The promised smutty-ish short. (Even though not really any more explicit than my usual stuff it could be slipping into M territory, so proceed with care.) With thanks to Ginger and Barb for their input.
Gloomy half-darkness greeted him on opening the door and taking a hesitant step into the entrance of the hotel suite. Jack's heart beat in his throat. Maybe following the anonymous invitation which had arrived at the station this afternoon hadn't been a good idea after all – despite, or more because, he knew exactly who had sent it.
"Miss Fisher?" he called, receiving no answer.
Fighting down the urge to flee, he closed the door and made his way into the sitting room, where a fire roared against the cold spring day lingering in Melbourne's streets. He spotted her standing with her back to him, pouring liquid into glasses.
"Glad you could make it, Inspector."
A pair of red lips simpered, as Phryne turned and approached him. Jack gulped before setting down his hat and forcing himself to smile.
"Is there any reason for you summoning me here?" he asked while accepting the champagne from her fingers.
"More than one," she smiled, leading the drink to her lips, while measuring him from underneath her lashes. It was hard to say if the warmth of the fire made her cheeks glow or whatever thoughts occupied her mind, but he had a hard time tearing his eyes from her for long enough to remember the glass in his hand. Hastily the Inspector took a gulp, felt the cool liquid prickle down his throat.
"Enlighten me," he whispered, his voice too hoarse to hide how much she affected him. To his equal relief and disappointment, she retreated in a rustle of red silk and returned to the middle of the sitting room, flinging herself into a comfortable armchair and crossing her legs.
"I believe, Jack, I promised you a psychoanalysis."
"Threatened rather," he cut in, which she ignored. Amused he stepped closer.
"And the Windsor happens to provide both, terribly comfortable sofas and a rather intimate setting."
Her voice had dropped to an obscene level and he could feel the hair rising at the back of his neck. But Jack Robinson wasn't going to give into her demand quite this easily.
"I wasn't aware that psychology was amongst your many talents, Miss Fisher."
She cocked her head at him, taking another gulp of her glass, somehow managing to fill this gesture with so much lustful promise that he felt his pulse jump and rather wished he had held on to his hat.
"Which stands to prove that there is still plenty you do not know about me," she smiled, rising. He didn't struggle when she peeled the topcoat from his shoulders. "And I'll admit, I am very curious about your deepest, dirtiest secrets, Jack."
The latter had been a whisper right beside his ear and her words trickled down his spine, convincing his feet to move to the white sofa on their own accord where he sat in a rather uncomfortable position, trying to hide the obvious effects her proximity had left on his body.
"I believe Sigmund Freud finds it customary to lay his patients down," Phryne teased while topping up her glass. Jack realised that his coat and therefore his last chance at a gracious exit had disappeared.
"I fear the Doctor would prove much less dangerous company to me."
Despite his protest, the Inspector emptied his drink in one big gulp and settled himself into the soft pillows. Since he had entered her game willingly, he assumed it was only fair he played along. The vulnerability the new position brought was instant and took his breath away.
"Are you comfortable, Jack?" her voice asked from somewhere far away.
"Not in the least," he admitted, his thumb rubbing against his forefinger in a nervous gesture. When she touched his wrist, he almost jumped. His half-closed lids snapping open, he found her hovering above him with a soft expression.
"You need to relax," she insisted, gently pressing his hand down beside him on the sofa. He couldn't do anything but nod as his eyes followed her walk across the room, pull her chair towards the sofa and settle down near his head. It wasn't exactly a psychoanalytical position, he was still able to see her and was grateful for that, yet the notebook she produced from somewhere worried him.
"You do not actually intend on writing any of this down, Miss Fisher?" he asked. She grinned.
"One can never know when intimate information is required."
Jack was well aware that she was teasing him, yet the idea of her documenting his secrets closed his throat and caused his stomach to rebel.
"Phryne," he said, simply, warningly. She looked at him for a long moment and laid the booklet onto a side table.
"So?" she asked, when his ruffled feathers had visibly settled.
"What would you like me to tell you?" he asked, his fingers having returned to fiddling nervously with a button, which Miss Fisher, of course, noticed, but didn't take any measures against in this instance.
"It seems mandatory to begin an analysis with family relations," she stated casually and had almost laughed at his expression. He hadn't expected that.
"You do actually have parents, Jack?" she teased. He only nodded.
"I believe it is common to have parents," he said after a moment's delay, the colouring of his voice causing her to regret her joke. "And I am happy to inform you that I did hold my late mother very dear, but will have to disagree with Dr. Freud on the object of any intimate desires."
