Playing House (Sydney Smoke Rugby)

by Amy Andrews

  Her skin erupted into a million goose bumps, her nipples rubbing painfully against the inside of her bra. She shut her eyes and imagined his hand wrapped around his erection.

  “Do you—” She faltered, blushing at the audacity of her question.

  “Do I what?”

  His husky prompt spurred her on to boldness. “Go fast or slow?”

  “Slow.” The words came out on another groan, sounding slurred, like he was on some kind of high, like he was drugged. “I want it to last but I’m so fucking turned on, so close to spilling my load.”

  His rough pants filled her head. “I’d like to see that.”

  Hearing Bodie masturbate was exciting enough. What would it be like to watch him commit such a…private act? Everything south of her belly buttoned tightened.

  The ache became a throb.

  “Fuck. Hold on.” There was rustling in her ear. “I switched to FaceTime, look at your screen.”

  Eleanor’s lungs felt too small for her chest. FaceTime? She hadn’t even thought about that. About the possibility of actually watching him masturbate.

  A gush of slickness between her legs joined the throb.

  Slowly, she pulled the phone from her ear and changed to FaceTime. An image of him filled her screen, his features frozen in a rictus somewhere between bliss and rapture. His lips were parted and the noises slipping from his mouth were like hot tongues against her skin.

  “Show me,” she whispered. Her voice sounded foreign, but she didn’t care. She was greedy for the sight of him.

  For this risqué new thrill.

  He lowered the phone, angling it toward his erection, and Eleanor stopped breathing altogether. She’d never seen anything more male in her life than Bodie Webb touching himself, and she thanked every shooting star she’d ever wished upon for phones with cameras.

  It was breathtaking. His cock stood proud and taut. His hand gripped hard. The knuckles of his fingers were white. The thick spongy dome of the head was blushed a dark purple. The bead of liquid pearling at the slit was clear, almost glistening in the light shining down from above.

  His hand moved like treacle. Up and down. Slowly. So slowly. Like he was in some kind of thrall. His hips pushed up into each downward movement, dragging a groan from his throat.

  It was poetry in motion and her sex clenched in response.

  “You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  He groaned. “And you’re sexy as fuck.”

  She let his guttural compliment go to her head. “It’s so…tight.” And he was squeezing so hard. “Does it hurt?”

  “Hurts so fucking good.”

  “What would make it better?” She barely recognised her own voice.

  He grunted. “Your mouth.”

  Eleanor’s mouth flooded with saliva and her eyes widened as the imagery seemed to turn him on as much as her, his fist moving faster now, his thumb swiping over the head with every upward flex of his wrist.

  “On your—” She swallowed. “Cock?”

  “Fuck yes,” he whispered, as his hand moved faster.

  A surge of power swept through Eleanor’s body, knowing in a way she’d never known before that she was in charge here. That she was turning him on with her words alone. Her breath hitched as she morphed into a woman she didn’t recognise.

  Someone daring. Someone who knew their way around a man’s anatomy.

  “Sucking it?” She crossed her legs as the throb between them became a screaming demand. “You want me to suck it?”

  “Yes.”

  The noises from his throat were low and keening now, his hand almost a blur. The camera wobbled and shook but she could still see the action. Her pulse thrummed in time to the beat of his hand. “I’ve never done that before. Will you show me, Bodie?”

  “God…Damn…Fuuuck.”

  Suddenly liberated, she pushed him more. “I’d like you to teach me, Bodie.” Adrenaline at her boldness tripped her heart rate into hyper-drive. “I want yours to be the first…cock in my mouth.”

  He cried out. “Eleanor!” His hips jerked to a halt. And then he was thrusting again, shuddering, the camera unsteady as his cock rammed back and forth through the tight clamp of his hand.

  She gasped at the first stream of white fluid spurted from the plump, flushed head.

  “Bodie.” More slickness added to the wet heat between her legs and her mouth filled with saliva as she watched his hand wring every last drop.

