Jorja

by Lexxie Couper

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Jorja

  Lexxie Couper

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Jorja

  Lexxie Couper

  From the hottest writers in Australia comes a scintillating new series. Enter the world of Sydney’s elite, and find out what goes on behind the doors of the most exclusive addresses in the country…

  Meet the Housewives of Sydney. They are wealthy, elegant, poised, and constantly in the public eye. But what goes on behind closed doors, in the private homes and parties where the cameras and paparazzi aren’t welcome? Delve into the most personal details of their relationships, their friendships and their lives. The only question is: can you handle the heat?

  Rugged, athletic, and absolutely enormous, Mud is aggressive on the rugby field and off. It takes a special kind of woman to tame the beast and take on all that man, but Jorja has never been anything less than exceptional. But something is going on inside her warrior man, something that she can’t see or reach or touch. She has always been the one able to get through and bring him down, so why does she feel like everything is slipping away?

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives

  Reading order:

  1. Virginia—Rhian Cahill

  2. Lana—Cate Ellink

  3. Nella—Cathleen Ross

  4. Sienna—Tamsin Baker

  5. Jorja—Lexxie Couper

  6. Meagan—Shona Husk

  7. Christa—Keziah Hill

  8. Emma—Viveka Portman

  9. Willow—Christina Phillips

  10. Camilla—Mel Teshco

  11. Darla—Tracey O’Hara

  About the Author

  Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six and hasn’t stopped since. She’s not a deviant, but she does have a deviant’s imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get erotic romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear or tremble with desire. Sometimes all at once.

  When she’s not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie’s life revolves around her family, a husband who thinks she’s insane, an indoor cat who likes to stalk shadows, and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever.

  Contact Lexxie at lexxie@lexxiecouper.com, follow her on Twitter http://twitter.com/lexxie_couper or visit her at www.lexxiecouper.com where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank the awesome Kate Cuthbert for letting me run amok with her idea. I know my WAG wasn’t essentially the WAG she was expecting, but she loved her anyway.

  And to the other Secret Confessions authors? I love how naughty you all are. xoxo

  For those of us who could never ever be considered wealthy…

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Episode 5—Jorja

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Episode 5—Jorja

  A man full of pent-up testosterone, Jorja decided—not for the umpteenth time—is a dangerous man.

  And a sexy one.

  Wiping the sweat from his face, her boyfriend—a man currently very full of pent-up testosterone—killed the six thousand dollar treadmill’s power and fixed her with a hungry look.

  Jorja squeezed her thighs together and shifted a little on the stool beside the balcony railing, from where she watched him.

  Crowned by the fawning national sports media with the nickname Mud, Daniel Hiddleston wiped his gleaming face again, stepped off the treadmill and stalked towards her.

  She pressed her thighs together once again, her sex growing tight.

  She knew what he wanted.

  Mud barely survived the off-season of the NRL without losing it at least once. The captain of the Australian Rugby League team, as well as the captain of the national premiers for the last two years, Mud struggled to control the latent adrenaline and aggression in his veins. The inability to push himself to physically impossible levels during the summer months drove him to a brink Jorja found terrifying. When he was consumed with the urge to unleash the primitive animal hell-bent on destroying his on-field rivals, he sought out relief in one way, and one way only.

  Through the complete and utter sexual domination of her body.

  Watching him prowl towards her now—for there could be no other word to describe the way he moved from their personal gym to the granite-paved balcony, Jorja felt her pulse quicken.

  Her pussy contracted again.

  That she sat outside, where anyone with a camera and a zoom lens could capture every moment of what was to come, didn’t faze Mud at all. When he wanted her, he took her.

  And she could see, by the way his nostrils flared and his light blue stare devoured her bikini-clad body, he wanted her.

  God, it turned her on.

  He stopped only when his stomach—a sculpted six-pack Jorja loved to explore with her tongue and lips—brushed her knees.

  She met his hungry stare, knowing her Oroton sunglasses hid from him the fear and excitement in her eyes. Her nipples pebbled inside the skimpy twin triangles of her Fendi bikini top, an exquisite agony spearing though her from their hardened form. Her breath slipped from her in shallow pants. The budget report from her latest celebrity fundraising social event sat forgotten on her iPad. She’d been kidding herself trying to maintain focus on it anyway. When Mud worked out, it was all she could do not to bury her fingers into her slick pussy and ride her hand to release.

  There was a reason women constantly threw themselves at her boyfriend and it had little to do with his sporting status in Australia and a lot to do with the way he looked. With the virile sexuality he exuded. Like a barely tamed animal ready to fuck, to dominate, to enslave…to devour his prey.

  A shiver rippled down Jorja’s spine and she sucked in a soft gasp.

  “You’re sweaty,” she stated, trying to project an air of repulsed indifference.

  The ruse had no impact. Mud knew the feel of his perspiration-slick skin sliding over hers turned her on, just as he knew she craved his touch.

  Raising his arm, the muscles beneath his damp, glistening skin flexing with sublime perfection, Mud plucked her sunglasses from her face and tossed them over the railing.