It was Phryne's turn to be surprised and Jack settled back down with a tiny smile of satisfaction. He hadn't come completely unprepared.
"Any more questions, Miss Fisher?"
"More than you can imagine."
He raised his eyesbrows at her and she leaned back in her chair, measuring him calmly. His amusement grew. She would ask what her curiosity couldn't let rest, he was certain. But she took the time to leave another mark of bright red lipstick on the rim of her champagne coupe before she did.
"You happened to mention raiding a brothel..."
"So I did," he confirmed with a grin, relaxed enough to forget fiddling with his clothes. "And you would like to hear details, I trust?"
"As a matter of fact I would."
Jack stared at the ceiling as he tried to recall events from a long time ago.
"I was still at the academy then, quite young and believe it or not, innocent, Miss Fisher."
"Is that a fact?" she teased, not receiving any answer.
"One night we were sent to a restaurant in China-town with the vague information that something illegal was happening in their back rooms. I dare say my Sergeant knew exactly what we would find."
"And what did you find, Inspector?"
"I'm sure you can use your imagination, Miss Fisher."
She grinned.
"I could, but then where would be the fun in that, Jack?"
He cleared his throat noisily.
"If you absolutely must know, we interrupted a variety of scantily clad ladies and rather angry gentlemen in their nightly activities."
"I trust you received an education on the female body that night?"
"It was... insightful."
Phryne snuggled deeper into her chair, trying to contain her amusement at Jack's confession. She could never resist peeling back his layers and discovering something new about him. But what made it even more enjoyable was the fact that he didn't seem bothered by her curiosity.
"Did you blush, Inspector?" she asked between sips of champagne.
"Furiously," he admitted with a grin, folding his hands over his stomach. "I believe I may have also stuttered when one of the ladies decided to address me."
His eyes finally sought hers, trying to establish how exactly she felt about his memories.
"Offering her services?" Phryne asked.
"Mostly she graced me with a string of vocabulary not suitable for mixed company before she hurled a... device at me.."
She waited, noting that his eyes were now blazing with amusement and battling the urge to kiss him.
"I caught it," he smirked.
Phryne had to avert her eyes for a moment in order to get a grip on her emotions. Jack's face coloured with excitement was threatening to get the better of her and the way he licked his dry lips when recalling the particularly delicate details didn't help her composure in the least. Her fingertips trailed along the armrest of her chair as her imagination ran wild.
"Do I go right in the assumption that Dr. Freud would have described this item as a phallic symbol?" she asked, crossing her legs. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched at this, but he caught himself quickly.
"I don't think describing it as symbolic would have done it any justice, Miss Fisher."
The way the skin around his eyes crinkled at the joke weakened her knees and her fingernails dug themselves deeper into the soft fabric on their own accord. Feverishly she sought a question which would tip the power in this game back into her favour, but before she could come up with anything, Jack continued.
"Mind you, I can hardly imagine glass to be a particularly enjoyable material for such matters. In fact many of the items we found rather astounded me."
"How so?" she heard herself ask weakly.
"I seem to remember a whole assortment of whips that escaped my idea of any usefulness... at the time," he added slowly after a moment's thought. Phryne felt herself flush at the teasing tone but decided to ignore her annoying body.
"Would you like me to explain their use, Inspector?"
Again his eyes returned to her and she found with some intrigue that they had darkened.
"Thank you, I believe my imagination has markedly improved since then."
"As you please," she smiled sweetly, straightening her back. It wouldn't do to lose herself in staring at his invitingly opened mouth. "Continue."
He looked at her for a moment longer before he did as asked.
"We also discovered a fair collection of ropes, though there were convenient photographs and drawings provided to explain their application."
Phryne couldn't help but wonder as she witnessed him crossing his legs at the ankles in sudden discomfort.
"I am sure you studied them dutifully," she simpered, getting up to refill their glasses. The pictures came unbidden, a younger Jack, fewer lines to his face, devoid of the shadows created by War and his time in the police force, in a mixture of awe and arousal, too upright to allow himself to look, yet too intrigued not to stare.
"Naturally. They were evidence after all."
She felt his voice tingle down her spine like warm honey and decided to change the subject while she fiddled with the champagne bottle longer than strictly necessary.
"And the percussor also happened to be found...?"
"In one of the ladies's private rooms. I believe it was a coincidence it even made it's way into an evidence bag. Its appearance can hardly be described as erotic."
"Undoubtedly," Phryne mumbled as she watched him pull himself onto an elbow to take a sip from his refilled glass before sinking back into the soft pillows.
