Chapter Text
Jack stood outside Prudence Stanley’s home, his heart aching. He was no longer a married man. He was, instead, a bearer of broken vows—he’d promised to be with Rosie till death, but both of them were very much alive. He struggled with the sense of relief that battled with the pain. This would be for the best, at least for Rosie—she deserved to find a man who would cherish her, and Jack just couldn’t be that man anymore. The war had changed him in ways she couldn’t imagine, and Phryne Fisher had changed him even more. And though he hadn’t been unfaithful to Rosie in body, he had succumbed to Phryne in his mind countless times.
And now here he was, having come straight from court, the ink barely dry on his divorce decree, to partner Miss Fisher at her cousin’s engagement fete. He let out a sigh and mounted the stairs. This was probably a bad idea.
He stood in the front hall, waiting for Miss Fisher to be informed of his arrival, and watching the other partygoers. Good grief, some of these costumes would be illegal if they were worn anywhere but in a private home. Isabella’s Lady Godiva was positively indecent—and she kept “accidentally” pushing the ends of her long blonde wig back over her shoulder and baring her breasts, which were then covered only by a sheer body stocking. And Guy would then “help” her to “restore her modesty,” with much stroking and squeezing as he accomplished it. Jack’s eyebrows raised quickly, and he tilted his head a little—the only change in his expression as he watched them repeat this exchange twice in the five minutes he waited.
“Jack, you made it,” Jack turned his head to see Phryne approaching from down the hall. He froze for a moment, looking at her. She wore white, mostly, a bandeau that covered her small breasts and a long wrapped skirt that faithfully followed the lines of her hips and thighs before flaring slightly around her knees; as she walked, her legs were revealed to mid-thigh by the skirt’s slit. Her stomach appeared to be bare—he saw as she got closer that it was covered in netting, but the appearance was what mattered. Her neck was encircled by a collar made of gold buttons, and she wore a golden headdress over her glossy cap of hair. Her eyes were heavily kohled, and she’d added purple to her lids; her red lips completed the image of seduction. He forced himself to speak.
“Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile?” His voice was gravelly, and he swallowed to try and smooth it out.
“Very good,” she said, her voice sweet and her smile sultry as she came to stand before him, just a few inches closer than she should, as always. Damn it, he thought, she’d seen him admiring her. But her tone was brisk as she went on to discuss business. “I assume Hugh told you about our interview with Mrs Truebody?”
“He did,” Jack still couldn’t quite manage his usual calm. She was breathtaking, and she smelled so good.
“Good. I can fill you in on the rest,” her businesslike tone shifted again to flirty. She stepped in closer to stroke his lapels. Unable to form words, he tilted his head at her inquiringly. “But first,” she went on, “you need a costume.”
Oh god, what now? he thought. Will I ever be able to anticipate this woman? He turned to follow her down the hall. Without her facing him, he found himself able to speak again, though his eyes drifted down her body, noting that her buttocks were delineated quite clearly through the snug fabric of her skirt.
“A costume, Miss Fisher? I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
She turned to look at him as she hurried up a set of stairs and down another hall, where she opened a door to one side of the long corridor. He entered the room behind her, his steps lagging as he spied the bed. The bed. He was in a room with Phryne Fisher, alone, and there was a bed. He swallowed and skirted around to put the thing at his back. Leaning against the footboard and clasping his hands together over his groin just in case his body betrayed him, he watched her bend to open a trunk. The skirt of her costume really was very faithful to her curves. He forced his eyes up, noting the fastenings down the back of her gown. Those would be relatively easy to… He shook himself slightly, realizing she was speaking.
“How can you protest when you have no idea what it is I have in mind?” Phryne smiled as she spoke. She could feel him watching her—she might possibly have bent that way just to see if he’d peruse her… assets—and it sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Jack’s voice stroked along her back as she turned to face him.
“Because nine times out of ten, what you have in mind gives me grief,” his voice was dry, and Phryne, looking at him, realized that his eyes were tired. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed! I’m perfectly disguised as a police detective.” He was trying for the bantering tone of their usual default, but to her ear, it fell a bit flat.
“You won’t detect much in a crowd this fast in a blue wool suit and tie,” Phryne replied. She could tell that he was a little off this evening; perhaps she could tease him back into his usual self. She drew the garment bag off the costume and held it up triumphantly. “I kept this aside for you.” She bent sideways to pick up a helmet with an enormous bristled brush on top. Jack’s eyebrows rose just for a moment, but he kept his face otherwise impassive.
