Coming Around Again
Read Coming Around Again Online
Authors: Billy London
Coming Around Again
Billy London
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This book is
a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events;
however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the
authors’ imaginations and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used
fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered
trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective
owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.
Cover Art:
Bree Archer
Editor: Barb
Wilson
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permission. If you like my writing, you won’t do it. Cheers.
This
is a work of erotica. Please don’t be shocked by a little cursing and a little
bit of explicitly described nudity. This book is intended only for adults, as
it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep
this book out of the hands of under-aged readers. To paraphrase Dr.
Franken-N-Furter; “I didn’t write it for you!”
The music in this story is just as important as the story
itself. The emotion of these artists carried me through where I thought I
wouldn’t be able to finish or sometimes even start!
Click here for the link to the playlist for
Coming Around Again…
http://sobillysaysshesays.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/cry-me-river.html
Niels stared at the photograph that had spent the better part of twelve
years whittling away inside his wallet. Several wallets. Three damaged by the
washing machine, one by his dry cleaner, and that awful time he dropped it in
the toilet. One he’d given to the twins to distract them. It’d worked, and the
shoddy stitching of the expensive accessory came apart at the hands of two
eleven-month-old babies.
The photograph displayed a younger Stella. She was more beautiful now;
age had barely touched her. Motherhood breezed over her features, thickening
and lengthening her hair, and softening her angular cheekbones. How he missed
the Stella in the photograph. The one who never took herself seriously. Who
would juggle her breasts to kick him out of a bad mood. The Stella who survived
on three hours sleep, an aspirin and an energy drink after a night out. Who
talked to him. Laughed with him. Made time for
them
.
Every word now was a cross one. Filled with impatience and irritation.
Disappointment. In him. In their life. Their marriage. They’d had such plans.
Fantasies that were a whisper from becoming a reality. All put a stop to by
“practicality”.
Niels had never intended to live in London for longer than five years,
before returning to Denmark and his life there. Meeting Stella meant all of
that changed. But he missed his home. He wanted his children to understand
where they were from as much as they’d been to all the places that meant so
much to their mother. To see where Niels had grown up. Roamed and ruled as a
teenager. Become bored with as an adult.
“What’s going to happen with school? And our mortgage? My salon? I can’t
just leave for a few months.”
And that was the end of it. Forget that children are adaptable. Or that
he had always earned enough for Stella not to work. Or that Stella’s salon was
practically self-sufficient and whatever she did when she worked was mostly
elective rather than a force of necessity.
Living in Demark, for however long, whether a year or a month, didn’t
fit in with Stella’s plans, her set ideals, what she had thought out to the
minute detail of every second of their life, he no longer had a choice in
anything.
He felt broken. Emasculated. Inconsequential. He loved his children,
more than anything in this world. Enough to end this perpetual cycle of silent
misery.
“Mr. Strøm?” The solicitor prompted gently. “Your identification?”
“Of course.” He withdrew his driving licence, held behind the photograph
of Stella, and handed it over.
“I understand. The decision to divorce is not an easy one. Have you
considered mediation or counselling?”
Niels closed the wallet and tucked it back inside his jacket. “There’s
little point. If you knew my wife, you’d really understand.”
The solicitor stood up. “I would still recommend it. This may be enough
of a shock for your wife to want to engage with you. It’s a long and expensive
process.”
And that was what he counted on. Sitting back, he rested his ankle on
his opposite knee. “I’d prefer to get this started. As soon as possible.”
“That’s your choice, Mr Strøm. I would suggest that you have that
conversation with your wife in a public place. As well as you think you know
your other half, you can never be sure on how they’ll react to the word
‘divorce’.”
Stella tapped her fingernails on the laptop, staring at the transfer of
nearly half a million pounds from their joint savings account to a solicitor’s
firm. She’d logged into their online bank for something that she couldn’t for
the life of her remember what… She was supposed to pay a consultant for the
redesign of the salon from her own account, and in the list of shared accounts,
she immediately noticed the missing money.
What had he bought? Niels was meticulous in his transactions. There was
a place for everything, which was why their home was immaculate, despite having
two eight-year-old boys ruling the roost. Closing the account, she headed to
her husband’s office and was immediately waylaid by her eldest-by-four-minutes
son, Daniel.
“Muma, Will’s being selfish. He’s doing a one player on the Wii when he
knows it’s my turn.”
“Computer time ended ten minutes ago, so you should be getting ready for
bed,” Stella said absently, untangling Danny’s arms from her thigh and edging
him upstairs to his bedroom. The boys had their own rooms, but bunk beds
existed in both bedrooms since one would always inevitably sneak into the
other’s room to sleep.
Getting to the end of a long week, Stella didn’t care which one he went
into, as long as he went into one; the sooner the better.
“Muma!” Danny whined. “You said we could!”
“Go and clean your teeth,” she commanded. “William! Turn that machine
off and clean your teeth. I want you in bed in ten minutes. I’m timing you!”
