Phryne parked the Hispano-Suiza around the corner so as not to alert Jack to her presence. She stroked her fingers over the honed bittings of the brass key in her pocket. He had given it to her in case of emergencies, and in Phryne's mind, this qualified.
After their encounter at the docks, during which no criminals were caught and Phryne had not precisely come out on top, she had resolved to put more thought into her efforts to seduce Jack. Not just to win the wager. It had been a solid week now—a solid week of not once waking up beside him, of not once feeling the delicious slide of his naked skin against hers, of not once crying out his name as he flung her gasping into an ocean of ecstasy.
She gave a little shudder just at the thought of it. No, the wager was playing second fiddle to her now. At this point, gaining access to his case files did not matter half so much to Phryne as gaining access to his trousers.
But it would be a slow, deliberate process. The same sort of process by which he had won her. She had not lost the desire to prove that she held sexual power over him, and she would not rest until she got him to admit it. After all, he had proven his power over her in a police motorcar only a few nights ago. She had to match him, at the very least. But beating him was preferable.
She strode around the corner to Jack's Edwardian bungalow, turning his key in the lock until she earned a satisfying thunk from the bolt. She had helped him pick out the darling little spot a few months earlier. Jack had grown tired of the tiny flat he'd been letting and had wished to live a bit closer to Phryne. It had been a bit neglected by the former occupants, an elderly couple who had moved in with their children, and he had purchased it at a bargain. Restoring the little cottage to its former beauty had become a project for Jack and Phryne when they weren't solving murders. Jack had refused to let her donate any money to the project, his sense of manly pride forbidding it, so Phryne contributed what she could with her own two hands. So far, Phryne flattered herself, they had done a rather bang-up job with it.
Walking inside, she was greeted by that delicious and familiar smell which filled her head with Jack—leather and lemon, musty books, aging wood. She was glad to see he had left his furniture in the way she had arranged it last time she had visited, an activity that had stirred up quite a debate. She had insisted that the blue Queen Anne armchair, handed down from his mother, would serve far better in the sitting room than in his bedroom, where it had been used to catch discarded clothing and other bits of clutter. Jack, who was accustomed to arranging his furniture for himself without consideration for seating guests, had resisted the change—but Phryne had brought him around in the end. Now, along with his leather sofa and matching easy chair, he could seat at least five around the fireplace. All she had to do now was convince him to invite company.
Realizing that she had already become distracted, Phryne smiled to herself and shook her head. She was not here to ponder interior decorating—the project of luring Jack into bed was far more pressing, and he could be home at any moment.
She dropped the carpet bag she had brought along onto Jack's dining table, pulling out a pair of pillar candles which she lit and placed on his mantle before lighting a fire in the grate, filling the room with a warm, flickering glow. She thought he would like the way the light glanced off the glass beads that adorned her sleeveless sea-green dress. In her head she could hear the beads rustling against each other as his hand slid up her leg, pushing the fabric with it.
Heat fanned out from the place on her thigh where she had imagined Jack's hand, but she did not push her lust away. She wanted him to see it, to see clearly on her face how fiercely she wanted him.
But there was more to do. Returning to her bag, she withdrew the tins of cheese and jam and crusty bread Mr. Butler had prepared for their "picnic." These were followed by a bottle of Cabernet and an additional tin of Jack's favorite chocolate biscuits. She uncorked the wine and poured it liberally into two glasses, deciding she may as well allow it some time to breathe.
Now all there was to do was wait.
It was nearly an hour before she heard his key turn the lock. The sound of the door creaking open sent a frisson of electricity across the surface of her skin, and Phryne had to cross her legs and squeeze them tightly together to relieve the sensations rioting between her thighs. Just the sight of his straight, sturdy form passing through the door was enough to make her weak.
He closed the door behind him and peeked uncertainly into the semi-dark sitting room, apparently trying to understand why there was firelight in his supposedly empty house. "Phryne?" he called out as he spotted the shape of her, now stretched languidly across his sofa.
"There you are," she hummed, rising fluidly to her feet to greet him. "I thought you'd never get home."
"It's only half past eight," he replied, dropping his briefcase in the usual place by the door while he kicked off his shoes, sliding them to the left of the case with a foot.
This was becoming a ritual, and Phryne was losing hope that she could ever cure him. She plucked up his shoes by the heels and took his briefcase in her other hand, depositing them both into the coat closet where they belonged.
"I've brought you some dinner, if you're hungry. Nothing too elegant," she assured him, gesturing to the table where she had laid out the tins of food.
"Phryne. What are you doing here?" He asked a bit belatedly. His face was guarded, his tone skeptical. But Phryne would make sure that didn't last.
"I'm feeding you, you daft man."
"Thought you'd catch me off guard, did you?" he questioned, doffing his coat and tossing it over the banister. Phryne gathered that up as well and sent it to join his briefcase and shoes.
"I did mean for it to be a surprise," she admitted. "But I'm not here to take advantage of you. I just wanted to have a nice meal with you. Scout's honor." She finished her statement with a sly, pressed grin.
