Chapter 3: Breathing Unter Water

He was suffocating.

Jack started awake, his heart drumming against his rib cage, his eyes trying to focus in the unfamiliar darkness. Pulling himself half upright, he attempted to make sense of surroundings looking nothing like his bedroom. A soft, sleepy groan cleared enough of the fog around his brain to alert him to the heavy arm thrown over his stomach, the hair tickling his naked chest and indeed the complete lack of any sleeping attire.

The Windsor.

Phryne!

Memories came flooding back, bringing emotion with them. Defeated, he sank back into the pillows, protested by another moan from Miss Fisher. Her hand lazily stroked his belly, settling just under his ribs, her fingers leaving a warm trail on his skin. They failed to soothe him.

Instead Jack's disorientation lingered as he lay in the deafening quietude of the early hours, long before the daylight would return, drowning in the thicket of emotions crowding his chest.

He recalled dimly having fallen asleep glowing with happiness. And considering that he was curled up with Miss Fisher, a position that had seemed unachievable – and rather unwise – only a few months ago, he could have been forgiven to be overcome with joy... yet a sense of dread retained it's iron grip on his stomach.

He couldn't lie to himself as he lay still, not daring to move. They had stumbled over the threshold balancing their relationship and while he had burned to cross the line – now that they had reached the point of no return, the path ahead still lay in thick fog.

Jack Robinson was scared!

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, willing himself to go back to sleep. Fleeing this hotel suite in the middle of the night most probably held the power to demolish any chance of a repeat once and for all. So instead Jack carefully shifted, curling up into a more comfortable position. He came to lie only inches from her face which was lost in peaceful dreams.

Another deep breath. As he admired the beauty of a sleeping – and utterly quiet – Phryne Fisher, his throat tightened further. He could get accustomed to this sleeping arrangement... In fact, he wanted it so badly that it hurt. But then that was Miss Fisher's choice to make and if she considered it worth the sacrifice of her freedom was anyone's guess. Jack forced his eyes shut, drew more air into his lungs, attempted to calm his racing heartbeat. Sleep... Sleep wouldn't come.

Suddenly a pair of warm lips was on his, a hand curling into his hair and he found himself surrendering to her kiss before he had even realised what was happening. When she finally retreated, his eyes fluttered open to make out her features against the blue shadows of the night.

"You are supposed to be asleep, Miss Fisher," he accused in a whisper, despite the absence of anyone to eavesdrop.

"So are you, Jack," she murmured without retrieving her fingers from his hair, where they were doubtlessly up to mischief. He was distracted from them by her eyes, however, which he felt were currently searching through every inch of his soul, rifling through the emotions he was trying to hide. Jack cringed inwardly.

"I don't sleep well in strange beds," he explained airily, hoping that she would believe him. To his surprise, she smiled at this in a rather cheeky manner.

"You didn't appear to have any trouble finding rest in mine."

Luckily the darkness hid the blush creeping over his cheeks at the memory of the one night he had spent wrapped up in her sheets.

"Your father's nerve tonic might have played a role in that," he explained dryly after a pause. Despite his still raw nerves, he could feel some relief in her company, in the entrancing rhythm of her massaging fingertips.

"Just a minor detail," she quipped. Her hand finally left his hair to settle on his neck.

Phryne found herself confused. She could feel his anxiety, had even sensed it creep into her slumber, rousing her. What had caused his mood change, however, was a complete mystery to her. Was it regret that had his pulse pounding against her fingertips?

In search for an answer she trailed a thumb down the line of his neck, over his Adam's apple, watching him closely. It was hard to make out a reaction, but his eyes were on her, unblinking, softening as her hand slipped lower to caress his chest. Her stomach settled somewhat in it's apprehensive flutter. No regrets then...

But a tear.

She spotted it a mere moment later, her palm stilling right over his heart: a tiny glittering drop in the corner of his eye, disappearing in the pillow a moment later, belying its very existence. Phryne's thoughts were whirling with possible reasons for such emotions. Her heart however, had already come to a decision. Before she knew it, her lips were tenderly brushing over his eyelids, striving to kiss away the remainder of any salty droplets along with the sadness that had caused them.

