Phryne gave a little shiver beside Jack in the car, realizing belatedly that she had left her warm stole behind at Aunt Prudence's. It would of course be returned, along with tea and a lecture tomorrow afternoon. But in the mean time she felt rather exposed in her thin gown, despite the fact she had pressed herself into Jack's warm side. Noticing her shiver, he shucked his jacket with one hand on the wheel, passing it over to her.
She smiled as she silently accepted it, touched by the tender gesture even though it was hardly unusual for Jack to be chivalrous. She pulled the coat around her, feeling that she might as well be wrapping herself in his very skin, so potent were the scents in which it sheathed her.
It was hardly the first time she had examined the unique aromas that combined to create eau de Jack, but it was an intricate science and she was still researching the subtle undertones. It did not take a detective to identify more obvious scents: the whorl of earthy lavender washed into his clothes by a very clever launderer, the tang of citrus and clove from his aftershave. The beeswax in his pomade gave off a warm, sweet nectar and she could even pick out a faint, salty note of sweat, particularly about the collar.
But there were quantities of quieter scents beneath the others, and he was all the more delicious for it. Phryne tucked the jacket more securely around herself, slithering her arms into the sleeves and lifting one to her face, inhaling deeply. There was a piquant snap of something piney, but it wasn't cedar...more herbal...could it be marjoram? It was not a conventional fragrance, but Jack was hardly a conventional man. She could detect something else, something dark and biting and acrid, what was it? She sucked him into her lungs once more and something clicked into place in her brain. Gun solvent. Of course. Though heaven only knew what the man was doing cleaning his weapon in his finest suit.
"You're troublingly quiet over there," rumbled Jack, his voice low and a little tight. She wondered what had been on his mind while she was busy with her scent analysis.
"You're not used to silence from me, I know," she grinned at him, letting her lashes dip temptingly. "Does it make you nervous, Jack?"
"It makes me wish I was the one keeping you silent. With my mouth."
She hummed with arousal at his words, which seemed to resonate in some deep, dark place within her. If it were up to Phryne, she would have declared Jack's voice the eighth wonder of the world. "Your mouth makes me scream just as often as it silences me."
His breath hitched and his knuckles paled as he gripped the steering wheel harder. "Phryne."
"I was thinking," she continued in a tone of complete innocence, tucking her nose into the lapel of his coat and sipping at his scent again. "Well. One way or another I always find my way into your case files. You are especially generous with them these days. It's not as if I really need officialfree reign of them...I might as well already have it. And my car! You don't want that car. You hate that car. If you won it you'd only push it off a cliff."
Her eyes became pinned to his throat, watching the slow, downward slide of his Adam's apple as he swallowed the implication of her words.
"Are we calling it off, then?" he asked, his voice thick with expectation. "The wager?
"I'd be willing to call it a draw, if you're agreeable."
He said nothing, but suddenly she noticed the car slowing. He turned the wheel towards her and the motorcar bumped and shook as it veered off the pavement, shuddering into the grass until Jack brought them to a stop several feet from the road, to a patch hidden in black shadows from overhanging trees.
She watched him questioningly, heart roaring so loudly in her ears she thought it must have relocated to her skull. She was barely able to make out his tense, noble features in the sparse starlight, but he didn't move for several seconds. Phryne watched him in excitement and anticipation, daring him to do whatever he was working up to. Heat and thwarted desire pressed her together like a length of damp muslin being ground through a laundry mangle. She couldn't sit still in her seat—her thighs flexed desperately, trying to contain the empty, throbbing want between them, and it caused her to rock a little from side to side. The road was lonely and dark...at this time of night there would hardly be any motorists passing. They would not be interrupted this time.
He reached out a hand towards her then seemed to think better of it. He snatched his arm back and opened his door, springing from the car. Phryne felt weak and weightless, and didn't have any time to react before he had pulled her door open and was hauling her out as well.
"Jack, what—"
He tugged his coat from her, hurling it back onto the seat before slamming the door shut. With blinding speed he had twisted her in his arms, pressing the front of her ruthlessly into the side of the police motorcar, the sudden chill of steel and glass cutting right through the delicate silk of her gown. Phryne found herself shivering again.
