Her orgasm—the most intense of them all—erupted in her soul. A paroxysm of pleasure that sheared through her, crashed through her, tore her apart and made her again.
She clung to him, her pussy a throbbing pulse around his rapid thrusts, her cries wordless sounds of surrender to the absolute pleasure he gave her.
“I fucking love you, Jorja,” he growled, eyes ablaze with the very emotion as he buried his hand in the hair at her nape. “For fucking ever.”
And then, nostrils flaring, jaw bunched, a strangled groan tore from him and he slammed into her, his rhythm wild, erratic, his eyes squeezing shut as he came.
His orgasm claimed his whole body, great shudders vibrating through his muscles. Jorja felt it radiate into hers, a sublime force of pleasure she never wanted to be without. Their pleasure.
She held him as he spilled his seed inside her. Rode the waves of her own orgasm as he buried his face into the side of her neck, his lips hot as he told her over and over again he loved her, he loved her.
Surrendered to him, even as he surrendered to her.
A lifetime later—or maybe only a few moments, Jorja didn’t know or care—his savage thrusts grew still. Another lifetime after that, he raised his head from the side of her neck and feathered his thumb over her bottom lip.
“I love you, Jorja Jones,” he murmured with a boyish grin that almost fell on the side of sheepish, his spent cock still deep within her heat, “Just in case you weren’t sure.”
She laughed, a wave of joy and delight washing over her. “Is that what you were trying to tell me just now?”
He chuckled, smoothing his powerful arms around her waist and drawing their bodies closer together. “It was. That and the fact I have a cure for your stiff neck.”
Jorja cocked an eyebrow, the knotted tension in her neck long forgotten. “Good sex and multiple orgasms?”
He shook his head. “Fucking incredible sex and multiple orgasms. With me. Only with me.”
And as if to prove his point, he went and gave her multiple orgasms all over again. Via the most incredible fucking sex Jorja had ever had. Wild, sweaty, untamed sex.
Just the way she liked it.
* * *
The distinctive sounds of a dinner party filled her living room.
The chink of crystal glasses coming together as intimate toasts and secretive pacts were made, the tinkle of laughter and snickers of gossipy giggles.
Jorja stood on the balcony of her home, elbows resting on the railing, Sydney Harbour to her back, and watched the women of her social circle as they interacted with each other in their own particular form of power-playing. It was a dance, as such; one she both cherished and found humorous.
One she gladly was a part of, even as she questioned her right to be there. She was, after all, just a WAG, even if her body was currently wrapped in an exquisite Alexander McQueen LBD, and Tiffany diamonds graced her earlobes, neck and wrists.
Still, this was her dinner party, the first Double D dinner of the year, and she couldn’t be happier with the way it was going.
“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Meagan pointed out beside her, a note of relaxed humour in her voice.
Jorja shot her friend a quick look. “Do I?”
Meagan grinned. “You do.”
Jorja turned back to the view of the women in her living room. Two weeks had passed since Mud invited Brett Bartowski into their home. Two weeks since he’d damn near thrown him out again.
In those two weeks, he’d spent almost every waking minute making sure she was a puddle of sated rapture. It was as if he couldn’t exist without being inside her body, or hearing her moaning pleas of pleasure.
She wasn’t going to argue.
And yet, that afternoon of fourteen days ago still haunted her. Not because of the fact that for one brief moment Brett’s thumbs had brushed her pussy, but because of the enigmatic emotion she’d seen in Mud’s eyes at the start of it all.
An emotion she didn’t think she’d see again.
But she had. Every day since.
What did it mean?
Scanning her guests, she wondered what they’d make of her conflicted thoughts. Nella was always so poised and refined. Would it shock her to know what Mud had done? Most likely. She was the veteran of the group, almost its founding member. Would she be mortified that Jorja had allowed it to happen? Would she continue to interact with Jorja in a social environment?
“JJ?”
Meagan’s soft whisper tickled her ear. She hmmm’d, her thoughts playing over the reaction of her guests at the state of her relationship. Would Virginia be disparaging, given she was firmly entrenched in a loving relationship that clearly had no room for outsider-stimulation? Would Christa, no doubt regaling Virginia with bliss-filled recounts of her bliss-filled marriage?
Jorja studied the immaculately dressed women, both different and yet similar. Both affluent and yet at the same time grounded. Would they look at her with distaste if they knew she’d let another man touch her, just because Mud invited him to?
Did she care?
“JJ?” Meagan nudged her shoulder. “You’ve got that look on your face again. The one that makes people nervous.”
Jorja frowned, even as she caught sight of Willow, Darla and Lana glancing her way. She’d been distant tonight with all of them. Less…talkative. That simple fact probably made most there breathe a sigh of relief. She wasn’t known for her subtlety when it came to speaking her mind, after all. And with the way Lana was going on and on about her latest toyboy, everyone there was probably waiting for Jorja to say something cutting.
She hadn’t.
In fact, she’d pretty much stood out here on the balcony, the balmy summer evening breeze playing with her bare arms and legs, and pondered the ambiguous expression on Mud’s face as the catering staff waited on her guests. An expression she couldn’t decipher no matter how many times she saw it swimming in his eyes. An expression that scared her as much as it excited her.