The tenderness of his skin was addictive, his lashes fluttering against her like caught butterflies. A hitch in his breath encouraged her to linger, graze his face with the lightest of kisses. She was out of breath by the time she pulled back to observe if her comfort had made any difference. The change was astounding.

Jack had uncurled from the fetal position she had found him in, his eyes still closed, yet his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a brief moment she wondered if he had dozed off under her caress. Then his hand slipped over silken sheets towards her, blindly grasping for hers and entwining their fingers.

Phryne feared she might burst into tears as well.

Instead she leaned in, peppering tiny kisses along his collarbone. He didn't stir as she continued her ministration on his chest, just silently watched her every move from underneath half-closed lashes. On her path she narrowly avoided a nipple and his ribcage expanded as he took in a deep breath. Phryne couldn't suppress a smile. She wasn't entirely certain what it would take to sate her Inspector, but she was determined to give it her best try. For the time being though, she was content to explore him. The little rise a bullet had left in his skin caught her attention again causing her to pause. He had been lucky, there was no doubt about it. And while Miss Fisher wasn't in the habit of dwelling on "what ifs" she took a moment to remember just how short life was, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to the scar. She sensed his reaction, though she could not attempt to describe it. It might have been surprise, pleasure or even shame, or indeed a mixture of all three. It didn't bear to ponder it's meaning, she had a lifetime to figure out what exactly she had done to him.

The thought, flitting through her mind like a summer's breeze, startled her, but not enough to abandon her ministrations, now having reached his navel. Miss Fisher frowned slightly, luckily invisible to her bed partner. A lifetime was an awfully long time to even consider.

Jack's breath had grown heavy, but he wouldn't stir from his position, sprawled on the bed as though his muscles were too heavy to move. He must be sore, Phryne briefly wondered, tired after the exertion of the afternoon and evening. Her experience had taught her that men, no matter how capable in life, were limited in how much they could endure between the sheets and Jack had confirmed himself that it had been years since his last encounter of the kind. Yet he didn't seem opposed to her attentions - in contrast there was a groan of disappointment when she slipped lower, manoeuvring herself past his hips without paying any mind to the parts of his anatomy which most obviously longed for her attentions.

"Patience, Jack," she whispered with a simper, reflecting their earlier conversation.

"Not one of my virtues, Miss Fisher" he quipped.

She rolled her eyes at his obvious lie. His patience seemed eternal, she realised, at times more than challenging her own. How long had he been waiting? She couldn't tell. But a thigh muscle flexing underneath her exploring mouth told her that the cat-and-mouse game they had indulged in since the moment of their acquaintance, had ended. The mouse had been caught – even though she wasn't entirely certain which of them embodied the cat in this metaphor and who the cheeky rodent.

Right now, however, it was her turn to tease and Phryne Fisher delighted in the chance to undo him slowly and thoroughly. She took her time to caress every inch of his skin with her mouth, her fingertips, the brush of her naked body and soon she could feel Jack growing restless, squirming underneath her touch, soundlessly willing her to end her sweet torment. She had no intention of the kind. Instead she concentrated her attention on a tiny spot just below his ankle were his skin was particularly soft. I was a surprising find on a man who seemed to be on his feet more than was good for him. She couldn't help but wonder how he tasted and a gentle bite followed this most ridiculous thought.

A loud moan that seemed to echo from the walls of the hotel bedroom marked the Inspector's iron-clad composure finally crumbling. Phryne chewed her lip in amusement, even as she felt excitement prickle through her own body. An aroused Jack was more exquisite than she could have ever imagined, and God knew, she had tried.

Far from being satisfied with her work yet, she took her time to trail her lips back up his heated body with the goal of rectifying her earlier negligence. The moment her lips touched him she felt his whole body tense, as though he couldn't bear her teasing any longer. But he held on, panting, grappling for composure. She chose to have mercy on him.