  She desperately wanted to be there with him. To have her mouth where his hand was, to make him come with her mouth as he had made her come with his. To taste him as he had tasted her.

  She didn’t know whether she’d like it or not. Two out of her three sisters were fans. Lisa said it tasted like warm curdled yoghurt with a toxic dash of bleach.

  But she knew she sure as hell wanted to try.

  They were both breathing hard as Bodie’s hand slowed then stopped and still she couldn’t drag her eyes off his erection. Even spent it was proud and firm.

  He lifted the phone to his face, a satisfied smile relaxing his features. “Told you I wasn’t a gentleman,” he said, his voice still a little unsteady. “Sweet dreams.”

  The screen suddenly went blank and Eleanor flopped back against the mattress, her mind officially blown by the sweetest, sexiest, dirtiest thing she’d ever seen.

  Seemed she wasn’t much of a lady either…

  …

  Eleanor wasn’t sure what time Bodie was planning on ringing her, but after a sleepless night Sunday dawned bright and clear and she’d made up her mind. Time to declare herself before she chickened out completely.

  His phone rang for a long time and she almost hung up. Almost decided it was a sign she should heed. “Eleanor?”

  The hot spike of adrenaline settled as did her madly tripping heart. He sounded sleepy, like she’d woken him, and she glanced at the clock. Six. It was late for her, being a country girl, but she’d thought he’d be heading to Henley stadium for training by now.

  “I’m sorry, I woke you.”

  “I’m not.” She could hear the smile in his husky morning voice. “What are you wearing?”

  Eleanor blushed. Even just roused from sleep he had a way with words, his hushed tone somehow sexier. Deadlier. She wondered what he was wearing. She’d bet her Heyer collection he slept naked. She rolled onto her side and shoved a fist between her legs as things stirred to life down there.

  “Don’t you have training to be getting to?”

  He laughed but it turned into a yawn, big and deep, and the sound undulated through the muscles of her belly. How on earth could a yawn sound so sexy?

  “Our game’s tonight.”

  “Oh, of course.” Ryder had mentioned it when she’d seen him and Juliet told her he could get her tickets if she wanted. She’d had to decline because of the Albert and Victoria soiree on tonight.

  “So…what did Victorians wear to bed?” he asked.

  “That very much depended on your station in life and your views on modesty.”

  “They’re pretty broad.”

  Eleanor smiled at the understatement, her brain flicking to the peep show he’d gifted her, but she continued doggedly on. “Mostly plain, thin, linen shifts in the early part of the century that became more decorative and flattering toward the end with the advent of the first commercial sewing machines.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Commercial sewing machines are dirty?”

  “Sure they are. Talk sewing machines to me, baby.”

  “Bodie.” She laughed. He was incorrigible.

  “You’re sexy when you get all scholarly.”

  And he was sexy all the time. She bet he even woke up sexy with sparkly minty breath and his hair perfectly coiffed. Her hair usually looked like a bird’s nest that had been hit by lightning. “I’m trying to be serious.”

  His low chuckle tickled her ear, but when it petered out he cleared his throat and said, “Okay, okay, se
rious.” He lowered his voice to sound like a serious television journalist. “So…I’m thinking that my preference between early and later examples of Victorian sleepwear would definitely lean toward earlier.”

  “I’d have thought your preferences would lean toward red, lacy, and teeny tiny.”

  He laughed. “What can I say, you’re educating me in the subtle art of anticipation. But just so I know when you say thin, do you mean…fine, or is thin code for see-through?”

  It was Eleanor’s turn to laugh. It was going to be fun living with this man. “Well, I’ve had mine a long time, and it’s been washed a lot, so…”

  “And will I be getting a chance to see this transparent shift?”

  Eleanor’s pulse suddenly drummed in her head and pounded behind her rib cage. This was the moment. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

  There was a long silence and she pictured him staring at the ceiling, all shaggy and whiskered, a smile on his face.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “In the spare room or…?”