His hot breath at her ear soon banished all thoughts of cold. "Don't worry. I intend to keep you warm."
"What's got into you?" she half-panted, her words threaded with hunger. She could feel the full length of his body pressing behind her, pinning her against the car, and she arched her back, switching her hips as she ground her backside into his pelvis, hoping to agitate the telling bulge she found there. "Already at full attention again, are we? Jack, I'm flattered." She tried to cling to her playful manner, but it was slipping from her quickly as her animal instincts began to take over.
"He's missed out on a few weeks of action," grunted Jack, licking a line from earlobe to shoulder as his long fingers dug in at her hips. "There is some lost time we must compensate for."
Phryne couldn't help but beam as his hand smoothed around to cup the curve of her stomach, pulling her ever closer. "Do you call him Little Jack? I once knew this Canadian lumberjack—"
There was an insistent hand at her chin, then, and he was kissing her silent before she could finish, his tongue delving into the space behind her lower lip as if to obliterate any and all memories of former lovers.
"I am a grown man, Miss Fisher," he growled when he pulled back. "I don't have a name for my manhood. And calling it 'little' is just unkind."
"You're correct, 'little' would indeed be a misnomer. But I think he needs a name," purred Phryne, slipping a hand back between them to locate the notably erect gentleman in question as Jack nibbled a tender spot on her shoulder. "What about Sergeant Bratwurst? You being so skilled at German."
"Certainly not," he replied matter-of-factly, seizing her inquisitive hand in his much larger one and placing it back on the car. "I am a Detective Inspector, you cannot demote my appendage to Sergeant."
Phryne bit her lip, stifling both a giggle and a gasp as his hands left her and she heard the sound of fastenings being unfastened. His mouth maintained its determination to survey her, inch by inch. "Sincerest apologies, my beloved Detective Inspector. I did not mean to wound your pride. But as long as we're on the theme of your profession, what about Sir Nightstick?"
He made a choking sound behind her but recovered quickly. "It'll never do."
There was a rustle of fabric and she suddenly felt the searing weight of his length, now free of its fabric prison, straining against the curve of her backside. She gave the topic of naming it another moment's thought. Then, making her voice high and honey-sweet, she offered, "Cupid's Fiery Shaft?"
He bit her for that one, a sharp little love nip at the curve of her shoulder that made her inner muscles clench woefully around nothing. "Oberon would be pleased that you attended his words so closely. But no, I could never allow it." Her skirts were being lifted, the silk itself whispering in excitement as it was hoisted up by fistfuls to the base of her spine. The rush of cool air did nothing to soothe her scorched flesh.
And then there were fingers. Long, warm, Jack fingers, smoothing over her center with just enough pressure to make her ache. One of them found her entrance, dragging the dampness he discovered there forwards to circle her throbbing clit. Her muscles grew taut and stiff with the effort to keep still, not wishing to distract him from his vital task. He returned to her opening, working one finger insider her, then two. She bit into the fleshy part of her palm to keep from crying out...she did not want him to know yet how close she was to shattering into a million pieces.
Suddenly her wrists were seized, tugged behind her and fastened together by one of his clever hands, which pinned them at the small of her back. Without her hands to support her, her cheek was forced into the cool glass of the window, and she chuckled to herself at the thought of him having to clean smears of makeup off the window of his official vehicle.
Phryne was not often fond of giving up her freedom of movement while being made love to, but she found herself struggling for breath at the sensation of being completely at the mercy of the exquisite man who held her fast. They had been in a similar position once before—Jack having been in the process of placing her under arrest—and she had found his commanding manner stirring even then. But this...this was something elseentirely. Phryne decided at once that this wager had been worth all the trouble, if only to bring out this utterly thrilling side of her inimitable Inspector.
"Its name," he muttered at her ear, regaining her full attention as he nudged her legs apart with his knee. "Is the sound you make when I put it inside you. I challenge you, Miss Fisher, to emulate that sound out of context. It is a very distinctive utterance, one I have memorized quite carefully, and I'm afraid you will only be able to call it by its proper name once you've been impaled."