"But it was rather interesting to see a whole room of police officers turn a shade beyond purple at the description of the lady in question," he quipped. "Sadly I was sent to make tea by the time they reached magenta."
The sparkle had returned to his eyes when Phryne joined him again and she decided to proceed with caution. A decision that was challenged only a moment later.
"Now, Miss Fisher, will you tell me how you have made the acquaintance of this particular massager?"
It was a bold request, much bolder than she had expected from her Inspector and certainly not one she had been prepared for. Belying her flipping stomach she forced a smile onto her lips.
"I believe psychoanalysis is meant to be unidirectional, Jack."
She found herself confronted with a pair of raised eyebrows and a grey stare that saw right through her.
"Are you avoiding my question, Miss Fisher?"
With a theatrical roll of her eyes, she gave in.
"Those devices were in fashion amongst Parisian women after the War." She shrugged with the tiniest hint of embarrassment. "And I've never been one for leaving my curiosity unsatisfied," she added, her voice having returned to a sultry tone. "Or anything else for that matter."
She watched, content, as Jack's Adam's apple bobbed before he noisily cleared his throat. She could sense that he was grappling for another subject, but was quicker.
"So, how about your satisfaction, Jack?"
He started, cocked his head at her, his eyes begging her to clarify.
"Don't you ever feel the need for company?"
Jack swallowed dryly, wondering if he should share the truth. That he sometimes ached so much to touch her that it kept him awake at night. Then he considered Phryne's smirk and decided that it wasn't wise to encourage her.
"I have got plenty of company, Miss Fisher," he explained instead, "In fact I barely spend a waking moment alone, which isn't always a blessing."
She retreated, rolling her eyes at him, but decided not to insist that that was hardly what she'd meant. He was obviously avoiding the subject, which made her wonder...
"Did you enjoy Concetta's company?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could muster. To her annoyance he smiled, drawing an arm underneath his head and settling on it while contemplating an answer.
"I did... About once a fortnight."
The satisfaction colouring his voice caused a whirlwind of emotions to swirl through Phryne's stomach. She couldn't quite decipher all of them.
"Usually along with a good drop of wine and a bowl of pasta," he added, his grin broadening as he twisted his head to finally seek her eyes. The amused glimmer she found in them let her release a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding.
"The wine at Strano's is very good," she agreed. He fished unseeingly for his champagne glass, almost causing it to tumble.
"It is not quite up to your standards, Miss Fisher," he smiled as he drained it for the second time. She took the empty coupe from him, their hands brushing together. Electricity danced over her fingers and up her arm, threatening to rob the breath she had only just regained.
"Yet you haven't returned there since the night after Salvatore's arrest," she finally said, ignoring his comment.
"I won't even ask how you know about that. But I doubt I'd be welcomed," he smiled thinly. The loss of his favourite restaurant and his friendship with Concetta had been bearing on his mind ever since the unfortunate night, which was maybe some excuse for his indiscretion in telling Miss Fisher the truth.
"But I hear this is the turn thwarted engagements usually take," he added after a break. Phryne all but dropped her glass.
"I believed she was to be married to Roberto Salvatore?" she managed after she'd caught her breath.
"In her Father's design. Concetta voiced... different hopes," he explained. Phryne became aware that she was staring – and that Jack's eyes danced over her in amusement, betraying that he was enjoying her loss in composure. Somehow he had gained the upper hand in this conversation despite their little game. This wouldn't do.
"Another drink, Inspector?"
She smiled sweetly and without waiting for an answer, she rose. The realisation that the champagne bottle was empty sent her instead for the side board where a crystal decanter was waiting. She gathered she could rather do with a stiff drink right now. Of course, she had thought, feared even, that some romantic entanglement existed between the Inspector and his beautiful Italian friend and she should probably have known that as honourable a man as Jack Robinson wouldn't allow himself to be swept away by mere physical desires. Yet, marriage... Dear God. That would take a moment to swallow.
"Phryne?"
His voice was gentle and rough like the Scotch she was pouring and also right behind her, causing her hands to still even as she turned her head to aim an insincere smile at him. Jack's warm fingers slipped alongside hers, taking the bottle from her without any resistance before they grasped for her waist and spun her to face him. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat radiate from his body, looked into dark, intense eyes. Questions were spinning through her mind but she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them.
"So... Concetta?" she finally brought out, in a last attempt to get a grip.
"Isn't you," he murmured and then she forgot anything about Austrian neurologists and lovely Italian women as his intent became clear. His thumb running along her jawline, his eyes on her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, she steeled herself for what was to come. But when his lips closed in, she realised that she hadn't anticipated anything like the flood of feelings rolling over her.