“A passable Marc Antony, if we pilfer that sword on display in the billiard room.” she smiled at Jack, who’d stood up from his comfortable lean, his hands falling to his sides and surprise showing on his face. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that she truly intended for him to be her escort tonight?
“So I’m to be the… triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpet’s fool?” He twisted as he spoke to watch her as she moved to lay the costume on the bed behind him.
“You’ve been at least a single pillar for far too long,” was her retort. She came back around to stand in front of him, her hands reaching to loosen his tie. “No one will know who you are,” she soothed, moving to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt.
Jack swallowed, fighting for words. “Except you,” he managed through a throat suddenly tight with desire.
“Come on, Jack,” she smiled at him, her hands busy at his waistcoat buttons now, “just one gaudy night?” As she said it, her eyes met his, and the sly grin eased off of her face. His eyes were terribly sad, almost bruised, but they conveyed all of the desire she’d known he felt—she had never seen it blazing so hot.
When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. “If you really want a roman soldier,” her eyes dropped to his mouth, mesmerised by their movement and the heat between them, “then I’ll take it from here.” Her hands stilled, holding the sides of his waistcoat, her body only inches from him, and her eyes on his mouth.
“But I don’t want a roman soldier, Jack,” Phryne whispered. “I want you.” The breath he drew in was ragged, but he didn’t move.
“I divorced my wife this afternoon, Phryne,” he said, his own voice so low she had to strain to hear it. “I can’t start something new. Not today.” Her heart siezed. No wonder he seemed to carry so much weight this evening. She knew that a man whose attitude toward marriage was as honorable as Jack’s would be tormented by the dissolution of one, even if it was for the best.
“Then let’s keep it about what we already have,” she said, taking a half-step forward to press herself against him. “Friendship. And perhaps comfort?”
“Just one gaudy night, then nothing more?” He lifted a hand to cup her jaw.
“Just one night,” she agreed, “and then we are as we were before—partners and friends.”
He hesitated, his thumb stroking the apple of her cheek as his eyes searched hers. Then, carefully, he nodded. His other hand rose to pull off her headdress, and his mouth covered hers with a moan. Phryne’s hands slid around him, inside his waistcoat, and she pressed her body to his as she kissed him, her tongue sliding against his. He tasted remarkably good, she thought, and his hand on her face tilted her to the perfect angle for their mouths to align.
He moved to wrap his arms around her and they spun, rounding the high footboard to stand beside the bed. She stroked her hands down to cup his arse—firm and muscular, as she’d known it would be—before bringing them back around to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She felt his fingers unfasten her gold button collar; he slid it from around her neck and discarded it, and then his mouth was on her throat.
He opened his mouth against her neck, kissing and nibbling as his fingers worked to undo the back of her gown. If he gave himself a moment to think, he wouldn’t do this, and he couldn’t believe how much he wanted her. Anything between himself and Phryne was bound to be transitory, he knew. They’d just get it out of the way and go back to friendship. He’d managed to unfasten her dress all the way down to her hips, and when he reached the last hook, he put his hands on her beautiful bottom. She moaned when he kneaded her, and then she was pushing his shirt, waistcoat, jacket, and braces—leaving only the pullover singlet he wore—back over his shoulders.
“Jack, take these off,” she said, breathless. He pulled his hands away, shrugging the clothing off, his jacket and waistcoat falling to the floor and his shirt tangling behind him in his braces. She echoed his move, her fingers peeling the straps of her loosened dress over her shoulders; it sagged around her waist, but he didn’t see it. All he saw was her luminous skin and her lovely unbound breasts. With a groan, he touched them, dipping his head to wrap his lips around one nipple. Phryne gasped, her hands flying up to grasp his head, her fingers spearing into his hair. He suckled hard at her nipple before switching to the other, licking it before drawing it between his lips. His hands slid to her hips, pushing the dress down to pool around her feet. She wore only the smallest of knickers, her stockings held up by ribbons at her thighs, and her small golden slippers.
Jack lifted his head to look at her, and Phryne was captivated by the sight of his lips, reddened with the suction he’d used on her breasts. She grasped his hair and brought his mouth to hers; while she kissed him, she dropped her hands to his waistband, fingers sure upon the fastenings, until she could slide her hand inside and stroke him through his smalls. His mouth stuttered open, and he removed his hands from her body to strip off his singlet and kick off his shoes. Phryne cooed at the sight of his broad, muscled chest, reaching to stroke it as he hooked his thumbs in his trousers and underwear and pushed them down, sweeping his socks off along with them.
