[For Jack] A post-Valentine's nightcap

[st_illunsmeared]

Still in the grip of yesterday's affliction, Phryne retired early and dismissed Dot for the evening. Distress in no small part due to not having been able to find a rational cause for the lust outbreak, she sought to distract herself with a mystery novel. But the inspector had none of Jack's cleverness or finesse, and she soon found herself wandering aimlessly from one room of her suite to the next.

That was the other part of the distress, she was woman enough to admit. Jack. It had hurt unbelievably to see him kiss another woman. Even knowing the truth of why, the mental image made her chest ache and her jaw clench. It was uncomfortable for more reasons than one.

"Fie," she muttered, turned on her heel and called room service (which usually amounted to one of the bartenders cashiering the nearest available person to roll the cart to her room).

An hour, a cocktail, and a long soak later found her draped over her sitting room couch with another novel (this one with a female sleuth) and another cocktail, dressed to please herself and no one else.

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[st_illunsmeared]

The boldness of it drew a soft gasp from her lips and her finger-grip tightened against his neck and shoulder. Her darling Jack might be restrained, but it took nothing more than the heat of his mouth on her skin to set her alight.

"You forgive my unseemly display of jealousy, then?" she teased, voice low and throaty with desire, as her fingers stole around to loosen his tie.

[st_illunsung]

"Most definitely." Another man, at another time, might have returned a joke in kind, possibly something along the lines of 'this time' or 'don't let it happen again', but Jack didn't even consider it, and not only because Phryne's pulse under his mouth was enough to drain most thoughts out of his head. She'd been serious truly serious, and genuinely upset: any joke would remind her of her past or her fear.

But mostly, it was soft, warm skin that occupied him.

[st_illunsmeared]

Of the many things Phryne appreciated about her dear Inspector was his perspicacity. He, more than anyone she'd ever known, understood her occasional need for careful handling. Oh, she would deny it, if anyone spoke the words aloud, but she had no illusions concerning how high-strung she could be.

She said nothing of the sort, as his mouth on her skin promptly demanded her attention to far more pleasant matters--including the silk of his tie slipping through her fingers as she pulled it off, the warmth of his skin behind the buttons and cotton of his shirt, the strength of his body separated from her by only two layers of silk. Between her efforts to rid him of his shirt and his to rid her of her sanity, her head swam deliciously. "Darling man..." she breathed out on a decadently sensual sigh.