His mouth was hot, soft and tender and she could sense the last of her resistance drowning in it as she clutched onto his back, drew him in deeper, suddenly taken over by a burning need. She felt the universe spinning around her, the stars glimmering in front of her eyes, breathless in the darkness of emotions. His arms held her steady in the chaos, his hands demanding her attention - but nothing more. Miss Fisher was familiar with the places male hands usually ventured to in a situation like this. Yet, Jack's palm was lying hot and heavy in her back, the other entangled in her locks, embracing her tightly, yet gently. It was confusing to say the least.
He finally retreated and her heart made a leap when she looked at him, tenderness etched onto his flushed features, his lashes half-closed, returning from a pleasurable dream. His chest was heaving as he tried to regain his breath and she used the chance find her own composure, realising that in her dazed state her hand had curled around his neck.
"I believe this might be a bit more than the Doctor had bargained for," she quipped, revelling in the softness of his expression - a sight that she was certain not many people had ever gotten to witness. He opened his mouth, but took a moment to sort his thoughts before he could speak.
"We may call it a Freudian slip if you wish, Miss Fisher."
He smiled ruefully while his fingers trailed through her hair. She tilted her head at him.
"Does that mean you consider it an error?" she enquired, her fingertips tickling along the nape of his neck. He shook his head, barely visible.
"More the expression of unconscious desires," he explained, his eyes still glued to hers, his voice rough with emotion and what she suspected to be a hint of fear.
"I for my part am rather conscious of them," she argued as her hand ran over his back, drew him closer. She encountered no opposition when she pulled his hips against hers, finding a reflection of her own need to feel him in the hardness pressing against her through multiple layers. Jack gasped quietly at the contact, but made no move in either direction. She understood. This was as far as he would go without a formal invitation.
"Is that so?" he whispered roughly, his eyes flitting to her lips. Phryne realised that she had lost track of their conversation.
"Indeed," she breathed anyway, not certain what she was agreeing to, capturing his head into a second kiss. This time her mind stopped spinning for long enough to drink in the sensation of his body moulded against hers, his soft lips, the quiet moan that escaped him when her tongue demanded entrance into his mouth, the taste of champagne mingling with his very own flavour which she couldn't describe, yet was certain she would never forget again in her lifetime. When she ran out of air she retreated barely enough to gasp some into her lungs before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, indulging in the hitch in his breath as she worked her way along his jawline. His fingers clenched in her hair as he threw his head back with a suppressed groan, inadvertently allowing her better access to his neck. Her lips ghosted over his Adam's apple, tasted the tender skin she had wondered about in her daydreams, nibbled at the crook of his neck. She felt him shiver against her then and retreated, panting, to take in her effect.
Jack was utterly lost.
His eyes had been shut tightly, scared to miss a sensation but now they fluttered open and he found Phryne looking at him like a cat who had discovered the cream bowl and intended to devour every single drop of it. He didn't dare move for fear of the spell breaking, but rejoiced in the mixture of emotion openly displayed on her features.
She stood close - too close to deny his arousal, but he restrained his passions. The next step in their dance would have to be hers. She didn't let him wait. His breath caught when her fingertips trailed along his flushed neckline.
"This really is a rather nice tie, Jack," she whispered, reaching out for the patterned silk. He didn't have the courage to so much as breath until the knot gave way to her talented hands. The silk slipped away, forming a small pile at his feet. His eyes fell shut again briefly at the sensation of cool air flitting over his exposed skin, her thumb following behind it, drawing gently along his collarbone, savouring every moment of what felt like a dream he might wake from any moment.
His own trembling fingers reached for the scarf of her blouse, peeling it from her shoulder like you might open the delicate paper around a very expensive present, watching carefully for her reaction. She smiled. The gently falling fabric revealed her white neck which sent warmth through his stomach, making him braver in his task of ridding her of her clothing. Her hands meanwhile where much less focused, slipping over his body as if she was trying to remember every dip and rise. When they whispered along his waistband he was distracted enough to briefly paused in the discovery of her silken camisole - an oversight he hurriedly rectified once he could breath again. There was no brassiere to keep Phryne's hard nipples from pressing through the thin fabric and he couldn't resist the urge of running the pad of his thumb over one. The moan this drew from her resonated through his stomach, making him fear he might come before he had even removed his trousers.