When he stood again, completely nude, she caught her breath. Jack’s body was beautiful. His shoulders were almost absurdly wide, his waist incredibly narrow. His arms were muscular, with streamlined swimmer’s biceps, and his thighs were thick and strong. She trailed her fingers down his chest to touch the muscles of his stomach lightly, and from there, down farther to curl her hand around his cock where it stood, hard and long, at the juncture of his thighs. She slid her thumb over his cockhead, pressing at the underside with a long stroke. He breathed in shakily through his mouth, and she looked up at his face. His hair, mussed from her fingers, flopped onto his forehead, and his eyes were dark with lust. Holding his eyes, she licked her lips and slowly dropped to her knees.
“Phryne, what— ooohhh, god, oh god, ooohhh gooood,” his head fell back momentarily as she took him in her mouth, his surprise morphing into pleasure. She kept her eyes on him, watching as he flailed one hand out, searching for something to hold, and then brought it down to her head. He opened his eyes with what appeared to be some effort and tilted his head down to watch her slide her head up and down his cock. She slid one hand to his base, loving the feel of him sliding over her tongue and bumping against the roof of her mouth. She sucked hard, pulling against him as she drew her head back, and was rewarded by an incoherent groan, so she slid back down his length and did it again.
“Phryne, I’m going to—” he pulled lightly at her hair, drawing his hips back, but she moved a hand to his arse to hold him in place. Meeting his eyes, she nodded slightly, then sucked hard as she pulled back from him again. She loved to watch men come apart while she pleasured them, and Jack was no exception. His face, usually so composed, had blushed red, and he’d caught his lower lip between his teeth. He watched her with hooded eyes as she slicked down his length again, and when her hand dropped to cup and fondle his balls, squeezing them softly as she continued to work his shaft with her mouth, he moaned. She could feel his thigh tensing against her forearm, and she readied herself—when she pushed down his length to take the head of his cock to the back of her throat, swallowing to massage it with her throat muscles, he went over, his hands clenching in her hair and stomach muscles contracting. She slid back a little, drinking him down in greedy gulps, and then licking around him until his shaking stopped.
Standing, she pressed herself against him and brought her mouth to his. This was a test that had eliminated further contact with a few past lovers—she believed that if a man couldn’t take the taste of his own semen in her kiss, he didn’t deserve to have her suck his cock. Jack passed with flying colors, licking his tongue into her mouth and wrapping her in his arms, one hand dropping to her ass and the other keeping her upper body pressed to his.
Turning them, he hitched her up onto the bed, then pulled away, his hands on her hips tugging at her knickers to pull them off, leaving her stockings in place. She kicked off her golden shoes and snaked backward on the bed, but he grasped her hips and pulled her back almost to the edge. Realizing his intention, Phryne lifted one leg to press her heel into the mattress, and stretched the other wide, exposing her dripping sex to the cool air of the room.
It was Jack’s turn to lick his lips, and he knelt down beside the bed, his hands sliding under her bottom. He pressed his mouth to her inner thigh, kissing and licking his way up to the tendon that connected her thigh to her mons, where he sucked lightly. Phryne whimpered, her hips shifting in his hands, and he gripped her buttocks to keep her still. With a glance up at her—her eyes were closed, and she had stretched one hand above her head and placed the other on her breast—he moved over to wrap his lips around her clit, suckling at the nubbin of flesh. Phryne’s whimper became a keen, and Jack dropped to press his tongue inside her body, swiveling and swirling as he licked up her juices. Shifting one hand, he licked back up to her clit, pressing two fingers into her as he did. His other hand came around under her thigh to press against her pelvis, keeping her writhing hips in place as he nibbled and licked, pumping into her with his fingers. She slid her thigh over his shoulder, her silk-wrapped heel digging into his back, and he could feel the muscles of her leg quivering against the side of his neck. Adding a third finger to the two, he began curling them slightly on each pull, thrusting in, then dragging out.