  A flash of irritation licked at her mounting arousal. Damn it, they cost three thousand dollars. And the third pair he’d thrown into the waters of Woolloomooloo Bay this week.

  If it weren’t for the fact he took her to sexual heaven over and over after each careless disposal, she’d tell him to stop being so goddamn—

  Before the thought could finish forming in Jorja’s mind, Mud hooked his fingers beneath the edge of her bikini top and yanked the twin black triangles aside.

  Her breasts—small as they were—tumbled free. Her nipples pinched tighter. The hot summer day razed her suddenly exposed flesh, like a branding caress.

  She gasped, staring into Mud’s gaze as, without a word, he cupped each breast with his calloused hands and scraped his thumbs over her nipples.

  “Oh, Daniel…”

  His name fell from her on a shaky moan. His nostrils flared. She only ever called him his full name when he took her like this: forcefully and arrogantly. Like she was his possession.

  He played football the same way: uncompromising, unapologetic, aggressive. It was what made him so feared and revered on the field. What made him the highest paid professional league player the country had ever seen.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you right at this very second, JJ,” he ordered, his deep voice playing with her senses as much as his thumbs played with her nipples.

  She drew a slow, hitching breath. A part of her wanted to check over h
er shoulder, to make sure none of their fellow residents of the exclusive harbourside wharf apartment were outside. Another part, a wanton part, thrilled at the debauched thought.

  She wasn’t an exhibitionist. She was just…his. Oh God, was she his.

  Displeased with her failure to answer, Mud pinched her nipples. “Tell me, JJ,” he commanded, parting her thighs with two firm nudges from his knee. He moved to stand between her spread legs, his sweat-moist hips and waist sliding up the inside length of her thighs until the bulge of his erection—trapped in his workout shorts—rubbed the folds of her pussy through her bikini bottom.

  “Take me inside,” she whispered.

  Her best friend, Meagan, was due to visit within the next hour. Of all the women that Jorja interacted with, the celebrity chef was the least likely to gossip about finding Mud doing wicked things to her body out in public. Jorja, however, wasn’t prepared to take the risk. Meagan was a kindred spirit when it came to the machinations and social power-playing amongst their social circle. A woman less inclined to indulge in her obscene wealth and social status and more inclined to quietly live a “normal” life whenever she could, but Jorja still kept certain facets of her life secret. Including how much she enjoyed surrendering to Mud’s primitive, aggressive possession of her body.

  “What if I want to fuck you out here, JJ?”

  A ripple of concentrated lust travelled up Jorja’s spine at his growled question. He smoothed his hands from her breasts, down her rib cage, over her hips to grip her backside, yanking her closer to his body.

  His rigid cock ground to her sex as she flattened her hands to his chest, his damp chest hairs tickling her palms.

  “What,” he lowered his head until his lips were but a breath from hers, “if I want to make you come right here on this stool?”

  His blue, heavy-lidded stare held her prisoner as surely as his strong fingers kneading her arse cheeks.

  “My face buried between these fucking gorgeous thighs of yours, my tongue buried in your hot, wet—”

  She silenced him with a hungry kiss, crushing her exposed breasts to his sweat-slicked chest, her belly to his sculpted abs, her pussy to his engorged cock.

  He growled into her mouth and fisted his hands in her hair, giving the thick black curtain a punishing tug.

  She’d taken charge of the moment, something she rarely did during off-season. He’d shift the control later, of that she had no doubt, but for now—

  He hauled her off the stool without tearing his lips from hers and carried her into their home.

  Through the living room, past the Steinbach baby grand neither could play, to the six thousand dollar Eames leather sofa chair situated beneath the original Brett Whiteley.

  Without warning, he threw her onto it.

  Her teeth clicked as her butt landed on the smooth cool cushions, her pulse wild in her throat.

  They’d been here before: uninhibited sex after Mud’s morning workout. She knew exactly what was going to happen next. He was going to take her. Use her. And yet there was nothing predictable of it. The very animalistic, aggressiveness of the fucking made her sex constrict with such impatient want it was all she could do not to whimper.

  She gazed up at him, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath she pulled, her nipples hard, her pussy throbbing.

  Watched him slowly move his hands to the waistband of his shorts.

  Watched him slowly, slowly, inch the firm elastic down over his hips.

  His erection sprung upright, finally free of its fabric restraint. The distinct musk of Mud’s body—of his perspiration, his potency, his power—teased her senses.

  Jorja’s mouth filled with saliva. Some women, she knew, would throw up at the thought of going down on the man they loved while he was sweaty. Darla had, at their last dinner party, confessed to fabricating a toothache to avoid giving Julian head when he was less than shower-fresh clean. Jorja, however, loved giving Mud head this way.

  It was dirty and wild and carnal and primitive. All the things she wasn’t with anyone else in her life.

  Anyone.

  At the feather-light touch of fingers to her cheek, she raised her stare from her boyfriend’s cock, finding Mud looking down at her, his expression…ambiguous.

  “JJ…” he whispered, a tension in his voice she’d never heard before. An uncertainty, a hesitancy. “I…”

  The doorbell of their apartment chimed.

  Jorja froze.