The last word came out with a grunt, for he had done it at the same time he said it, using his hand to guide himself to her entrance before surging upwards, sinking to the very hilt. As he had foreseen, a high, silken sob of utter delight broke from her lips. He was right—she doubted she would be able to repeat that sound without the experience of being so deliciously invaded.
She did not know how long he held her there, surrounded by the hypnotic whir of crickets and nightjars, a nocturnal symphony percussed by the sound of their labored breaths. She clutched at him with her insides as if in welcome, suddenly feeling very much at her leisure and wanting nothing more than to wallow in the perfect satisfaction that filled her as she became reacquainted with his remarkable cock.
For his own part, coherent thought was something that had become a foreign concept to Jack. For a long while he was nothing but sensation, the experience of once again securing himself within her slippery heat making him feel as if he had been suddenly bathed in hot, white light—as if he were on a stage with every spotlight aimed at him, but instead of an audience beyond him in the dark he looked into a black cavity of brutal, nebulous pleasure. A pleasure that could only be realized in the act of claiming this woman. He had to keep still, had to let the savage rush of emotion and ecstasy surge over him before he could even begin to know what to do next. He was inside her as far as he could go, which even now made him a little nervous, though Phryne had always enthusiastically accepted all of him.
Rosie, who had not been blessed with Phryne's depths (either in body or in spirit), and had never been overly fond of physical intimacy to begin with, had always fussed and squirmed when he tried to introduce any more than half of himself. Not that he would ever blame or fault her—she could not help the limits of her body, and causing discomfort to the woman sharing his bed was the very last thing he wanted. But the lovemaking that resulted had always been painstaking and abstemious. Any passion that had existed between them was eventually eliminated by frustration on both sides; indeed, Jack had nearly forgotten what passion was until he met the miraculous Miss Fisher. Before long, sex with Rosie had become nothing more than a task, carried out in hopes of conceiving a child and, when that failed, he had at last given up the ghost. It had occurred to him that the physical distance she had imposed between them, even when their bodies were joined, had only worked to drive the wedge in their marriage deeper. Until it was a marriage in name only.
Perhaps he had just been bad in bed. If he had tried harder, if he had been more patient, or more attentive, or if he had known some of the tricks Phryne had taught him...
Phryne. No, he could not bring himself to regret the things that had gone wrong between him and Rosie. His marriage could have never brought him the happiness and fulfillment he had found in Phryne's arms, and suddenly he thought the impossible thought of what might have happened if he'd met Phryne first.
Needing to reassure himself, he slid his hands inwards from where they rested on her hips, spreading her luscious backside in order to get a better look at where they were joined. He observed hungrily the way she swallowed him to the root and found himself hoping that the completeness of their joining would only bring them closer in this new, incredible, unexpected-but-now-more necessary-than-air attachment he had formed with Phryne.
His Phryne, for as long as she'd have him.
"Jack," she whispered throatily, his name condensing into a cloud of fog on the window of the car. She began to rock her hips against him in encouragement. She wanted him to move. She wanted him. She wanted him.
Something came loose inside of Jack and he wrapped his right arm across the front of her, spanning her from shoulder to shoulder, pulling up her against him and nudging her forwards a few inches until she could be pressed no further. Fully sandwiched between his body and the sleek steel of the motorcar, Phryne felt his fingers graze over her scalp before seizing a handful of hair, using it to tug her head backwards for a kiss that was almost angry in its fervor.
His tongue pushed down on hers, hot and thick, and he seemed to lose his mind for a moment, shaking against her as he sucked at every bit of her mouth he could reach. He began to move inside her, slowly at first, forcing knots of shivery, abyssal spasms over her muscles. No part of her was exempt from sensation...the bones of her fingers, the crown of her head, the undersides of her breasts, the balls of her feet...not an inch was spared from the pleasure that shuddered through her, fanning out in hot, heart-squeezing ripples from the place where they were joined.
She gasped his name over and over like some sort of holy invocation, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack. He began to move faster, harder, his tempo and force intensifying until he was pounding into her, her entire body quaking in rhythm as her flesh absorbed the stunning impact of each plunge.
