xoxox

Their remaining days with the Fishers had been passed in relative harmony, and he had been relieved, as he had found himself a little strained under the weight of all the social demands placed upon them; the pressure had been building gradually since they had first stepped off the boat. Back in Melbourne, with his beautiful wife on his arm to guide him, he did not believe that it would ever come naturally to him, but he had finally found that he no longer felt like a complete outsider; but Antipodean society was altogether a smaller circle, and on the other side of the world he was an outright curiosity, and he had known that they all wondered at him – and not just the social set, but also the servants.

Who was this reserved Australian who made such demands on his wife that they shared a bed every night? She had been known as a bit of a wild thing, but still… The rumours were that they had also been seen in a rather compromising position in the library… And a policeman! A homicide detective, no less… How had he come to marry the baronet's daughter? Apparently he was divorced… Gossip and innuendo had swirled around him, and, by extension, Phryne, and his life and their life were picked apart and examined, seemingly by every new person he encountered.

Phryne always knew when he felt uneasy, and he was thankful that she tried never to stray too far from his side; after all, she had gone through all of this before. However, although she hadn't been a child then, her path had been made easier by simple fact that she had been a young, beautiful, unmarried woman… And it wasn't just the rumour mill that people were interested in; in spite of that sparkling ring on her finger, there was undeniably a great deal of male interest in the butterfly at his side – from new acquaintances hoping to snare her attention, and from old ones hoping to come back for seconds. He had received his own share of admiring glances and flirtatious comments, but every woman knew that he was strictly off-limits with Phryne around; but the same did not seem to apply in reverse. Flung into these murky waters, he had felt as though unseen sharks were circling, ready to devour him the moment he faltered, and it had started to get to him.

It had finally come to a head at a rather lavish garden party that the Fishers had thrown on the lawn that swept down from the house to the ornamental lake. Phryne had been relentlessly pursued by two friends – in conversation, as she drank punch and nibbled at the tasty morsels that were circulating, at the croquet hoops, down at the lakeside – and Jack was sure that there was some sort of wager between the Oxford chums over who might conquer her. He had been torn between suppressing that predatory instinct that came alive in him in her presence – and leaving her to fight her own battles in accordance with her usual preference – and defending his territory against these jumped-up lechers.

His mood had darkened considerably as the afternoon wore on, and he had downed another inadvisable glass of punch as he had contemplated the scene, and deliberated all the possible ways in which he would have liked to remove the objects of his ire. All of this wasn't new, of course, as he had always known that the hangers-on were simply part and parcel of him having her in his life. Long ago she had pointed out that it was inevitable that they might encounter her past lovers at any time or place; Jack could swallow his feelings and handle those situations secure in the knowledge that SHE had chosen HIM. Usually the same applied to newcomers, but that day… That day he had wanted to ignore her desire that he not interfere and tell them both exactly where to go – and possibly give them a helping hand in getting there. And doing nothing as others watched on left him feeling utterly inadequate.

Just then, Phryne had neatly side-stepped one of her pursuers and had come swiftly across the grass to snake her arms around his middle, and reached up on tiptoes to place a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. When he had remained tense she had rubbed her thumb soothingly across his belly, "Ignore them, Jack." He had rolled his eyes at her in disbelief, before closing them, taking a breath, and pressing a kiss into her hair; it wasn't her fault after all. She had grinned up at him lopsidedly, and twined her fingers in his, pulling him gently in the direction of the lake. "Why don't you take me out for a row? It might be… romantic…" He hadn't been exactly sure what she had had in mind in the middle of the afternoon, under the watchful eyes of the Fishers' guests, but her raised eyebrows and lustful gaze had told him that romance probably wouldn't play much part. He hadn't been sure that he was in the mood, but he had let her lead him down to the landing nonetheless; anything for a little breathing space.

Thankfully there had been a lull in the use of the row boats, and they had had the lake to themselves as Jack had expertly manoeuvred them away from the landing and into the open water. For the onlookers, Phryne had made a great show of pointing and directing him, as she had reclined under her parasol on a striped cushion, and watched him through lowered lashes. "Did I tell you that you look particularly handsome today?... Absolutely delicious, in fact…"

It was probably an apt description; the waistcoat he was wearing was striped like a boiled sweet – cream, a pale beige-gold and bright red. He rarely wore light-coloured suits, but he had accepted Phryne's guidance for the event and had ended up in very smart cream suit, the aforesaid waistcoat and a beige bowtie, a straw boater with a red band, and spectators in beige and cream. He had expected to feel uncomfortable in such an outfit, but he had been surprisingly pleased with his appearance in the mirror. He had looked back at her, as they had progressed across the lake, with a level gaze and a slight smirk; he had known that she was enjoying watching him row, jacket off and sleeves rolled. He had been starting to enjoy the anticipation of… whatever it was she was planning on doing… to him…

She had grazed one pointed shoe up the inside of his calf. "Keep up those slow strokes, Jack…" her voice was full of innuendo, "it's wise to conserve your energy…"

"For the row back?" he had teased.