"Well, that's lucky. I'm famished," replied Jack, immediately moving to sit at the table.
She was struck by an idea. "Oh, actually, I thought we could have a bit of a picnic and stretch out on the sofa."
Without waiting for his agreement, she began gathering tins and taking them into the sitting room, where she placed them on the coffee table.
Jack brought the wine and placed it with the tins on the table before dropping onto the sofa, the cushion letting out a burst of air in protest to his sudden weight. Phryne slathered a piece of bread with jam and brie and had handed it to him before doing the same for herself. She lowered herself daintily onto the couch beside him, hooking her ankles together and folding her legs to one side. Even in the darkness, she could see him sweeping the slopes of her calves with hungry eyes. "Was it a difficult day?" she inquired sweetly, sucking a smear of jam from her thumb.
His eyes grew wide before he averted them, as if she had done something truly indecent. "Not any more than usual," he sighed, chewing thoughtfully. "No murders, nothing even half so interesting. Just neverending mountains of paperwork. Hand me that wine, will you?"
Phryne obliged, fanning her fingers around the glass so he had no choice but to touch her as he took it from her. The brief contact set her nerves into skittering awareness, and Jack must have felt it too—his eyes flew to hers for a moment only to dart away quickly. But not fast enough to keep from betraying his charade of indifference.
Phryne smiled gleefully. Every time he laid hands on her, he made her feel like she was experiencing the touch of a man for the first time. It was fascinating and exhilirating and she wanted nothing more than to slap the wine and food out of his hands and climb on top of him.
There would be time for that soon enough. He would require a little more beguiling first.
"This is nice," he commented, holding up the wine. The heat between them abated only slightly.
"Yes, I do enjoy a good Cab. I believe that one comes from a vineyard here in Victoria."
"Heavens," Jack teased, taking another sip. "You own wine that was not imported from France? I am stunned, Miss Fisher."
"I'm trying to branch out," she replied, her tone light and playful. She watched his face in the firelight, the quivering flames casting shadows across his features. She stroked him with her gaze, following his tidy hairline down over his ear and strong jaw. She admired his kind blue eyes with their pale lashes, which he kept lowered as he pretended not to notice her watching him. Next came his noble, slightly upturned nose. She stared lingeringly at his lovely, uniquely shaped mouth, imaginging herself running her tongue slowly, achingly over that stern lower lip.
A streak of fire raked her from navel to knees the more she looked at him, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep her own desire in check. She rose up and knee-walked over to him, thrilling at the way his eyebrows rose as he looked her up and down, leaning back slightly while he grasped for some means to keep her at bay. She settled beside him, very close indeed, propping her bent knees on his thigh and bracing her hands on his stomach and shoulder as she dipped her face close.
"Jack," she half-whispered, shivering at the sensation of his hot breath gliding over her fevered skin. His eyes darted over her features like a bumblebee at a bouquet, looking panicked as her fingers reached to undo the knot of his tie and tug apart the buttons at the top of his collar. She dragged the pads of her fingers over the newly exposed skin, thumbing his Adam's apple and whimpering softly as she felt his throat convulse beneath her touch. "Jack," she repeated.
"Yes?" he rumbled. The sound of his deep, sure voice did evil things to her nether regions. Her index finger found a notch at the side of his knee and began to make little patterns with her nails upwards from the spot, mapping a fiery trail up the inside of his thigh. She wished his wool trousers were not quite so thick, but his breath came quicker all the same.
She touched the corner of his mouth, where a speck of jam lingered. "You've got a little spot here. No, I'll get it for you," she purred, leaning in before he could escape her and touching the spot ever so carefully with her tongue. She felt his large hands, which he had been keeping locked at his sides, fly to her body, one clamping around her upper arm while the other clutched upwards at her back, pressing desperately into her spine.
"Phryne," he sighed. It was not a protest or a plea. It sounded more like pure appreciation. She pulled back and rubbed her thumb over the spot she had licked clean.
"There we are. Right as rain."
His heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her, his lips parted slightly, his breathing fast and and shallow. Phryne snickered to herself. Who was putty now?
With a satisfied grin she slithered out of his arms, feeling chilled at the loss of his firm touch. Unbidden, an image sprang into her mind of two long, thick fingers sliding fast and ruthless until they were deep, deep inside of her, and she let out a quiet, choked gasp. Her first instinct was to turn away and hide it from him, but no...it was to her advantage to let him see. She let every ounce of lust and need she was feeling fill her eyes, then practically blasted him with it. He seemed unable to break their gaze, even as he tried to subtly adjust his trousers, tugging at the fabric to relieve the building pressure at his groin.
"Mr. Butler made your favorite biscuits," she murmured, finally turning away and retrieving the tin from the dining table. She brought it back to the sitting room, tucking herself back into his side and popping off the top of the tin. Peeling back the wax paper, she withdrew a biscuit and held it to his lips.
