Touching Phryne
This is for Roseandthistle and because Jack and Phryne insisted. Thank you to Kerry Greenwood and ABC for creating these wonderful characters and sharing them with us.
Chapter 2: Jack and Phryne Plot
Jack
Jack moves quickly out of the parlor before he can change his mind, his fingers and mouth burning and itching to continue what he started; touching Phryne. As the front door clicks closed behind him, the cooler evening air brushes across his heated face. A long sigh escapes him as he moves down the walk to the street.
His thoughts are a jumble. One thing he knows, he will not be one of her parade, several of whom flash before his eyes as he walks. Growling deep in his throat, his jealousy rising like bile to mock him, he tries to shake the restless feeling the thoughts bring. He can't compete with their money, their lack of moral compass, their much more in-depth experience; whatever else it is that draws her to them. He must be different – this much he knows beyond a shadow of doubt – if she is ever to be his and his alone. He enjoys the sound of that because for all his liberal minded talk; he really is a one woman man.
Jack squares his shoulders, lifting his face to the Australian night allowing the huge night sky to wash over him. The stars wink at him, and he calms because he is remembering Miss Fisher responding to his touch, straining to pull him closer, whimpering, her lips responding to him and her tongue seeking to know his mouth. He runs his tongue lightly across the roof of his mouth the memory of her tongue there just a bit ago causing his stomach to flip flop with desire.
He left her needing him, and though his own need is still present, still pressing his lips quirk in his own half smile grin. She may have a parade, but truth be told, the parade has dwindled, and he, Jack, is still around. He is the one she calls, the one with whom she shares nightcaps and long, soul searching looks where the world falls away, and it is as if they are the only people in the existence, the one who leaves her breathless and wanting more. Yes, the war rages, but tonight's skirmish belongs to Jack.
Jack moves more quickly now, eager to get home where he can relive the evening at his leisure in a more intimate setting, and where he can plot his next move for touching Phryne.
Phryne
He body thrumming with need, Phryne stares at the door through which Jack vanished her blue eyes dark with passion, her swollen lips parting in slight disbelief. Her emotions whirling, her initial thoughts are angry. How dare he tease her into this state and then leave her awash with unfulfilled desire. No man has ever dared, but the working part of her brain concedes, Jack isn't just any man.
Phryne's fingers once again unconsciously trace the path of his. No, Jack Robinson most certainly isn't like any other man she knows. He is the only one to resist her invitation, the only one who is truly her friend, the one who hasn't asked her to change, but who won't be one of the many. She admits as she removes her clothes and slips into her silk pajamas that Jack is in a category all his own.
Her thoughts drift back to him telling her his feelings for her are serious, and yet he backs away from her invitations, refusing to be like the others, refusing to enter the parade, refusing any real contact until tonight. As she remembers the desire in his eyes, she sucks in a sharp breath, realization of Jack's open hunger for her rocking her to her core.
His touch, which she still feels, is addictive. She wants, no needs more of it, but how to get it? As she slips between the sheets of her lonely bed, she again strokes softly along the path of Jack's touch. Finally he has actually touched her revealing that he isn't quite as aloof as he would have her think – a chink has appeared in the armor. Phryne smiles mischievously as she plots her next move for touching Jack. Now that she has felt his touch and been branded by his kisses, she needs him even more; caressing her, touching her and she realizes with a start that she longs to touch Jack; to trace her fingers along his jaw and feel the slight stubble and then to stroke intimately down his neck and chest, learning his contours as she has known no other. With another start of wonder Phryne realizes that she hasn't even thought about bedding him – merely touching him. It is a new idea for her, waiting, longing to simply touch Jack.