"Of course!" she had exclaimed with faux innocence, "What else…?"

She had regarded his growing smirk for a moment as they drew level with the tip of the 'island' jutting out parallel to the far side of the lake. The island was in fact more of a thickly overgrown promontory whose origin was hidden from view of the house by the trees and elevated shoreline, at that point near to where the slow-moving river flowed into the lake. "I imagine that you're starting to feel a little warm with all your efforts… Why don't I loosen your tie for you?... Keep rowing…" She had leaned carefully forward, and her deft fingers had had his tie off and his shirt front open down to his waistcoat within a few even strokes of the oars. "Better?" He had only grinned at her in answer. Better? Yes, his day was getting better by the second…

"It IS a little warm, isn't it?" He had noted that, unfortunately, the dress she had been wearing did not have any fastenings at the front that he might suggest she undo in response, but instead she had pretended to fan herself with one hand, as the other lifted her hem and drew the silk up and over her knees to reveal the lace tops of her stockings. "This breeze is rather pleasant though…" As he had watched her, she had lazily parted her legs and stretched them out just enough to place a foot to the outside of each of his. He had watched the movement of her creamy thighs beneath the bunched material of her dress as she had wriggled down and forward slightly to expose them further, and give him an excellent view of her silk knickers, stained with a dampness that showed the dark colour beneath. She had looked down at the growing bulge in his pants before meeting his eyes again, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns in the lace that circled her stockings.

Fuck. What this woman did to him… They had both looked back toward the party; one other boat had now moved away from the landing, but from the shouts, laughter, and splashing, it appeared that they wouldn't be going anywhere soon. Their own vessel slid gently out of view of those back on shore, and Phryne had languidly suggested that perhaps a little further along the island's length would be the perfect spot to 'rest'.

He had once wondered what it would be like to make love to her out on the open water, but that thought had been had in a wider rowboat, on solid ground. Given the size of their current conveyance he had already decided that this might be more than a little awkward, and the oars were definitely going to present a problem…

He needn't have worried; Phryne had had a plan and she had practically pounced on him the moment his hands were free. As fast as the rocking of the boat would allow, she had clambered onto his lap, skirt still bunched so that it wouldn't tangle between them. Hats were discarded, and her hands went around his neck, and inside the front of his shirt; her hot mouth met his, and in a moment they were dueling fiercely as his hands gripped the soft flesh of her hips and buttocks.

They had both been impatient, and as her mouth had moved down his neck to his open shirtfront, her hands had moved down to the buttons of his fly, and his had fumbled with the tiny buttons between her legs, now slick with her need for him. Her goal accomplished, she had roughly pulled off the front clips of his braces, pulled herself up onto her knees, and prompted him to lift his hips off the bench so that she could free his most vital (she thought so, anyway) organ from the confines of his pants. Splinters in his bare arse? He was more than willing to take the risk…

His hands had found their way to her hips as she had lowered herself onto him with some haste, and immediately began rocking against him. Her left hand had wound around his neck once more, while her right had snaked between them and under the hem of his shirt, so that she could press her fingers into his abdomen as it rippled with movement. Between kisses she had panted hard against his mouth, until he had broken away to spill his own breath against her creamy neck, the sweet scent of her perfume contrasting with its bitter taste on his tongue.

They had been so engrossed in each other that he had almost forgotten their somewhat precarious position, but as he had looked up, having kissed as far along her collarbone as her dress would allow, he had suddenly become intensely aware of the movement of the boat beneath them, the dull rhythm of the oars clanking against their locks in time with the motion of his body and hers… and the ripples, spreading out across the lake on all sides from a central point, the point where his love for Phryne and her love for him converged… That did it for him, and he had groaned into her collarbone as he had fought for control, but he had known it was a losing battle.

Phryne had been close though, and as she delighted in unexpected moves, he had made a last ditch attempt to pull her over the edge with him. Her head had already been tilted back as she had moaned above him, so, ignoring her state of dress, he had bent his head to engulf one jiggling, swollen breast; lace, beads, and all. The desired effect had been achieved and she had cried out in surprise, and painful pleasure, as his teeth had closed roughly around her through the fabric; and again as she had clenched hard around him.

Thought had fled as his own release had immediately followed hers, but as they had calmed his gaze had been drawn back to the water, and he had reflected that this was just another of THOSE moments in his life with her. A moment where he would never be able to view a simple thing like waves lapping on a shore, without thinking of fucking his wife, on a boat, at 3:30 on a sunny afternoon, only a few hundred yards away from a hundred-and-fifty-odd men, women and children, including his parents and hers… Her heat, her scent, and his name in her husky voice.

xoxox