The challenge was enough for there to be movement on the stairs. Stella
flicked on the lights of Niels’ office and hovered in the doorway. It was
exclusively his space and smelled of leather, sandalwood, and the sea. Taking a
deep breath, she crossed the threshold and went straight for his filing
cabinet. Arranged alphabetically in date order, Stella found a letter from the
solicitor who had received the transfer.
Dear Mr. Strøm,
Re: 209 Ellis Way, Twickenham, TW7
Please find attached a financial summary of your purchase. The keys to
the house will be delivered to you by courier as requested.
Should you require anything further, please do not hesitate to contact
us.
Yours sincerely,
Roquefort Solicitors LLP
Another house. Only a few miles away. Closer to the boys’ school than
the one they lived in.
Why? What was going on?
She heard the front door close and Niels’ call of hello. She shoved the
letter back into the file and closed the cabinet before rushing out of the
office and closing the door. He frowned as he caught sight of her near his
office.
“Everything all right?” he asked, examining her with suspicious eyes.
“Yup.”
“Where are the boys?”
“Getting ready for bed.”
His eyebrows raised even further. “And you’re not standing guard over
them?”
“You’re home now. You do it,” she suggested with a flicked smile,
turning to head into the kitchen.
“Stella,” he said, and she stopped. “We need to talk.”
Four words that never led to anything good. “I’d agree. But not tonight.
I’ve got a lot to do for the salon. We’ve got an event coming up next week I
need to prepare for. Over the weekend?”
“I’m flying home this weekend,” he reminded her. “It won’t take long.”
He removed his coat and placed his briefcase on the floor before heading
up the stairs. She heard the squeals and cheers of her children greeting their
father.
Shaking, Stella headed into the living room and helped herself to a
glass of whisky. They’d been flailing for months and she wanted to stop it,
pull back together and trust him again, when their silences told her that she
couldn’t possibly.
Finishing her whisky, she returned to the living room, her fingers
clasped together and placed with prim precision in the centre of her lap. Niels
entered the room and sat opposite her.
Distance
, she noted. Not good.
Truthfully, appalling. In her mind, she scanned for the last time they’d had
sex. Two months ago. Just before he’d left for Denmark.
At god-awful-o’clock in the morning, Niels ran the tips of his fingers
over her bare arm.
“What?” she grumbled into her pillow.
“You need to say goodbye to me properly.”
His heated whisper cracked one eye open. “What are you talking about?”
“My flight is at five. Which means you’ll still be asleep.”
“
You
should be asleep.”
One hand slid inside her pyjama top, flicking the buttons open from the
inside out. She didn’t have the time or energy for a fumble. His teeth scraped
bare skin as he lifted the flannel from her skin, exposing her shoulder.
“God’s sake,” she snapped. “Why can’t you do things like a normal man,
understand I am trying to sleep and just tug one out in the bathroom?”
“You shouldn’t have made yourself so available to me,” he told her,
tracing his tongue over the column of her neck. Unfortunately, her body woke
fully to his attentions and demanded more. “If you wanted me to appreciate my
hand over
this
,—”his hand slid inside the bottoms to trace the moistness
gathering at the top of her thighs, “—then, my dear wife, you shouldn’t have
made
this
feel so good, taste so sweet…”
She shuddered again the very moment his fingers parted her and barely
held back the cry that took her by surprise as soon as one thick digit sank
inside her. “You don’t need me to persuade you…”
“All right, fine,” she said in a huff. “But be quick.”
Those words seemed to be a challenge to Niels. Rather than claiming his
prize and the added bonus of sleep, he stripped the offending pyjamas from her
body and took his sweet damn time. No spooning, rocking, gentle loving to drift
them both to slumber. He turned on all the lights, threw their duvet halfway
across the room and made her look at him as he left his mark on every inch of
her skin. Every time she even thought about closing her eyes, he’d smack her,
wherever it pleased him to do so. Whether lifting her to catch both buttocks
with the fiery palm of his hand, or turning her to her side to tenderise the
tops of her thighs, or worse, right between her thighs, on her clit, until she
babbled incoherently for him to let her find her release.
“That doesn’t happen if I’m quick, does it?” he mocked her. When he
finally, at damned last, sank inside her, nothing could stop her from riding
the momentous orgasm that shook her from the core to her toes and back to the
tips of her hair. He didn’t stop there. Content to torture her for as long as
possible, Niels grabbed a fistful of her curls, maintaining eye contact with
every push, thrust, and slip into her. She didn’t understand his intensity. Why
he wanted her to look at him, until she could recall every individual fleck of
blue in his irises; the curve of his dark blond brows and where the tips of his
eyelashes turned almost invisible white. They came again and again and finally,
Niels collapsed beside her, flopped a heavy possessive arm over her stomach and
fell asleep. She stayed awake.
Honestly
, she thought, wide awake with
adrenaline and endorphins
, why don’t you just pee around the house?