No wonder the curious glances from the other women.
Hell, even Camilla was casting puzzled looks in her direction, cowering by Sienna’s side as if scared Jorja was going to cut her to shreds with her words, something Jorja did often. It wasn’t that Jorja didn’t like the newest member of the group, it was just that she reminded Jorja too much of the vacuous infant with double Ds her father abandoned his family for a lifetime a—
“JJ,” Meagan muttered, jerking her back from the bleak thought, “you really need to tell me what’s going on. Or at least turn around and look at the harbour for a moment. You’ve gone from canary-devouring smug to stiff ice queen in a nanosecond. To be honest, it’s kinda scary. You look like you need a massage or something.”
At Meagan’s declaration, a prickling rush of heat flooded Jorja’s cheeks.
“Are you blushing?” her friend gasped at her side. “Oh my God, JJ, are you actually blushing?”
Spinning on her heel, Jorja turned her back on her guest, fixing her stare on the dark waters of Sydney Harbour beyond the railing. She gripped the stem of her wine glass, her belly knotting.
“Okay, woman.” Meagan bumped her shoulder again, stunned laughter in her voice. “You’re keeping secrets from me. What are they? Spill. Before I turn around and invite Camilla over here to join—”
“JJ?”
At the deep male voice, uttered loud enough it carried all the way to where Jorja stared hard at the harbour, the room behind her fell silent.
At her side, Meagan let out a soft, “Oh, wow…”
“Turn around and look at me, JJ,” the new arrival commanded.
Jorja’s heart thumped into her throat. Her belly clenched. Her pussy contracted.
Why was he here? He was meant to be on a pre-season training session up the coast. The whole team was, managers, coaches, medical crew, the lot. So why was he—
“Now,” Mud ordered, the dominating arrogance of the word belied by a nervous apprehension
Jorja knew only she would detect. After all, who would ever expect Daniel Hiddleston to be apprehensive? Who would believe the man more feared on the rugby field than any other could ever be nervous about anything? Let alone asking his girlfriend to do something as simple as face him?
Pulling a slow breath, Jorja raised her chin and pivoted on the heel of her Jimmy Choos.
And then swallowed a silent gasp.
He stood in the middle of their living room, dressed in training shorts, a torn Australian Kangaroos tank and footy boots, smeared in mud and grass stains. His hair was in disarray, blades of grass matted in its dirty-blond strands. Dry blood crusted a nasty scrape on his right cheek.
“Mud?” She frowned, trying to process the sight of him. The animalistic, manly sight of him. “What are you…why aren’t you…”
Her friends stared at him. No one said a word.
Taking a step toward her, Mud clenched his jaw. “There’s something I have to…I have to tell you, JJ. It can’t wait.”
She raised her eyebrows, even as her tummy churned. “I think it can, Daniel. You’re interrupting my—”
Her rebuff died on her lips as he lowered himself down onto one knee, his stare fixed on her face. “No, Jorja,” he declared. “It can’t.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed harder in her chest.
Holding her gaze with his, he extended his hands toward her, holding out something small and black and box-like.
“I’ve been carrying this around for months now, JJ,” he said, that same nervous apprehension in his voice. “Waiting for the perfect time to ask the question. Petrified you’d say no. Tonight, during training drills, as I was getting my head rammed into the ground by the half-back from hell, I realised the perfect time was every second of every day and so I ran off the field and came straight here.”
He paused. For the length of time it took Jorja’s heart to thump twice like a cannon in her chest.
“Because I love you so much it fucking hurts to breathe, it hurts to live and I don’t want it any other way but that way. For the rest of our life.”
He stopped. Extended his hands and the black box-like something towards her. A part of her brain noticed his knuckles were smeared with dirt a second before he opened the box-like something and her whole brain forgot everything but what he’d revealed to her.
The most exquisite square-cut diamond solitaire engagement ring she’d ever seen.
“Will you marry me, Jorja Jones?” he asked, hope and fear and open love in his eyes. “Will you—”
Jorja held up her hand, silencing him.
He didn’t move. Around him, the eager witnesses of his proposal gaped at her. At Mud. At her again.
“JJ?” Meagan whispered at her side, stunned shock turning her name to an incredulous gasp. “What the hell are you—”
“Party’s over,” Jorja declared, keeping her stare fixed on Mud, kneeling on their two thousand dollar rug with his mud-smeared knee and boots. “Time for everyone to leave. Feel free to take a doggy bag on your way out.”
Mud watched her. Everyone watched her.
No one moved.
Letting out a harsh sigh, she rammed her hands on her hips and turned her pointed stare on her dumbstruck friends. “It’s time to go, people. Now. Unless you plan to watch me strip naked and fuck my fiancé into a heady stupor, that is. And I prefer you didn’t. Once you’ve all seen just how fucking incredible he truly is, you’ll all want a piece of him.”
She returned her gaze to Mud and spread her lips in a slow, filthy smile.
“And there is no fucking way I’m ever going to share him with anyone. Ever.”
You’ve just finished Jorja in the Escape Publishing, Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives continuity. I hope you enjoyed it!
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ISBN: 9780857992055
Title: Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives—Jorja
Copyright © 2015 by Lexxie Couper
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