Phryne ground herself back against him, matching his intensity as she felt a bottomless climax swelling inexorably from a place deep in her chest, a place that had not existed before Jack, or perhaps that she had carved out especially in preparation for him. It was a place that, once located, had direct access to every pleasure nerve in her body. Yet it also had the peculiar ability to ensnare her heart so hopelessly, making her feel raw and lost and utterly, utterly full. It was something she had told herself she would never need and now she wasn't sure how she would ever do without it.
The relentlessness of his flesh crashing into hers, combined with the heightened state of her emotions...and suddenly she was done for. Before she could even make sense of what was happening, her eyes were rolling back into her head and an orgasm slammed into her at full force, dragging her under, pushing her up, raking her with pleasure that started from somewhere behind her eyes and pitched all the way down to the spaces between her toes. She heard Jack release a thick groan as her inner muscles contracted around him but he showed no signs of slowing. He reached for the straps of her gown and tugged it to her waist, filling his hands with her breasts and redoubling his efforts. He was kissing her everywhere, murmuring filthy things in her ear...Phryne was quite sure she had heard him say "Sir Nightstick" in there somewhere.
But the height of her arousal, as well as the intensity of her climax, made his presence inside of her suddenly unbearable. "Jack, I need just a moment...I'm sensitive, I came so hard..." But he silently refused to be still, and she added in a sob, "Please, please, I can't bear it!"
"You can," was all he said back. He wanted to look at her face. He allowed her only the barest moment of relief as he slid himself out in order to spin her around. He lifted her in his arms so her back was supported against the car and both legs were thrown high over his shoulders, her ankles bobbing somewhere in the vicinity of his ears. He clutched ruthlessly at her backside, half-hoping to brand her with bruises the shape of his fingers, then aligned himself carefully at her entrance before sheathing himself once more, plunging forward until he bumped against her pubic bone.
"Wait, wait!" she protested hoarsely, her head thrashing from side to side. The tortured ecstasy on her face did monstrous things to him and he could do nothing but swallow her protests with his mouth, kissing her long and slow to match the measured rhythm of his searching thrusts. He wanted to see what would happen if he refused to let her recover from her climax. He wanted to feel in detail the precise texture of her inner flesh, to know every inch of her pillowy ridges and smooth slickness. Most of all, he wanted to remind her that while they may constantly battle each other for the upper hand, while the wager may have gone somewhat awry and he may not have triumphed over her as he'd promised, that she needed him for this, that she needed him period, that he could offer her something not one of her many lovers had ever managed—this profound, terrifying intimacy that could only accompany the lovemaking between two people who, though they may have never said the words aloud, were completely and irreparably in love with each other.
The swell of emotion that accompanied that thought quickened his pace. The blunt smack of their flesh meeting over and over again was driving him wild, and he only just kept his own release at bay. Phryne was incoherent, quaking and spasming, clutching madly at his still-clad forearms and seeming unable to make any noise above a choked whimper. Which was convenient, seeing as how he couldn't be sure how far her screams would reach in the free night air. The last thing he needed was one of his colleagues coming out to investigate.
What was that old-fashioned term? Rutting, that was it. That was how this felt, this fervid joining against a car that he had barely bothered to hide, a spontaneous decision so very unlike him but so satisfying in its execution.
He watched her closely, lifting a hand to her face to push the damp fringe away from her forehead before leaning in to press a kiss between her eyes. She was arching, straining, half-mad with sensation...he realized, suddenly, that he had not just prevented her from recovering from her orgasm...he prevented it from ever truly ending in the first place.
"My God. You're still coming, aren't you?" he murmured, hardly believing it himself.
Her eyes were squeezed shut but she nodded frantically, fighting for breath. "Yes," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes!"
