While he still needed to play the game, for both of them, this was a chance to let the rest of the word fall away. That was how the games had started. They’d been arguing about the lack of time they had together…things had been said, rings had been thrown off and one thing had led to another.
It hadn’t been makeup sex. It had been rougher than that and he’d had the nail marks to prove it. But afterwards they’d talked and searched the bedroom for the missing rings before putting them back on.
However in that moment they had seen a way out of their dilemma. A way to have more than the late night mid-week fumble in the dark to take the edge off—he still needed that.
The planning, the knowing that the date was drawing close, and that they’d have a whole night with no other responsibilities and no demands…that was powerful. On those nights he’d done things that he would never have done in their bed, in their house.
There were only two rules to the game. One, they had to take their own rings off to show they were ready to start. Two, if either of them said London the game was over.
London was where they’d met. It was a fitting safe word to bring them back to reality and out of the game.
Meagan placed her engagement and wedding ring on the table. Fraser picked them up and slipped them into the pocket of his jacket. They clinked against his ring. In his pocket was another ring in a simple velvet pouch. He’d bought it a while ago, just before Footprint had opened, but they hadn’t had a chance to really be together since then.
She finished his drink. Her eyes bright and an impish smile on her very red lips.
“Ladies don’t drink whiskey.” He took back his glass and signalled for another two. He liked the service in this place. They remembered what you were drinking—particularly when it was triple figures for a glass.
“Good thing I’m not a lady.” Her tongue swiped over her lower lip in a smooth stroke.
He was transfixed for a moment and forgot to breathe. She slid along the booth seat drawing closer to him…but still just out of reach.
The moment he’d first seen her in London he’d needed to get to know her. She hadn’t had time for him because she’d been working. That had impressed him more. So he’d waited until after the function. She’d thought he was joking about wanting to go out, it was two am. But they’d gone to the clubs anyway.
By the time he’d had to return to Australia they had been in love, but she’d had her career to pursue. So he’d done what he could to get her back and cracked open doors with money and connections. After that first hurdle she’d done the rest herself. His name greasing any reluctant wheels. He knew she hated that as much as she loved the options she now had.
Two glasses of whiskey were placed on the table. He picked up one and had a sip. “Good thing I’m not looking for a lady.”
“And what are you looking for?”
He let his gaze drift over her. Her blond hair framed her face and she’d put on makeup and perfume. Now that she was closer every time he breathed he smelled her. He wanted to grab her hand and go, but they had waited this long what were a few more minutes?
“A good time.” He moved closer. “For the right price.” He couldn’t believe he was saying that. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure.
She sipped her whiskey and looked at him. “Got somewhere in mind?”
He nodded. The hotel was booked. He looked away, something was off. He had to step outside the game for a moment. “Is this working for you?”
“Do you feel sleazy?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t even pretend to pay for sex. Apparently he’d found his limit and it wasn’t where he’d thought it would be.
She laughed and slid up next to him, her thigh pressed against his. “Would it help if I told you I had no underwear on and that I’m looking forward to doing everything you ask me to?”
He put his hand on her thigh and drew the silky fabric of her dress up. She didn’t stop him. His fingers brushed the lace on the tops of her stockings. He’d noticed the seams. She’d worn them the last time they’d met here. His fingers inched higher.
She placed her hand over his. “That will cost you.”
He wanted to know if she was telling the truth about not wearing underwear. His body didn’t care about the truth. The idea was enough. She was sitting here allegedly wearing no underwear and he was hard. If there had been no one else in the bar he’d have suggested that she slide under the table—hell he’d slide under the table so he could confirm, or remove, the underwear in question.
He met her gaze. She was having fun with the idea. She wasn’t offended or upset…would there be payback? Quite possibly. She’d flip it on him next time, or when he was least expecting. Tit for tat. It kept things interesting. If she was fine, he could do this.
Fraser lowered his voice. “How much?”
Meagan pressed her lips together and studied him. “Perhaps you are looking for someone who will tell you how to have a good time.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Can you do as you’re told?”
Her breath was warm on his skin, her words soft and tempting.
No. He was used to being in control. “Yes.”
“Good. Then you may move your hand higher.” She lifted her hand off his.
He didn’t wait to be told twice. His fingertips swept up her inner thigh and she parted her legs a fraction. His heart was beating too hard and they hadn’t done anything yet. The tips of his fingers brushed the hair of her pussy.
She really had no panties on. His dick throbbed. He looked at her and she just smiled and picked up her glass. Sneaky and sexy and slutty. This is why he loved her.
She finished the whiskey. “Buy me another drink and I might let you go further.”
He had completely lost control of the game and he wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened…and he didn’t really care. With his free hand he signalled for another drink.
Meagan moved slightly and the wet satin of her pussy touched his fingers. She glanced around, but where they were sitting was reasonably protected. They weren’t going to do anything in public that would get them arrested. They didn’t need that kind of scandal. He waited until the waiter placed the new glass on the table and was walking away, then Fraser dipped his fingers into her, brushed her clit. Her breath hitched. She was so wet. At that moment he wished they were somewhere private because he would be dropping to his knees.