  “Fuck,” Mud ground out. He grabbed at the waistband of his shorts and yanked it up, covering his arousal once again.

  Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed toward the front door, his footfalls bouncing around the apartment like angry thunder.

  For a surreal second, barely a heartbeat, the thought of staying exactly where she was—semi-naked with her breasts exposed—played with Jorja’s mind. She didn’t know who had rung the doorbell, most likely it was Meagan, but whoever it was would see exactly what they’d interrupted when Mud opened the door. See and hopefully go away.

  And if it’s a member of the media here to interview Mud? Or one of his teammates? Or the coach of the Australian team? Or someone from the Mended Smiles Foundation board?

  At the notion of someone from her charity organisation seeing her in such an obvious state of sexual disarray, Jorja scrambled upright on the chair and reached for the misplaced triangles of her bikini top.

  A hot spear of pain lanced through her neck, straight up into the base of her skull and down to the middle of her shoulder blades.

  She cried out, a strangled gasp lost to the sound of Mud yanking open the front door.

  “Daniel,” Meagan Bissett’s warm voice filled the room, accompanied by the sounds of Sydney Harbour life beyond the walls of Jorja and Mud’s home. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Yes, actually,” Mud declared, his no-nonsense country drawl undercut by a note of tension. “I was just about to fuck JJ.”

  Jorja snapped to her feet. The twinge in her neck detonated again.

  Another cry fell from her, louder this time. Loud enough to draw Meagan’s attention from the door.

  Her best friend’s eyes widened. Her lips parted into a shocked O.

  Jorja slapped her hands to her breasts, the resulting sting like a hot brand on her flesh. Her nipples, already primed for attention, puckered harder. A sharp twinge shot through her neck again.

  Damn it, she was going to need to get a massage.

  She didn’t have time for a massage.

  She had a dinner party taking place in fourteen days. The first of the year for her immediate circle of friends. Well, friends was a loose definition. Some of the women coming definitely fell on the very…fringes of the term, in Jorja’s opinion, only a part of their group due to the money their partners earned, or the size of the diamonds hanging from their neck and ears and wrists. If the dinner party wasn’t of its normal level of perfection, there were those who would see it as a sign of weakness. Besides, she didn’t want to see that wannabe Emma Ross get all—

  “I really did interrupt you?”

  Jorja blinked, aware Meagan had somehow made it through the living room to standing directly in front of her. A grin pulled at the other woman’s lips, devoid—Jorja noticed—of lipstick or gloss. “I…”

  A blush heated her cheeks. A blush, of all things.

  Meagan’s smile turned to a laugh. “Why did you open the door?”

  “I didn’t. Mud did.”

  “Nice bikini, by the way.”

  At Meagan’s chuckled jibe, Jorja rolled her eyes. Behind her friend, Mud closed the door. His gaze connected with hers, an unreadable emotion in their blue depths before he turned and strode from the foyer, heading towards their bedroom.

  Letting out a wobbly sigh, her body thrumming with denied sexual hunger, her neck and shoulders aching with strained tension, Jorja covered her breasts with the triangles of her bikini top. “Would you like a drink?” she asked Meagan, making
her way to the living room’s well-stocked bar. Neither she nor Meagan drank alcohol through the day but the bar fridge was the best supply of Voss water in the house. And with the way the young women in their immediate social circle paraded around, like they were mocking those above the age of twenty-five with their youthful skin and nubile bodies, not to mention the NRL groupies offering themselves to Mud any chance they could, Jorja figured the best way to attack the inevitable aging process was via hydration.

  Meagan didn’t need to worry about groupies or aging. There were no crazy fans sending her husband knickers in the mail, and she may be thirty-eight but she didn’t look it. Thanks to the weight she’d gained during her last pregnancy—a weight that gave her a healthy cuddle factor, in Jorja’s opinion—she looked gorgeous.

  It wasn’t that Jorja was old or obsessed about her age. At twenty-eight, she was hardly ready for a walking frame or weekly botox, but she wasn’t going to let some little…girl, born in a different decade, ruin her life, the way her mother’s life had been ruined by an upstart with perky boobs and a craving to fuck another woman’s—

  “I’m not staying.”

  Once again, Jorja found herself jerking her attention back to her friend, a frown pulling at her eyebrows.

  What was going on with her today? She wasn’t normally so distracted. Surely it wasn’t just being interrupted before Mud could take her to sexual rapture and back, was it?

  Maybe it was her stiff neck? She really would need to get it seen to. Whether she wanted to or not, she’d need to call a masseuse.

  A sharp clicking noise sounded in front of Jorja’s eyes. She blinked, rubbing at the back of her neck as she frowned at Meagan. “Why not?”

  Meagan raised her elegantly shaped eyebrows. “Hmmm, maybe due to the fact you were a few seconds away from amazing sex with Mud?”

  The question made Jorja aware of the throbbing pressure in her pussy and clit, a hangover from the building pleasure of Mud’s aggressive seduction. She swallowed. “Mud is most likely having amazing sex with his hand right now. And I’m going to have a glass of water. Do you want one? You should get something more from this visit than a perv at my boobs. I have freshly sliced lime.”