Chapter Text
It was late at night, and the station was quiet. Jack was working his way through the paperwork necessitated by his most recent case. He worked as quickly as he could, because these days, finishing up meant that he could go home to Phryne, and he was eager to do that. The two of them still had separate residences, but Jack wasn’t using his much. He was feeling more and more at home at 221B, and he liked it that way. He liked being there, in Phryne’s bed, when she came home from a night out with her friends; she came home to him, often tipsy, and she’d usually take advantage of his presence there. He liked waking up with her, or at least, waking up next to her while she slumbered on. He liked breakfasting in the kitchen with Mr Butler and Jane before he headed out to start his workday. Occasionally, he and Hugh Collins would ride together to work, having met in the kitchen as Hugh brought his Dorothy to the house for the day.
Jack wondered whether he should continue to keep his flat. He knew that Phryne was unlikely to marry, but he was content with their current arrangement. He supposed that having his flat looked good politically; at his rank, it was important for him to present a morally sound face to the world, but eventually, it might become cumbersome to pretend to live apart from his life. On the other hand, it was convenient to have a completely private space to which he and Phryne could retire for an evening or a weekend. Her staff was wonderful, but it was sometimes nice to get away. He’d have to think about it, and talk with Phryne.
As Jack applied himself to his paperwork—almost finished—he paid little attention to the soft nighttime sounds of the station. The constable at the desk, a Daniel Johnson (Hugh Collins had gone home to his wife at the end of his shift), moved around that area, taking care of his responsibilities, and sometimes there was a cry or a snore from the holding cells that was loud enough to carry. But in general, it was quiet. So quiet that when he heard the clip-clop of high heels on the wood floor, he looked up, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.
“Hello, constable,” Jack heard Phryne say, and his mouth curled up in pleasure. “No, don’t get up, I’ll just go right on in.” And then she was in his doorway, lovely in a red-spangled dress and matching red high-heeled mary janes, a feathered fascinator bright against her night-dark hair. “Hello, Jack,” she said, pausing in the doorway to smile at him.
“Miss Fisher,” he said, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, stepping in and pulling the door closed behind her. He heard the faint snick of the lock, and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh? And what would that be?” Jack sat up in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. She was definitely up to something, and he knew that whatever it was, he’d likely be equal parts thankful and mortified by the time she was done. Especially since she obviously had designs on his office.
“Well,” she drawled, dropping her black shawl over the back of the chair across his desk before moving to the other door. She quietly closed it as well, and he heard the lock engage. “I’ve been thinking about some of the naughty thoughts you’ve shared with me since we became lovers.”
“Have you?” Jack swallowed, running those conversations back through his mind. How many of his fantasies had been set in this office? Several. He wondered which one she had in mind. He shifted a little in his seat as he felt himself becoming aroused. He hoped that Constable Johnson was discreet, and not easily shocked.
“Yes,” she purred, stepping back around his desk to drop into his guest chair, leaning back against her shawl.
Jack tilted his head at Phryne, trying to read her mind. She tilted her head back at him, smiling slightly. Her eyes flicked down to his desk, then back up to his. Smirking, Jack rose. He knew which fantasy she had in mind now. He moved around the desk to perch there, hands at his sides, lightly grasping the desk’s edge. Phryne’s smile grew. Positioning herself in the chair directly in front of him, she pulled close, nudging his feet aside so that she could sit between them.
Eyes on Jack’s, Phryne placed her hands on his knees and slowly stroked her way up his thighs. She paused to press her hands against his groin, fingers grasping at his rapidly hardening length through the fabric of his trousers. Jack caught his breath; the feel of her hands on his cock as her eyes never left his was electric. He held her gaze, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Phryne mirrored the gesture as, with a small squeeze, she swept her hands up to his trouser fastenings and began, slowly, to release them.
When she reached into his trousers and smalls, Jack’s mouth fell open, his breathing growing heavier. Her gloved hands were soft, parting his shirttails to get to his skin, and scooping beneath his balls to pull them out along with his cock. Finally, her eyes dropped from his to what she had revealed, and she leaned forward to breathe a warm gust over him, fingers massaging gently. Jack’s hands contracted on the edge of the desk as he watched her. Phryne’s red-painted lips opened and she drew him into her mouth; the sight was erotic enough in itself to cause Jack’s stomach muscles to contract in reaction. He’d imagined this—no flesh-to-flesh contact between them but for her mouth on his cock—but her breath was far hotter than he had anticipated, and the slide of her tongue around his glans proved to be more detail than he’d allowed himself in fantasy. He moaned lightly, biting his lips together to keep the sound muffled.
Phryne could feel that Jack was enjoying this; she was enjoying the anticipation of making him come apart. The feel of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue, and the weight of him against her gloved hands combined into a single experience that had her clenching her thighs to keep her own arousal in check. Pulling more of him into her mouth, Phryne angled her head up to look at Jack. He was staring down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, lips pressed hard together, cheeks reddened. As she watched, he shuddered, and one of his hands left the edge of the desk to slide into her hair and clutch the back of her head. She swirled her tongue around him just so and his jaw clenched.
Phryne began to move, drawing her head back, then pressing forward again to take him deep into her throat. Flattening the hand she held beneath him, she slid her fingers into his trousers, pressing two of them to the smooth strip of skin behind his testicles while lightly rolling and pressing his balls with her palm and thumb. Each movement of her head was slow and smooth, her tongue swirling to increase the lubricant and decrease the friction. When she had him good and wet, she picked up the pace a bit, swallowing with each plunge onto him to massage his head with the muscles of her throat. When his second hand moved from the desk to the back of her neck, she knew he was almost there.
Jack could feel the shout of climax building in his throat. He knew that he could not allow it to escape, for fear that the constable just outside the door would decide to come and effect a rescue that Jack definitely didn’t need. He ground his teeth together, unable to smother the “unnnhhh” that echoed deep in his chest as Phryne did a particularly nimble thing with her tongue. Although he knew his fingers in her hair were gripping tightly, he managed to keep his arm and elbow loose to allow her to set the pace. He placed his second hand on the back of her neck, and the feel of the muscles there moving smoothly against his palm was hypnotic. When she raked her bottom teeth softly up the length of him as she withdrew, though, that hand flew up to cover his mouth—he needed the extra muffling to cover her name as he came gloriously hard.
When Jack was spent, Phryne withdrew, licking her lips delicately as she tucked Jack back into his pants, lipstick stains and all, and did up the fastenings. It amused her that he had come so hard, but he appeared just as buttoned up as he had been when she arrived. Standing, Phryne leaned into Jack and raised her mouth to his. He pulled her close and kissed her, relishing the taste of her mouth flavored with his own essence. Eventually, he broke the kiss.
“You are a very bad influence on me, Miss Fisher,” he growled.
“It was your fantasy, darling Jack!” she teased, her eyes sparkling.
He grinned in response. “Actually, I hope you’re planning to use that influence on me for quite some time.”
“I think I could cope with that,” she said, and she kissed him again. Pulling away, she drew out a compact to check the state of her face. She ran her fingers over her hair to smooth it, checking the positioning of her fascinator, and reapplied her lipstick. Jack watched her, hands loosely grasping the edge of the desk again, a small smile on his lips. When she was satisfied that she was ready to be seen, she picked up her shawl and swirled it around herself before moving to the door to unlock it.
“I’ll see you at home later, inspector,” she said, winking at him and blowing a kiss across her gloved palm before she swept out of his door.
I look forward to it, my love, Jack thought. And he went back to his paperwork, smiling.