Phryne's mind was white, hot, blank. Pleasure blared in her ears like radio static turned to maximum volume, and she could focus on nothing but the sensation of his length scraping back and forth over her raw nerves. She was close, so close, and if he stopped she would die, instantly—of that she was certain. A tiny piece of her, at the very back of her brain, couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed. Whatever he had done to her nether regions had completely taken over her nervous system, making her quiver and twitch like a puppet on a string, and she hoped she didn't look utterly foolish. She couldn't even open her eyes to steal a glance at his face, so strong were the spasms gripping her. She had experienced a truepetite mort only twice in her life, and both times had occurred years ago. But if he kept crashing into her like that...whatever was building inside of her felt so intense she was completely certain that when it finally broke apart she would have to lose consciousness in order to keep from exploding in truth.
Jack knew he couldn't last much longer. His legs were shaky from holding her up and his cock was on fire, deprived if release for far longer than was humane or just. But he could sense how close she was. He observed her attentively, waiting until that moment when her breath caught in her throat, knowing it meant she was bracing for impact. He reached the precipice with her, giving up thrusting entirely as he lodged himself deep within her until their bodies were flush. He ground against her once, twice. Then he heard a tight, gasping, "Jack!" And with that, she came apart in his arms.
He clutched her close as he tumbled into his own release, kissing every part of her he could reach, scraping his teeth against her shoulder as he emptied himself inside her. He felt as if someone had taken a cricket bat to his skull, his head was such a mess of love and lust and the most extraordinary feeling of attachment. He fought down the little piece of him that seized in panic at the thought of ever losing her.
"Phryne," he whispered worshipfully into her neck. He noticed for the first time how quiet she was, and pulled back to see her head lolling against the car, eyes closed as if in sleep. "Miss Fisher? Are you all right?"
Then, as if she had been with him all along, her lashes fluttered and lifted, startling him with the powerful emotions in her soft blue eyes.
"That was…" she breathed, blinking at him in awe. "That was…"
"Yes," agreed Jack, carefully lowering her to her feet and allowing himself to slip free from her warmth. He discovered right away that she would not be able to stand on her own—her knees buckled under her, nearly pulling both of them to the ground. She collapsed into peals of laughter and his ears throbbed at the pleasure of it. He wrenched open the passenger's side door and settled her in the seat, helping her lift the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders before tucking himself back into his own clothes.
Once he was righted, he let his eyes wander over her. She sat sideways, facing him, her head leaning sleepily against the back of the seat. She practically glowed in the moonlight, looking well loved and utterly satisfied. And that stunning gown...well, it was in a state indeed.
"I'm afraid you won't be able to ask Miss Williams to rescue that dress. I believe we've left behind some rather questionable stains on it," he murmured to her, urging her knees apart so he could step between them and plunder her mouth with a slow, searching kiss.
After a few long moments she pulled back just far enough to speak. "I think I'll send it home with you, Inspector. Lest you ever forget tonight."
"There's not a chance in hell of that, but I will gladly accept it as a souvenir," he muttered against her lips. He felt her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Phryne pulled back a little further, smiling euphorically as she examined his features. She leaned back in and pressed kisses to the darling hollows of his cheeks, to the sweet rounded tip of his nose, to each little line of seriousness that traversed his forehead. She brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes and trailed her fingers lovingly over his temple and down along his jawline.
"I think I may just keep you," she whispered to him, hoping he would read the earnest message behind her playful words.
The boyish smile that broke over his face told her he at least had an inkling. "I don't think I'll mind too terribly, being part of your people collection," he told her, attempting a solemn look that was ruined by the grin, which seemed determined to stay put. "As long as I can keep you as well."
"Deal," she agreed, reaching out to shake his hand before drawing him in for another kiss. "Now, shall we sneak home for a bath and a very long nap? I'll need to refresh myself a bit before I can be ready to have you again."
Jack gave one of those singular smiles, the kind that turned tugged the corners of his mouth downward and yet was anything but a frown. "At your service, as always, Miss Fisher."
He gently tucked her knees into the car and closed her door, walking around to the driver's side as if the hard ground beneath his feet was made of clouds. He noticed there was still a fine tremor in his limbs from the aftershocks of their joining, and he thought cheekily to himself that he ought to take Phryne outdoors more often.
Note: Whew! I hope you guys enjoyed! I'd love to hear what you think, good or bad. Thanks for reading!