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With a Touch of Your Lips

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When they kiss, the taste of Phryne's mouth is more intoxicating than the champagne they were just having. It's only a short kiss, but already Jack is breathless, still pressed against her. Her hands are still holding unto his jacket and Jack dares to believe he is not the only one affected.

Then she moves to kiss him again and Jack is happy to oblige, leaning closer to her, a hand cradling her face, the other one on her waist and he does shiver when she teases his lips open with the tip of her tongue, to deepen the kiss, for him to move his hand from her face to the back of her neck. Her hair feels like silk against his hand.

This kiss lasts longer than the first one and when they break apart this time and he's not the only one at a loss. Phryne looks at him in the soft wonder she sometimes has, an almost smile upon her eyes for a moment before her irremediable, irreplaceable wit catches up on her. Her smile promises wicked things even as she leans more heavily against him and Jack knows he's doomed.

"Cat got your tongue, inspector?"

"Is that your middle name now?" he teases instead.

He's rewarded with surprising delight in her everblue eyes and then the bright sound of her laughter as she throws her head back and laughs out loud, far too loud for the hour. But then she's still in his arms and Jack can't quite bring himself to think about propriety.

"Meow," Phryne murmurs against his lips before she's stepping out of his arms.

Before he can stop her, to ask her to come back, she just moves to take his hand, twining her fingers with his.

"Come with me, Jack?"

And it's likely a terrible idea, something completely out of sorts and absolutely nonsensical but--

"Of course," he says, following Phryne, because even the nonsensical is the only thing that makes sense with her.