Title: I Ain't Misbehavin'
Rating: The title is a lie. A big, bold faced lie.
Summary: We're merely mammals...
Disclaimer: My college debt says I own nothing.
Dedication: Part Four for the lovely CJ, because she can now get legally shit faced.
The last notes of the piano died away in the air. It seemed to be a signal for something, and the silence that followed was bated, poised. Waiting.
Phryne looked up at Jack through her lashes. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to look at him head-on. The song they'd just sang was a popular one, yes, and fun, but it was also teasing and flirtatious and heavy with promise. Would they make good on that promise? Could they?
She'd wanted to get Jack naked and in her bed (or against the wall, or over a desk, she wasn't picky) almost from the moment she'd met him. Certainly by the end of their second case together. But she'd known that he was the kind of man that only slept with a woman because he loved her. And he certainly wasn't the kind of man to sleep with someone else while he was married, no matter how dead that marriage had become. So when she had realized he wanted to sleep with her, well, that was a lust she couldn't let him fulfill. It would have killed him afterwards. But when she'd realized that he was willing to sleep with her… that meant he was willing to do other things, too. Things that involved a deep and abiding and absolutely terrifying emotion. She hadn't let herself love like that since—well. And with good reason. The last time a man had loved her, he had tried to consume her. And she would not allow that to happen again.
But Jack wasn't like that. Jack Robinson was the purest, most upright man she had ever met. He was a righteous man, a good man. And normally she might have found that boring but dear God help her it only made her want him more. She wanted to break him, to drive him wild, to make him snap and take her the way she knew he wanted to.
Would it really be so bad to let him in?
It seemed that Jack was having the same thoughts, because he leaned it the same moment that she did. She had a wild moment of thinking they were moving too quickly, they were going to crash into each other and someone was going to get their forehead bruised, but Jack tilted his head and she drew in a breath and then they were kissing. It was still fast, their mouths sliding and sucking together, teeth scraping and his tongue stealing every breath from her mouth. He was hot to the touch, his skin and his mouth burning her up. She wanted to be burned, to see how close to the flame she could get before it scarred her.
Her hands came up, slipping through his hair. She tugged experimentally, not so much to get a reaction as to feel the sensation. Jack growled and nipped at her bottom lip. "Will you ever stop being a tease?"
"Not until it stops getting you riled up," she replied. She was already breathless and they'd only kissed.
He slid his hands up her legs, callouses and rough patches rubbing against her own smoothness, making her shiver at the contrast. "Hold on."
Always a gentleman, even when he was about to ravish her (and she did rather like the idea of being ravished; it had been quite some time since she'd been on the bottom, so to speak).
He got his hands under her ass and pressed her forward into him as he stood up, lifting her at the same time and then depositing her with extreme gentility on top of the piano. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her head so she wouldn't have to rest it on the hard wood of the piano. She liked the feel of his fingers cutting through the silk of her hair—and she was realizing, now that one of them was spanning almost the entirety of the back of her head, just how large his hands were.
She had a strong feeling that Jack knew exactly how to use those hands.
Now that he was leaning over her, however, Jack seemed to realize exactly what they were about to do. He stared down at her, his chest expanding and collapsing with each breath he heaved in through his nose. His lips were pressed tightly together and he seemed torn between running away and fucking her until she forgot her own name.
She rather liked that last idea.
Her lips curled upward and she let her legs fall apart, taking him into the cradle of her hips. Her arms wound around his neck and she allowed the weight of them to bring him down, their still-clothed bodies pressing together as he tentatively put weight on her. His breathing made the fabric of her dress scratch slightly at her nipples and she bit her lip at the teasing sensation. Jack's eyes tracked the movement, watching as the pressure of her teeth caused her lip to flush red. To her surprise and pleasure, he let out a quiet, guttural growl. Yet still he held back.
She'd have to fix that.
Phryne pushed lightly at his chest so that he rolled a little to the side, allowing her to work her hand down between them. There wasn't a lot of room to maneuver so she wasn't even going to attempt a hand job, but she could still get her hand where he was tenting his pants and rub up and down the shaft, placing pressure and squeezing—
Jack snatched her wrist and she had the distinct pleasure of watching his pupils blow out. It made him look dark and dangerous and a tiny part of her—the young, scared part that remembered France all too well—shivered and shrunk back, cowed. But this was Jack. She trusted him with everything. He would never, ever hurt her.
She just had to get him to misbehave.
"Phryne," he said, and she adored how he used her first name, "Are you certain of this?"
"I'm certain that I want you to stop worrying." She brought her other hand—the one he wasn't holding prisoner between their heated thighs—up to gently cup his cheek. Her thumb made soft swipes at his skin. "Come on, Jack. You know the lyrics."
He chuckled and pressed his cheek into her hand. She took that as encouragement and pushed upward just enough to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Just let go, Jack," she whispered.
Jack snapped.
He crashed their mouths together, forcing her head back onto the piano—she must have crushed his fingers slightly—his tongue scraping along the roof of her mouth like he was trying to drag every secret she'd ever kept out of her. He released her hand and grabbed handfuls of her dress, shoving the fabric upward to expose her legs. She spread her legs as wide as she could, inviting him in, and he did not refuse her.
They both fumbled over his belt, their fingers tangling and hands getting in each other's way. Her feet kept hitting the piano keys, making jangling noises that were in danger of waking up Mr. Butler (who insisted on sleeping downstairs to be near the kitchen), and they were laughing so hard that they kept having to break off their kiss to try and get their breath back. She could feel each breath he took, each shake of laughter, and when he finally entered her she could feel the swift stillness that swept over him.
Then he started moving, and from there it was all a jumbled mess of fragmented images. Banging piano keys (they really should have closed the lid), deliciously scratching fabric, his hands at her hips, holding her in place, driving into her—fast, hard, deep, punching each breath out of her and making little whines escape the back of her throat—sweat sliding down their skin, she'd have to make him take a bath with her after this, just all of it, all of it, hard harder harder Jack she could take it, she wanted it, animal instinct was all she had left and all that she needed because he wouldn't hurt her or control her, he never would even dream of it, she was falling apart and possibly begging her nails digging into his shoulders skin slapping against skin God harder almost—
She definitely screamed. One of her hands was in his hair and she tugged viciously, the other at his bicep digging in as she arched upward, bending like a bow and her orgasm was an arrow shot straight through her, making her shake and pant desperately. She could feel warm stickiness sliding down her thighs and the thought passed idly through her mind that she would have to clean the piano tomorrow morning before Jane had her weekly lesson.
Jack tried to say something, failed, cleared his throat and tried again. His voice was hoarse and she wondered if he had screamed too. The period of time around her orgasm was pretty blank except for, well, the orgasm.
"You all right?" He asked.
She allowed herself to go boneless and sank against the smooth wood of the piano. "I would say I'm a little more than 'all right', Jack." She smiled lazily, a cat with its cream. "You think you could manage to walk up the stairs?"
He huffed out a laugh. "Give me another moment."
She loosened her grip on his hair and pressed the pads of her fingers to his scalp, massaging away the sting from when she'd pulled at it. They say that bears have love affairs and even camels… she hummed.
Oh, yes. She'd be misbehaving with Jack for a long time to come.