Chapter Text
“Phryne...”
The lady in question was not pleased to hear her name being softly murmured from somewhere beside her left ear, as she was at that moment deeply and happily asleep, the only time in that entire day that she had been particularly happy.
“Phryne... Phryne...”
“Mmm?” Phryne dragged her head up from its cozy place among the pillows and blinked to clear the shadows from her eyes. It didn’t work. In fact, her bedroom was completely dark.
The thought wafted through her bleary semi-conscious brain that her companion of the night apparently talked in his sleep. Or moaned in his sleep.
She groaned and prepared to kick What’s-his-name to shut him up... and then she abruptly remembered what his name was.
Phryne pushed up quickly on her hands. “Jack?” she whispered. “Are you all right?” She couldn't see his face, but his silhouette in the dim light from the street lamps outside was clear enough. He was tense under the blankets, trembling. “Jack?” She twisted onto her side and reached out carefully to feel his forehead. Her first thought was that he was about to vomit; Jack could match her drink for drink on most evenings, but four whiskey cocktails in quick succession (according to Mr. Butler) and then a sherry glassful of her father’s nerve tonic, all on an empty stomach, would undo a man made of sterner stuff than Jack Robinson, if such a man existed.
She gently bumped her fingers against the side of his head and smoothed her hand through his hair. “Jack darling?”
“Oh, Phryne...” His legs twitched beneath the blankets, and the shoulder and arm beside Phryne tensed and slacked.
Phryne blinked. “Oh dear,” she murmured, fighting a smile. So that’s what’s happening. The poor man. She pressed a gentle kiss to his hair, eliciting a tiny whimper, and then snuggled down next to him, stroking his arm.
“Phryne...”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Phryne... Oh God... Phryne, yes... so good...”
She closed her eyes and tried to guess exactly what he was seeing. She wouldn’t have dreamed of touching him when he was in such a state, but she had an active imagination of her own. Was he picturing her with her hands around his not-at-all-insubstantial manhood? From what she had seen when she undressed him, she would definitely need both hands... Or perhaps she was using her mouth?
Absently, Phryne flicked her tongue over her lips and hummed thoughtfully.
“Oh, Jesus fuck, Phryne...”
Definitely my mouth. And speaking of mouths, Jack Robinson, yours is delightfully filthy... But oh, to have the smooth dark head of his cock, slick with pre-cum and spit, sliding between her lips and over her tongue... it was a very pleasing idea. She dipped her head and hummed gently in his ear.
“God, Phryne, I'm... please... let me, please...”
She flicked his earlobe with the tip of her tongue and then bit it softly. “Come for me, Jack.”
Jack’s body went rigid against her as his climax forced the breath from his body. “Oh God, Phryne... Oh my God...”
Smiling sleepily, Phryne threw an arm over his chest and nestled her face in the little hollow between his head and shoulder. “All right now, darling?”
“Mmm... good... love you, Phryne...”
A year ago, a man saying he loved her would have sent Phryne into damage control mode. It was nothing, of course, just a post-coital platitude, and an unconscious one at that. But then, it was also Jack.
She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and promised herself that she would be dressed and out of the room before he woke. “I love you, too. Sleep well, darling.”