Her fingers meanwhile had succeeded in unbuttoning his vest and with one swift movement she peeled the outer layers from his shoulders, leaving him in shirtsleeves, feeling utterly naked, before she once again aimed a pair of hooded blue eyes at him in challenge.
It was that very moment that his patience found itself exhausted and he ended their slow dance of seduction by drawing her in and latching onto her neck. Phryne groaned in surprise, but the palette of sound changed a moment later, encouraging him with growing moans as he worked his way down to a freckled shoulder while his left hand explored the remainder of her body. She caught his mouth in another kiss while they tumbled backwards, her fingers feverishly working on the barrier of his pants just when she stumbled against something soft. It was the armrest of the sofa and his frenzied hands, currently brushing up her skirt, lifted her easily onto it. Phryne took the invitation to curl her legs around him, taking his breath away.
She paused for a moment to savour Jack's glazed eyes then. Watching her Inspector unravel underneath her fingertips was just as delicious as she had anticipated - if not more so. But he had no patience left to wait for her to finish her observation, his restless fingers tangling back into her hair, his burning mouth on hers as if he intended to devour her. The urgency with which he pressed his body between her thighs intensified her need, her hands finally releasing the last button of his fly. When she touched his hot skin, he drew in a breath so sharp that she feared he might faint on her.
"Oh, fuck."
His hoarse growl caused her stomach to flip, and heat to pool between her legs. She'd never heard him curse before and now she gathered she knew why. He might get arrested for public indecency if he ever did.
"That sounds like a terribly good idea, Inspector," she taunted, and he didn't need a second invitation. Phryne thought she discovered a tiny, dirty smile flit over his swollen lips as he pulled her hips towards himself in one sharp movement. Her knickers proved to be only a minor obstacle to a desperately aroused man and she threw her head back as he entered her. Resurfacing from the immediate pleasure of finally feeling him, she realised that he had stilled, his eyes shut tightly. She might have been amused by the fact that the Inspector was actually seeing stars at present, but as it was, she felt worry dampen her enthusiasm.
"Jack?"
She reached out to touch his flushed cheek and he looked back at her with some embarrassment.
"It's been a long time, Miss Fisher," he whispered hoarsely when he realised that she was staring at him.
She gave a grin at this, wrapping her legs tightly around him and pulling him deeper inside her. Jack groaned loudly, trying to hold on to some sort of sanity and utterly failing. He gave in. Into his lust, her rhythm, their body's entanglement, clamping her tightly to himself, feeling sweat slick their skin as she drove him closer with every thrust. It may not have been perfect, it was certainly far from romantic, but it was raw and real and he couldn't have stopped himself if his life depended on it.
Their lips found each other again, their moans being drowned in each other's mouths as they quickly climbed higher, their frantic rhythm speeding up. Nevertheless, he was surprised when she trembled against him, arched her back with a small cry, pulling him off balance. He had no time to consider it, her climax drawing him irresistably over the edge. With a last, desperate groan he fell.
Their tumble had been both, figurative and literal, he realised when he resurfaced from what felt like a small eternity and found himself on the couch on top of a rather uncomfortable, but giddy Miss Fisher. Carefully he shuffled some weight from her, coming to lie beside her.
"I wonder what Doctor Freud would say to that?" he quipped, once he had caught his breath, his hand gently stroking a lock of hair from her sweaty forehead.
"He might advice us to find a bed," she grinned while she snuggled against his shoulder. Jack stayed quiet at this, wondering how he would measure up to her parade of lovers, considering he hadn't been at the height of his game. A finger drew a mesmerizing line along the edge of his half-openend shirt.
"I fear apologies are in order for my lack of stamina... and patience."
The last was uttered with a sheepish smile, yet only silence answered him and when he turned his head, a pair of blue eyes was watching him carefully.
"No matter, Jack."
In sudden resolve she pulled herself up and crawled over him, her skirt falling back in place as her stockinged feet hit the soft carpet.
Jack felt his heart sink while he watched her fill a glass from the almost forgotten decanter. Then she turned, a smile on her formerly red lips, which were now as much in dissaray as the rest of her.
"Are you coming?"
He pulled himself into a sitting position.
"Coming where exactly?"
"To the bedroom, of course. You don't expect me to let you escape while you are still half-dressed?"
He gaped for a moment before his eyes flitted downwards, then back to her.
"I believe I might need a moment, Miss Fisher."
Despite his protest he found himself already attempting to rise from the sofa onto wobbly knees.
"The perfect opportunity to tell me all of your secrets, Inspector," she promised with a wink, taking his hand.
"That, again, might take a while longer," he smiled, his fingers wrapping around hers tightly as he followed her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.