  His words from the other night came back to her. I am at your service. She swallowed. “No. Not the spare room.”

  “Oh thank God for that.”

  The relief in his voice was audible. “But it’s just a trial, Bodie. For a month. If all goes well then we’ll talk about applying for a marriage licence and visiting the registry office.”

  The whole idea was an affront to her romantic sensibilities, but given the circumstances…

  “Yes, okay, fine. A trial for a month,” he agreed readily and Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you get a late checkout tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up after training. See you at one.”

  Eleanor’s stomach was as jittery as a kid’s on Christmas morning just thinking about it.

  “Wear those pantaloons.”

  Her inner thighs quivered in an entirely different kind of jittery. “I’ll be the girl in the foyer with the pantaloons.”

  “And I’ll be the guy with the massive erection.”

  Eleanor laughed again as he rang off, almost giddy with her decision to cut loose. One o’clock tomorrow.

  Which gave her plenty of time to get vagazzled!

  …

  She didn’t wear the pantaloons. To his credit, he didn’t look too crestfallen, and within fifteen minutes of leaving the hotel they were pulling into the underground car park of Bodie’s apartment block in Redfern.

  The inner city suburb had undergone massive gentrification in recent years and was now quite the trendy place to live, its troubled past and indigenous heritage slowly being blended and whitewashed by development.

  “Well, this is it.” Bodie slid back the heavy iron door that opened into his apartment. “It’s not a grand homestead on a cattle station, but the view’s not bad.”

  Not bad was an understatement. Eleanor kicked off her shoes, her gaze drawn to the flood of light from the four massive floor-to-ceiling arched windows opposite the city skyline, the proud stalk of the iconic Centrepoint Tower glowing gold in the sunshine.

  “It used to be an old warehouse,” he said as he dragged her two large suitcases behind him. “I bought it a few years back. It’s a little far from Henley, but I fell in love with the building and how they’d kept all the old fixtures. It’s worth the morning traffic hassles.”

  “It’s…”

  Eleanor turned around in the middle of the huge open room, taking in the very masculine space. The exposed brick of the walls, the pipes and ducting criss-crossing the open space above their heads, the polished concrete floor stained with splashes of ochre and what looked like sump oil, the rich burgundy rugs.

  Furniture was sparse, but what there was carried a distinctly masculine vibe. Heavy wood, dark leather, and smoky glass. The staircase that led up to a mezzanine floor in the far back right corner was gunmetal grey with metallic treads and steel wire balustrades.

  Thank goodness for those windows letting in the light or the apartment would look more like something from Game of Thrones.

  “Big.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I think the word you’re after is blokey.”

  “It’s…a little more Bronte than Austen, I’ll give you that.”

  “Well you can bedazzle—” He wriggled his eyebrows at her and Eleanor tried to stop the heat swamping her cheeks at the disco ball surprise she had for him.

  Might as well have tried to stop the tide.

  “—the place as much as you want,” he continued. “I was thinking at some stage, before the baby’s born, we could find a place together? An apartment’s no place to raise a family. Somewhere with a yard for the baby and for the country girl.”

  Eleanor quelled the riot going on inside her at Bodie’s long-term plans. He was obviously prepared to commit to the long haul while she was still pinching herself that it was actually happening. There was still part of her that expected to wake up tomorrow and discover it had all been a dream.

  A sexy, incredible, thrilling dream.

  “Bodie…”

  “I know, I know.” He held up his hands in surrender but grinned, despite the warning in her voice. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  He was. If only her heart didn’t do a funny little giddy up when he did.

  She walked toward the windows to stop herself from turning to him and getting ahead of herself, too. “Right in front of these windows will be the perfect spot for my work area.” She stepped over the line of light on the floor, her bare foot pale in the sudden spotlight. She could feel the warmth of the sun despite the filter of the glass.

  “The natural light will be awesome for photos of the finished product, too. And so much space to hang the clothes.”

