Christa Read online

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Christa

  Keziah Hill

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Christa

  Keziah Hill

  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?

  In business, as in pleasure, Christa has two rules: ask for what you want, and be prepared to get a bit creative. She and her husband, Marc, are infamous for their charitable soirees and the obscene amount of money that they raise for good causes around the world. The secret to their success has always been well-kept, but one chance encounter with Christa is going to lead one lucky CEO to find out just how this unorthodox pair make friends and influence people.

  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

  After quite a few years working in the criminal justice system, Keziah Hill decided a tree change was needed so decamped to the blissful Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, Australia. Amid a garden full of flowering blossoms, roses and the odd marauding possum, she writes steamy erotic romance and romantic suspense while trying not to procrastinate too much.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Episode 7—Christa

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Episode 7—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, 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, 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. 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 through 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.”


  She 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 some money, 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 nodded. “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.

  Elizabeth lifted her hand and to Christa’s surprise and delight, pressed Christa’s hand hard against her breast. Then she turned slightly and caught Christa’s mouth with hers. Her other arm slid around her waist.

  Christa thought she’d go up in flames as Elizabeth’s mouth and tongue worked against hers. She opened her mouth, needing to taste and tangle, all the time squeezing Elizabeth’s breast. When the other woman pushed a trousered leg between Christa’s legs, she squirmed and slid against her, her clit rubbing hard against Elizabeth’s firm trousered thigh.

  A crash from the end of the laneway made the two women spring apart. Someone was moving garbage bins. They stood staring at each other, panting.

  “Later tomorrow night,” Christa said between short breaths. “My husband will join us. If you want my pussy, he’ll watch. Are you willing?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Is he the only one who gets to watch?”

  Christa smiled. “Not necessarily. But it will cost you. Ten thousand dollars.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

  “That’s what it costs for my pussy and his cock. And a night you’ll never forget. All the money goes to the foundation.”

  “You pimp yourself out to raise money?”

  “That’s right.”

  Elizabeth tipped back her head and roared with laughter. “That’s the most unique plan for fundraising I’ve ever heard. Do you do it often?”

  “Often enough. As I said, I want to have fun as well as relieve the rich of their money for a good cause. So what about it? Are you willing?”

  She would say yes. Christa could see the hunger in her eyes.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Oh yes,” she said softly. “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Christa paced in the arrivals hall of Sydney Airport, impatient for Marc to appear. On these overseas trips, she never really stopped worrying about him until she saw him come through the arrival gate.

  Worry and something else, something that wasn’t just about her incendiary encounter with Elizabeth Underwood, made her pacing more than usually frantic.

  Marc had a ritual that eased him back into their life together. After a month without him she craved it, craved him like a drug. Her pussy ached, needing him inside her, to fill her and make her feel all was right with her world.

  Finally, he emerged.

  As usual, he was unshaved, unkempt and with a look of wild despair in his eyes. She knew what he wanted, what he needed to retain his sanity. A shiver of anticipation made her tremble.

  She threw her arms around him, holding him, feeling the body she’d been without for four long weeks. “Oh, God Marc, I missed you so much.”

  His arms held her tightly and he buried his face in her neck. She could feel his heart working overtime, but he was silent as usual. He always was until she led him back into his real life. Led him back via her pussy.

  She let him hold her until his heart calmed. Then he pulled away and smiled at her, held her face in his hands and kissed her. Her heart melted, as always. His first kiss when he got back was always long, slow and gentle, as if he worshipped her. As they waited for his luggage to appear, he held her in front of him, with his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck. His beard tickled her skin, making the ache between her legs even more insistent. But still he was silent.

  He once told her he couldn’t speak until he felt safe again, and that could only happen though their ritual together.

  His bags appeared and he scooped them up. They made their way to the car park, where she gave him the keys. Settling into the passenger seat, her pulse kicked up and her breath became choppy. She glanced at him as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  As he drove toward Southern Cross Drive, he stopped at the lights and looked at her. She breathed in deeply, slid a little down in her seat, eased up her dress and opened her legs so he could see her knickerless cunt.

  “For some reason, this time was worse,” she told him as she eased two fingers into herself, then c
ircled her clit with her wetness. “Every night I’d go to bed craving you so much I couldn’t sleep.”

  A car pulled up beside them with a couple inside. Christa rubbed herself, praying the driver would look over. She knew the male driver couldn’t actually see what she was doing, but her movements made it obvious. He did look, then looked away, but his head snapped back as he registered what was going on in the car beside him.

  “Do you remember when we first met?” Christa asked Marc. “I’ve been thinking about that time while you were away.”

  She pushed her fingers in more deeply, feeling the gaze of the man in the car and the gaze of her husband on her cunt. Her blood pounded and her nipples ached to be pinched and teased. The man turned to give a quick glance to his female partner, then turned back to stare at Christa. He sat up straighter in his seat, clearly trying to see further into the car. Christa smiled at him.

  “I was so shy at that hideous party. A little country mouse with a dark soul. That changed when I met you. Everything changed then.”

  The man in the car shifted in his seat and grinned back at Christa. She took out her fingers and sucked them. He looked like he might come just staring at her.

  “God, I was miserable. That jerk I was with couldn’t wait to get me into bed. He didn’t see me. None of the men I went out with did. Except you.”

  Marc smiled as she talked, glancing at the man in the car then down at her pussy. She heard him sigh with contentment.

  “You stood on the edges of the party. Every woman in the room wanted you.”

  Marc let out a snort of laughter.

  “It’s true! They did. You were tall, dark and handsome. And a medical student. A total catch.” Christa pushed her fingers back inside her and lazily continued to draw the wetness up and around her clit.

  The lights changed and Marc accelerated off down the freeway as she continued to finger herself. She could hear his laboured breathing and reached across to rub the bulge in his jeans. He groaned and pushed her hand away.