After so many years together, she’d become used to him being away for
days on end, doing his incomprehensible job, one he adored, the only other
thing in his life that sparked such fire in his eyes other than her. Or used to
be. Their night—or rather, morning together—tattooed on her skin the seven
nights he worked in Copenhagen. When he returned, the fire… the one reserved
for her… Gone. Vanished. As if someone had thrown a bucket of water over it.
Melted like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Now he wanted to talk to her. “Stella,” he said softly, and in that one,
pained word, she knew. She knew without doubt he wanted to end their marriage.
“What?” she demanded, out of little less than pure bravado.
“I don’t know when things changed between you and me. I wish I knew when
because I’d go back and do something about it.”
She swallowed, a pained lump making it difficult. “What’s changed? Other
than we clearly have less sex.”
“Sex isn’t the problem between you and me. Never has been,” he reminded
her.
“Well, I’m not buying houses…”
He ran a finger beneath his nose and leaned back in the chair. “You’ve
seen.”
“Why do we need a second home?”
“
We
don’t.
I
do.”
“Because you’re leaving me?” she finished for him. He lowered his head
and took several deep breaths. “If you’re going to do that, look at me. Look me
in the fucking eye and tell me.”
“Yes. I am leaving you. I want a divorce. Because why not give you my
proverbial balls? You want them so badly.”
“What are you talking about? How is this all my fault? Haven’t I done
enough for you? Your home is spotless. You have two children. I don’t rack up
massive credit card bills for you. I’m not fucking around behind your back.”
His eyes gleamed with something that looked disturbingly like triumph.
If he wasn’t careful, she’d split his skull in two. “I know you’re not.”
“Then what? What do you want? What do you want me to do, that I’m not
doing?”
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he said, awe in his tone. “You have
no idea what you’ve chipped away at for all these years. The Stella that I
knew, that I loved, I still love… She’s become you.”
“You don’t think you’ve changed?” she challenged.
You’re colder,
she wanted to add, but the words stuck in her throat. Lies were not her forte.
“I have. A few years ago, I convinced myself I could continue. But I
can’t do it. I can’t exist in a marriage where you
endure
me. You put up
with me. Life shouldn’t be like that. Our life wasn’t ever meant to be like
that.”
Her lips parted in shock. She struggled to find words to convey what she
felt. “Don’t do this to me. What about the kids?” Again he refused to look at
her. It stoked her temper to Neverland. “Tell me, you fucking bastard! What are
you going to tell our children?”
Niels didn’t stir, only rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We tell them
anything that ensures they know this is not their fault. That Muma and Daddy
love them very much. But we all won’t live together anymore.”
“Because you’re a selfish cunt who won’t tell me what I’ve done that’s
so wrong he wants to leave me.”
Oh my God
. She felt sick. Bile rose in
her throat, water flooded her mouth in a tell-tale warning. He got to his feet
and cupped her face, their gazes finally connecting.
“I have to. You’ve made every effort to show you don’t need me, you
barely want me. Good sperm donor, good provider… Not a husband. Do you know
this is the first time in eight weeks you’ve let me touch you?”
She slapped his hands away. Then slapped his hand again. She shot to her
feet and slapped his face so hard, the blood drained from the mark and then
turned bright red. “How’s that for touching?” she spat.
Fine, he wanted to go. Then he could fuck off.
“Take your shit and
go. Go to your new house.”
Again, the sensation that she needed to bend double and void her stomach
made her limbs tremble. She struggled up the stairs to the bedroom she’d shared
with a liar. A fraudster. How else had he managed to convince her she was safe
in her marriage, except by lying? Taking a large suitcase from the cupboard,
she threw it open and began lifting all of Niels’ neatly dry-cleaned shirts and
throwing them inside.
“Stella…” he said. The warning in his voice should have stopped her, but
she carried on.
“What are you waiting for?” she yelled. “Go on and enjoy your fancy
wife-free life in your brand new home. Go on!”
He closed the door and crossed the room to slam the suitcase lid closed.
“Stop shouting. You’ll wake the boys.”
“You don’t give a shit about them. All you’re thinking about is
yourself. So I will keep on shouting!”
In the corridor, she heard the shuffle of feet, followed by Will’s
plaintive voice. “Muma, why are you shouting? Are you and Daddy fighting?”
An unearthly wail left her throat and she collapsed onto the carpet.
Niels sent her a pained look, and then went to the door. In moments, Will was
balanced in his arms and his father whispered words of comfort to him. Words he
couldn’t possibly share with her.
I’m breaking…
she thought desperately.
“Muma’s not feeling too well. Let’s get you back to bed.”
How he lied! Dear God
. She pulled the half-full suitcase from the bed and kicked it down the
stairs, where it clattered loudly against each and every banister. Niels and
both boys rushed out of the bedroom. They looked at the case, and then at
Stella.
Wild-haired and wild-eyed, she announced, “Your father’s leaving. Say
goodbye to him and he can get on with the rest of his life.”