Not breaking their gaze, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and closed his mouth around the treat, including her thumb and forefinger in the bite. He did not release her as he chewed and swallowed the mouthful of chocolate. Then he grasped and straightened the fingers that had fed him, bringing them to his lips and sucking away the crumbs. Her heart was already rampaging inside her ribs, but when he began to scrape the pads of her fingers with his teeth she thought it might burst out of her chest completely. She let out an ardent little cry and sank her other hand into the hair at the back of his head, making a fist around the strands and tugging gently as pleasure shot up her arm from the place where his mouth was touching her.
Unable to repress her desperation any longer, she rose up and straddled the thigh closest to her, settling into a good position before she began to rock herself against the hard muscles there. She sighed heavily at the relief it brought to the searing, throbbing ache at her center.
"Christ," he hissed in surprise at her sudden boldness, his big hands clamping around her hips and bearing her down even harder against his muscled leg. She threw back her head and released the moan that had been building in her throat. She had left off her undergarments and the rasping wool of his trousers was doing wicked, exquisite things to her delicate flesh. Her dampness would no doubt be seeping through to his skin soon. The thought of that licked flames up her torso, and she used one hand to hastily tug the dress down from her shoulders, grasping the back of his head and compelling his lips against her straining nipple. Obligingly, he sealed his mouth around her and drew hard on her yearning flesh, causing her hips to buck at an increasingly frantic pace. He would not deny her this time. She was so close to her release, and she would make sure he could not get away. If he left her wanting again she was quite sure it would be the absolute end of Phryne Fisher.
But he showed no sign of winding down. He rolled her nipple carefully between his teeth until an ecstatic wail escaped from her and he switched to shower some attention on the other. The harsh smell of burning wood intertwining with their perspiration, the sweet, fruity jam on his breath and the scent of her own arousal made her feel faint and fragile in his arms. Unable to stand the dual sensations of his mouth at her breast and his thigh clamped hard between her own, she buried her face at his neck, inhaling deeply as she pulled back the open collar of his cotton shirt and sunk her teeth into the sensitive skin there. He sent a low, choked cry into her ear, removing a hand from her writhing hips to take a fistful of her hair. The pain-pleasure of the tugging at her scalp sent her toppling into a violent climax, wave after wave of euphoria breaking over her like the sea surging against rocks in a storm. It was brutal and heart-bursting and she gasped for breath at his neck for what seemed like hours as she gathered up the pieces of herself and tried to put them to rights.
At length, Jack took her face in his hands and brought her up to look at him, sweeping her dampened fringe to one side as he looked at her. The expression on his face made her feel like she could do it all over again, so potent was the raw, fiendish, carnal need in his gaze.
"Sweet God in Heaven, Phryne Fisher—"
She silenced him with her open, needy mouth, pushing her tongue deep enough to caress his molars and squeezing the muscles of her thighs around his, relishing in the echoing pangs of pleasure it sent shivering across her skin. She reached down a curious hand to test the impact of her wild display and was gratified to find him stiff and hot beneath her hand. Earning a giddy breath of desire from him, accompanied by the gentle bucking of his hips, she used the same hand to reach back and explore the spot she had made on his trousers.
"Dear me," she crooned into his ear, pinching the damp fabric between her fingers. "I'm afraid I've absolutely defiled your trousers. Let me help you out of them."
She reached for his fastenings, purposefully brushing against his length as she did so, but he hastily reached down and seized her hands in his own. Their eyes met and he swallowed hard. She watched in dismay as cold clarity spilled over the dark lust in his eyes and he blinked as if coming out of a vision.
"Phryne," he rasped, his face strained as he struggled to regain control. "It's been a very long day. I think I'll just go to bed early."
She laughed heartily at his folly. "It's over, Jack. Come now, don't be a fool. Take me to bed, at once. I command it."
It was the wrong thing to say, for she had poked at his pride. She should not have declared victory so soon. Their activities had clouded her mind. Now he was gently sliding her off his lap, getting to his feet.
"Command all you like, my love, but I am not quite ready to bow in surrender. I have some fight left in me yet. Can I offer you a ride home? Or shall I walk you to your car?"
She thought about moving in for another kiss, certain that if she could just get her hands on him once again she would change his mind. But she found her excitement ratcheted to such fierce heights; the thought of what he might have in store for her next stirred her even more than the desire to triumph over him. There had already existed such an electric passion between them, but this wager had sent it climbing to such astronomical levels that she wasn't quite ready to descend back to earth just yet.
"I'm parked just round the corner," she conceded, still considering herself the winner as she had managed to obtain some relief for herself while poor Jack's situation remained quite rigid.
He followed her to her car, keeping a few paces behind so as not to reignite things. He opened her door for her, but before he could slip away she caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, standing on tiptoe to catch his earlobe between her teeth.
"Bonne nuit, sweet Jack. I am shivering with anticipation to see what you have in store for me," she whispered, punctuating her words with a soft kiss to the notch of his jaw.
"I daresay you will not be disappointed," he replied, though his voice sounded a little weak. She released him and slid into the car, blowing him a kiss before driving off into the night, leaving him wanting but determined in her wake.