  She could see herself living here, sewing away until the light faded. Would she miss the wide open spaces of the outback? The sound of lowing cattle, the smell of hay, the scent of rain hitting dirt? The far horizons, the night sky? The hustle and bustle of daily life on a cattle property?

  Maybe.

  Had she ever thought she’d live in the city? No. But unlike a lot of country people, she’d always loved the city. Maybe it was all the historical romances she’d read set in the ton in London, but travelling to Sydney had always felt like an adventure into the kind of culture that fascinated her.

  And there weren’t too many historical exhibitions that travelled out to Bungindally! Not to mention, she had to shop for her fabric online back home, but now she could actually visit the retailers whenever she wanted and buy off the shelf. She could haunt antique shops for lace and other fabrics.

  “Speaking of sewing,” Bodie interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll just go grab your boxes from the car.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. He was still standing in the spot she’d left him, his hands in the front pockets of his knee-length basketball shorts. His expression searched hers for what she thought might be signs of her approval.

  He wanted her to like his place, to want to be here with him. Her heart fluttered.

  “They’ll wait.” She held out her hand. “Come and show me your place first.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bodie was nervous as he showed her around the converted warehouse he called home. Not that there was a whole lot to show. It was mostly just a big empty area with two spare bedrooms at the far end of the space separated by a bathroom. The decorator he’d hired to outfit the place had used furniture to block off zones.

  Couches, a coffee table and a long, sleek unit for the television denoted the living area. A heavy mahogany table with matching high back chairs, the dining area. The long black marble kitchen bench, stools on one side, delineated the kitchen.

  He wanted Eleanor to like where she was living, but seeing it through her eyes he wasn’t so sure she would. His teammates loved it, but Eleanor was a woman. A woman into flouncy dresses, pretty colours, tactile fabrics—satin, ribbons, lace—frilly Victorian lingerie. She lik
ed froth and this place was whatever the hell was the opposite of that.

  It was the anti-froth.

  Hell, it looked like it could have been an eighteenth-century sweat shop in a past life. His plans to find a home for them fermented in his brain a little more.

  “You want a drink?” he asked as she ran her hands hypnotically over the sleek marble top of the kitchen bench.

  “What have you got?”

  Bodie opened the sleek black door of the fridge. Crap. Beer and more beer. No wine. Not that she could drink that. No soft drink either. In fact, there wasn’t even much food.

  “Umm…” He glanced at her over his shoulder and grimaced. “Water?”

  She was wearing jeans and a deep green corset style shirt that sat like a T-shirt on her back and arms and hips, but the front panel was green satin with black ribbon lacing that had been pulled taut and tempting across her breasts.

  It was distracting as fuck.

  He’d wanted to unlace the damn thing from the second he’d laid eyes on her. She may not have stuck to the pantaloons promise but he’d stuck to his. His erection had been so swift and powerful he’d almost blacked out in that bloody foyer.

  She smiled and shook her head, her wild, tangly hair barely contained in the big plastic claw at the back of her head.

  “Water’s fine. Looks like I might need to do some grocery shopping tomorrow, though.”

  Bodie pulled a beer out of the fridge. “Yeah, sorry about that, I usually just get some kind of delivery.” He twisted the top off his beer and set it on the counter before grabbing a glass out of a high cupboard and placing it under the chilled water dispenser on the door of the fridge.

  “I thought you guys were supposed to eat healthy.”

  He handed her the glass then a clipboard with what appeared to be an extensive menu on it. “It’s proper gourmet stuff. Delivered to my door.” He put his hand on his heart. “Only the best.”

  She scanned the menu. “Hmm. Maybe I won’t go shopping tomorrow.”

  Bodie shrugged. “Fine by me.” He took a swig of his beer. It was cool and bitter, just the way he liked it. Nothing like a cold beer after a gruelling workout. And it gave him something to do with his hands other than pulling the tie on the lacing that crisscrossed her cleavage.