Despite the night being too dark to make out much of his heated features, he was undeniably trembling when she ventured to kiss his face. Phryne wasn't certain if to be worried or proud by just how much she affected him. Everything about him was tense, straining, willing to give into whatever she wanted. She had succeeded in completely unravelling him and a undeniable, heady sense of power filled her. But there was also something else, a knowledge that she held him in her hands and that if she wasn't careful she could break something very precious. Phryne bit her lip. She had never desired this kind of responsibility for a man any more than she'd wanted to be at anyone's mercy herself. Yet here she was, risking both of their hearts.

A sweaty palm caressed her cheek, seeking to guide her to his hot lips and she gave in. The reasons for his tears were suddenly clear as a winter morning. Jack Robinson knew the danger in being here, knew how vulnerable he had become in baring himself - he was a brave man. But he couldn't see that she was in just as much danger. If they sunk, neither of them would survive. The realisation didn't stop her from deepening their kiss, even as she moved to straddle him.

The sound with which Jack commented their joining resembled a whimper more than a moan and her heart thumped painfully loud in her chest.

Jack was still not entirely certain if he was waking or not, but what did it matter? He had been haunted by his share of erotic dreams ever since encountering the Honourable Phryne Fisher and each of them had filled him with the same taste of delicious pain.

Only the breasts pressed against him when she leaned in for another kiss, were incredibly real, her taste sweeter on his tongue than his over-active mind had ever imagined. His hands had grasped her hips, hoping to gain some control over the situation – in vain. She writhed on him very much in her own design, seeking to pleasure herself along with him. He dimly realised that he had no idea how to satisfy her and that he should probably ask – yet his tongue refused service. So he just submitted to her rhythm, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead as he watched her silhouette move in the throes of ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, entwining in the blue light with his own.

How he had ached for this; the reality was too much. Every fibre of his body burned with a vague sense of yearning, an unsatisfied hunger that he wasn't certain if he could ever sate, yet he tried, his sweat-slicked limbs reaching out for her. He needed to feel her more than he needed air, hold her, shatter into her. His head spinning, he felt the heat grow, expand, engulf him, the world dissolving into a million sensations...

"Breathe," he heard her whisper beside his ear when his senses returned. "Just breathe."

Obediently he gasped for air, filled his lungs with the elixir of life, the darkness caressing him, soothing his raw soul.

Phryne was still regaining her own breath as she snuggled into his side, pulling the covers over the quivering bundle that was left of this wonderful, strong man. Truly she wanted to enquire what had happened to him, but she tamed her curiosity. It took several minutes until she felt the effects of his shattering climax retreat, his heartbeat slow down, his arm coming to hold her and she dared speak to him in the hope of her words being absorbed.

"Maybe we should try without the nerve tonic," she whispered against his chest, her breath sending a cool shiver over his damp skin.

The Inspector listened with half an ear, the tendrils of sleep already tearing on his sleeves. Then her meaning sank in and he felt his heart stop.

"Try what, Miss Fisher?" he heard himself ask, voice rough with strain from groans he could barely remember.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil she pulled herself onto an elbow.

"If sleeping in my bed is an option you might grow to enjoy, of course," she explained nonchalantly.

Jack finally managed to pry his eyes open and touch her hair. It was damp with sweat, her face serious.

"What do you think?" she urged quietly, when he failed to answer.

"The attempt can't hurt," he rasped, pulling her back onto his chest before his eyes could give away the emotions swirling through him. He could feel her smiling against him but she didn't say another word.

Miss Fisher fell asleep little later and he found it impossible to suppress a grin when soft snoring sounded through the night. Jack lay awake until the first suspicion of dawn began peeking through the window, his limbs tightly curled around the treasure in his arms. He welcomed the morning like an old friend when a bird began singing outside the window, even though he was fairly certain that it wasn't a nightingale – or a lark for that matter. The realisation that the remainder of this night was slipping through his fingers didn't manage to strike any fear in his heart.