He nuzzled her neck. “I want to taste you.”
“Mmmm. You’re smart…I’m sure you can work out a way to make that happen.”
“We could leave now.” He wanted to get her alone and have her against the wall.
“I just got a new drink.”
She was going to make him wait until she was done. He removed his hand from under her dress and brought his fingers to his lips. He licked one. When he got her back to the hotel room he was going to have her naked and spread on the bed in less than a minute. Screw getting naked…he could just pull her skirt up and lick her until she came and was begging for more.
She watched as he licked a second finger. “I didn’t tell you, you could move your hand.” Then she took a tiny sip of her drink.
“You don’t want to spend all night here.” His hand went under the table and under her dress again. He caressed her clit. “Unless…”He kept going, her breathing quickened. He lowered his voice. “I could make you come, here.”
He kissed her, but it was far tamer than what he was doing beneath the table.
Her fingers brushed the length of his cock. There was far too much fabric between them. “I’ll finish my drink.”
“I’ll pay the tab…if I can have my hand back.” He grinned.
“You can replace it with your tongue at the hotel.”
“I intend to.”
He stood; very glad he was wearing a jacket. He glanced back at her. She was watching him and sipping her drink, but he knew she’d be done by the time he walked back.
They had more money than they needed but it couldn’t buy the time they wanted. Tonight, afterwards, when he put the rings back on her finger, he’d give her the eternity ring in his pocket. But he knew she’d value the time they spent together more than diamonds and gold.
EPISODE 7
Christa
KEZIAH HILL
Christa
Christa Forsyth hurried along the street, desperate to get to the dry cleaners in time to pick up Marc’s best Master of the Universe suit. Then she’d have to brave peak hour traffic to pick him up at the airport.
The late afternoon sun was warm on her skin and a light breeze carried the smell of the sea. She loved this Sydney harbourside suburb. Couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Although her mind was full of suits and cars and Marc, she thanked her lucky stars, and all the gods combined, that she’d made it out of the hot, dry plains of country New South Wales. She loved her family, but a life struggling to make ends meet on the land was not for her.
Instead she’d found Marc and they’d created their unique life.
Even as she hurried, she smiled to herself, wondering if the ladies of the Double D Club knew just how unique her life was. Some them would be scandalised if they knew about the last play date she and Marc had arranged. The Consul General of a small European principality had enthusiastically fucked her in all sorts of satisfactory ways. A man in his prime, all tanned muscles and European civility, he’d bent her over the hotel couch and used his well-sized cock to great effect. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the hotel room while Marc watched, the smoke from his thin cigarillo drifting up in a lazy spiral. She’d turned her head and watched him watching the other man’s cock pound in and out of her and came, hard. She always did.
She stumbled a little and focused on the task ahead. She was the wife of a prominent plastic surgeon who needed his dry cleaning picked up. Fun was for later.
Christa knew Marc would get off the plane with a raggedy beard, scruffy khaki pants and a thousand mile stare. Once she’d accompanied him on one of his surgical trips to Mozambique and found out where that stare came from. She saw the horror of people, many of them children, limbless or with terrible scarring on their face or torsos, waiting for a miracle, for someone like Marc to work his magic and make their lives bearable again.
She’d been so proud of him and so grateful for their life together, she’d returned to Australia with a renewed enthusiasm for the foundation they’d set up, to raise money for doctors who provided surgery in countries for people with no access such expertise. So what if some of her fundraising activities were a little unorthodox? They got results.
She and Marc worked hard to be A-listers, a power couple with access to the movers and shakers in Australia. Christa had no hesitation and no shame in hitting up the rich and powerful for every dollar she could get. It was unfortunate that she’d scheduled a cocktail party for tomorrow night, when Marc might still be in the throes of jet lag, but that couldn’t be helped. Their impossible schedules made any other day out of the question.
“Wait, wait,” she yelled, running as fast as she could on her Louboutins. The dry cleaners were about to close. Effie looked up from where she was struggling with the lock and rolled her eyes, but as always, with a smile.
“Come on then, Ms Forsyth. Just for you. I suppose it’s that gorgeous charcoal grey Armani?”
“Thanks Effie, you’re a life saver,” Christa said, breathless.
As Effie rifled through the plastic-covered suits and dresses in the back room, another woman burst through the door.
“Tell me I’m not too late,” she said, like Christa, breathing hard from running.
Christa smiled, instantly recognising her. Elizabeth Underwood, the CEO of Ozbank, the largest and oldest bank in Australia. She’d only been in the position for three months, her appointment sending shock waves through the business community, not only because she was a woman and relatively young, but also because her of her combined skills of innovation and ruthlessness. The boys’ club had definitely been shaken up. For months Christa had tried to entice her to one of the foundation’s fundraising functions, only to have her make excuses every time. But they’d never actually met, communicating via email.