Phryne’s awareness narrowed down to Jack’s hands and mouth between her legs, his palm pressing lightly at the top of her mound, his fingers slicking in and out of her body, and his lips sucking and nibbling at her clitoris. She twisted her nipple strongly, her shoulders pressing from side to side against the bed as she felt an orgasm approaching. When she realized that she was chanting his name—“Jack, Jack, Jack, JackJackJackJaaaack!”—it was as if the dam burst. Pleasure shot through her, stiffening her muscles and drawing a wail from her chest. Jack stayed where he was as she rode the aftershocks, his fingers still pumping gently between her legs, his head up and watching her as she arched against the bed. When her shaking subsided, he stood, and she saw that he was hard again.
“Do you have a French letter?” His voice was rough and his eyes were hot.
She gestured weakly to the table beside the bed, and he turned to open the drawer. It held a small black clamshell case and a box of French letters. This must be her room, he realized. And she’d brought him here to change? He pulled a packet from the box, unwrapped it, and rolled it over his cock. Phryne watched him, her muscles lax. When he was sheathed, he moved back over to where she still lay, sideways on the bed, her legs dangling. He tilted his head at her and smiled slightly—oh, that expression got her every time—before he grasped her hips and flipped her over. With a small “oh!” Phryne wiggled down a little until she could get her feet under her, raising herself up on her elbows, and nudging her bottom toward him. Jack stroked her arse and up her back, then positioned his feet between hers, nudging hers out a little to give himself a bit more room.
He entered her in one hard thrust, his hands on her hips, and Phryne’s breath came out in a gust. She dropped her head against the mattress, the feel of his hard length impaling her enough to give her another tiny orgasm. And then he began to pump against her, withdrawing almost all the way, then pushing hard back in, over and over. She wished she could see his face, knowing that his concentration on the motions of his body would be incredibly erotic. When he sped up, it took a moment for them to find a rhythm, her hips pulling and pushing against him as he pushed and pulled against her. But find it they did, until Jack lifted one knee to press into the mattress, pushing her thigh up and out to the side. He continued to thrust into her, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his fingers pulling and pinching at her nipples. She felt his mouth touch her neck, his tongue lapping at her, and she lifted one arm to grasp his head to pull him closer. He reached to kiss her mouth, and then she was turning, his hard cock falling out of her as she rolled to her back.
Without taking his mouth from hers, Jack climbed all the way up onto the bed, then reached between them to position his cock and push into her again; Phryne raised her knees to his waist as he began to pound into her. Their mouths remained connected for a long moment, Jack’s tongue pressing in and out in a rhythm identical to that of his hips. When he broke the kiss it was to drop his mouth to meet his hand on her breast, his tongue on her nipple causing Phryne’s fingers to flex in his hair. She pushed against him to roll again, both of them this time, so that she was straddling Jack. Sitting up, she continued their rhythm, her hips rising and falling against him; he pushed himself up too, one hand flat on the mattress, and went back to her breasts, alternating his kisses between them. Phryne slid her hands up to his nipples, pulling and twisting them, and he bucked his hips with a shout, shuddering against her; she ground down against the pulses of his orgasm, her clit rubbing hard against the base of his cock and sending her over as well.
Phryne collapsed against Jack, whose bracing hand had failed him, and he brought both arms up to hold her against his chest, his softening penis still snugly within her body. Their mouths met, but tenderly now, and Jack stroked her back with his warm hands. When they could move, Phryne rolled off of Jack, her hand catching the base of the condom to make sure it stayed on, and Jack reached down to take over. He laughed quietly.
“Even your hand on me right now won’t get us going again,” he rumbled at her, and she was relieved to see that the stricken look from earlier in the evening had been replaced by a quietly wry smile.
“I think that was definitely worth taking the moment, though, don’t you?” She smiled at him as he got up to dispose of the condom, then rose herself, searching for her knickers. She found them draped over the end of the bed and wandered over to the washbasin to clean herself up before putting them on. Jack joined her, wiping his face and his body down, his eyes smiling at her.
“Definitely worth it,” he said softly, then sobered. “Thank you, Phryne.”
“That’s what friends are for, Jack,” she said softly, laying a hand on his chest. He laughed at that, and she smiled up at him.
“Do you feel better?” Her eyes were bright and warm as she looked at him.
“I do,” he replied. “Should we go make an appearance at this party?”
“Mmm, probably,” she patted him lightly before turning away. “Would you help me back into my dress?”
With a laugh, he did, and he was almost dressed himself, absentmindedly donning his blue wool suit again, when Phryne found the envelope on the bedside table and the frantic search for Jane began.