taste was divine. Byrnes tortured her sweetly, using his hands and tongue until she was begging him. Gasping out the words.

  "Byrnes... Oh, Byrnes... Please, please—"

  He loved the sound of it.

  She was nearing the edge, her hips bucking beneath him, her fist curling in his hair as she tossed her head back. And suddenly he didn't want her to go over that edge alone. He rose over her, taking his erection in his hand and pressing it against her wet sleekness, grinding the swollen head of his cock against her sweet clit, riding her until they were both gasping for breath.

  “Yes!” she pleaded, spreading wide beneath him until his cock breached her opening.

  He could have taken her. Could have thrust his way home. A vein throbbed in his jaw as he held himself back. Instead he used his body to push her over the edge, watching as her eyes widened and her head and throat arched back as pleasure rolled through her.

  Then he couldn’t contain himself any longer. Thrusting high above her, he came with a hoarse cry on the smooth planes of her stomach. Nails sank into his upper arms, fire flashing through his cock and balls, leaving him utterly spent.

  Byrnes collapsed upon her, the slickness of his pleasure pressed between them as he slowly came back to himself. He felt amazing. She felt amazing beneath him.

  And more than that, he had this intense urge to sink his teeth into her throat right now and mark her.

  Fighting against it, he buried his face against her throat, feeling the tremor work its way through her.

  Ingrid caressed the back of his neck, making a contented growling sound in her throat. “You know,” she admitted in a conspiratorial tone, “you just might be as good as you say you are.”

  Byrnes smiled as he stroked the bare thigh that cradled his hips. “You haven’t even seen the best of me yet.” He glanced down between them. “Sorry. I’ve made quite the mess.”

  Ingrid nuzzled into his throat in a move that left him utterly exposed. He blinked and looked down at her, at the way she curled around him. It felt strangely right. He wanted to nuzzle into h
er himself.

  “It’s quite all right,” she told him sleepily, then whipped her chemise off and used it to clean herself up. “Here,” she demanded, reaching out to him.

  Byrnes scrubbed himself clean then tossed her chemise aside. “Move over," he told her, swatting her lightly on the backside.

  "I don't recall this being part of the service," Ingrid replied, bemusement in her voice.

  Byrnes slid in behind her, dragging her back into the curve of his arms. The bed was too small, not built for two large people. But she fit just right as she molded against him, and wasn't that a bloody thought?

  "That was an excellent gift, Byrnes," Ingrid murmured sleepily. "But you still haven't won your second challenge."

  "No," he murmured, snuggling his face into the back of her neck, and brushing a kiss there. "Not yet."

  But he would.

  EIGHTEEN

  BYRNES STRODE into Lynch's dining room the following day, handing his hat and coat to the butler. He was tired of meetings, tired of talking about whether to arrest Ulbricht or not, and this note had arrived at a fortuitous moment. He’d taken two steps inside the room when Ingrid's scent assailed him. The hunger within him flooded upwards like a tide, his vision flashing to black and white before he swallowed and brought himself under control.

  Ingrid looked up from the end of the ducal table, bouncing a chubby baby on her lap. Surprise gleamed in her bronze eyes, and her full lips parted slightly as she caught sight of him.

  Ambushed.

  "Byrnes," Garrett Reed, the Master of the Nighthawks, greeted, and Byrnes realized they were not alone. Garrett's wife, Perry, gently rocked one of her twin daughters at the end of the table, but the sight of Ingrid had shocked him enough to overlook them.

  "What a surprise," he replied, meaning it, as he crossed to kiss Perry on the cheek.

  "Buck up," Perry murmured in his ear, which was one of the reasons he liked her so much. "Rosa's on the warpath."

  "Thanks," he replied dryly. "I hadn't guessed."

  As Lynch rose and strode forward to shake his hand, Byrnes realized his old guild master was entirely complicit in this deception. After all, the invite had come from him.