“I think Effie will make an exception for you,” Christa said. She held out her hand. “I’m Christa Forsyth. We’ve been playing email tag.”
Christa noticed the slight hesitation before the other woman held out her hand.
“Oh, so we have. Good to meet you finally,” she said in an American accent, overlaid with something else Christa couldn’t quite identify.
Her hand in Christa’s was both soft and firm. A strong woman and a stunning woman, Christa registered at the back of her mind. Tall, athletic and stylish. Her blonde hair was held up in a French roll with one wisp artfully falling across her face, softening her icy blue eyes and her executive woman persona. A Nordic Goddess come to earth.
She wore a pale gold silk shirt tucked into dark navy trousers. Discreet gold and diamond sparkled at her ears and matched a diamond pendant around her neck.
Something uncoiled in the pit of Christa’s belly. Something naughty and delighted.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the fundraiser tomorrow. In fact, I’m just on my way to the airport to pick up my husband. He’s been in Mozambique for the last month doing reconstructive surgery in an orphanage.”
Wouldn’t hurt to lay it on thick. Not that it wasn’t true.
“Really?” she said, sounding both guilty and fascinated. “I didn’t know he went himself. I know he’s a plastic surgeon…”
“Yes. When he’s over there he specialises in surgery for children who’ve experienced burns and other disfigurements from land mines. Sometimes also acid burns for women who’ve been abused by their husbands or other male relatives. He does the surgery and I bully people like you into handing over money.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I had no idea. What fabulous work.” She had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “I really shouldn’t have dodged you. If I’d known…”
“You could still come to the cocktail party tomorrow, if you want to. It’s very relaxed. We want people to have a good time too. Sure, I’ll hit you for a contribution, but the experience doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”
Christa couldn’t help a quick glance at the creamy skin of Elizabeth’s neck and cleavage and smiled to herself at the button that pulled, just a little, between the other woman’s round, firm breasts. She could see, very faintly, the outline of her nipples. She shifted her gaze to Elizabeth’s face and thought she saw something glint in her eyes. Some interest that wasn’t just philanthropic.
Well, well. Marc and she hadn’t played with a woman in a while.
But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she just wanted Elizabeth to show some interest in her because Christa’s panties were getting more and more damp at the thought of the Nordic Goddess in her bed. More to the point, in her and Marc’s bed. With Marc watching. Her pulse kicked up.
Elizabeth smiled at her. “When you put it like that, I’ll have to come.”
Effie bustled out of the back room with Marc’s suit and what looked like a cocktail dress for Elizabeth. “I thought that was you, Ms Underwood. Here’s your dress. So beautiful.”
Christa saw a midnight blue sparkly dress under the dry cleaner’s plastic.
“Come to the cocktail party and wear that,” she said impulsively, making it sound like a demand.
Her nipples pebbled at the quick glance and wry smile Elizabeth turned on her.
“I’d love to,” she said.
“Good.”
The two women professed their eternal gratitude to Effie and walked out together in the same direction.
“How are you finding Sydney?” Christa asked. “You’re from the US, aren’t you?”
Elizabeth nodde
d. “Originally from the mid-west, but the last ten years in Brussels, then New York. I love Sydney. It feels like I’ve come home. All that water. My parched mid-west soul is very happy here.” She pushed back the strand of hair falling across her face, which loosened more strands. It suited her, making her look like a dishevelled Mistress of the Universe.
They both turned down an alleyway at the back of the row of shops. It was deserted and dark.
“Here’s my car,” Elizabeth said, stopping near a silver Mercedes roadster.
“Mine’s further up the laneway,” Christa said. She had to find out if what she was picking up from Elizabeth was real or just a fantasy. A very compelling fantasy. She stepped closer to the other woman and lifted her hand to Elizabeth’s neck.
“That’s a very beautiful pendant,” she said, brushing her fingers against Elizabeth’s skin to hold the diamond in the palm of her hand.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, her voice a little breathless and high. “My ex-husband gave it to me.”
“Ex?”
She nodded, as Christa stood mesmerised by her blue crystalline eyes.
“Two years now. Very amicable.”
“And there’s no current Mr Underwood?”
Elizabeth smiled and tilted her head to one side. “No,” she said, making the word sound like an invitation.
Christa released the pendant and let her fingers slide down the soft silk of Elizabeth’s shirt, brushing her covered nipple as she went. She held her hand just under the curve of Elizabeth’s breast and stepped closer so her lips were almost level with the other woman’s mouth.
“What about a current Ms Underwood?” she whispered.
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling even more widely.
“Good,” Christa said. “Very good.”
“You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” Elizabeth murmured, her mouth brushing the corner of Christa’s mouth.
“You have no idea,” Christa said, scraping her fingernail over Elizabeth’s silk-covered nipple.
Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Extended Edition Page 21
