Coming Around Again (4 page)

“I can’t!” she gasped, arching her back. “I’ve run
out.”

“Of orgasms?” Niels asked, laughter mingling in his
suspicious tone. “I don’t believe it.” His voice lowered as he dragged the
underside of his hard-on over her clit. At the same time he stroked a digit
along that sweet patch of skin beneath her opening to circle her delicate and
untouched rosebud. She was relaxed to the point of falling asleep and where
she’d slapped his hands away before, post-three explosive orgasms, she could
easily be persuaded that tonight could be
the
night.

“If I let you,” she breathed, resting her hand
against his wrist and stilling his movement, “and you ever, ever leave me… You
owe me.”

Niels leaned down and pulled her into a deep kiss,
pushing back inside her pussy until he filled her to the hilt. Both his ample
palms grabbed a handful of her buttocks and parted them ever so slightly. Tiny
little shivers raced over her whole body, echoes of her previous climaxes
shaking her. Each time he thrust inside her, his finger penetrated her rear.
The sensations of the dual insertions were unreal. She lifted her hands and
fisted them through his hair, gripping the blond strands tightly. He briefly lifted
his head and reached for their bedside table. Scattering kisses over her neck
and chest, he took out a small clear bottle and flicked open the lid.

“I know you want me to,” he demanded, his voice
dark with untold desire. “I barely need this, you’ve soaked our sheets.”

If she let him, there’d be nothing else to bargain
with. Wait, if he enjoyed it enough, then she would. Marriage power struggle.
She always needed a backup. “Fuck me,” she whispered. He didn’t need telling
twice. With an ease of practice and familiarity, he edged her legs over his
shoulders and poured the lubricant over her rosebud. Flinging the bottle over
his shoulder, he pressed the head of his bulbous cock to her arse and slowly he
entered her. Her eyes flew open and instinctively she tensed against him. Using
his left hand, he stroked her clit once more and whispered to her, “Let me in.”

No, he was going too deep. She touched her
fingertips to his hips and he pulled back from her in understanding. “This
way,” he coaxed, pushing her legs from his shoulders and sitting her on the
edge of the bed. She looked at their reflection in the full-length mirror,
Niels with a red wine flush over his broad chest, his thick erection spiking
against his stomach. Stella’s skin looked glossy with sweat and arousal, her
navel piercing sparkling in the light, and a tell-tale love bite began to bloom
over her breasts. He caught her hand and eased her onto his lap. She watched as
he spread her legs, hooking them on either side of his huge thighs before his
arm anchored her to his torso. He trailed his lips over her neck, lifting her
slightly and allowing her to sink onto his cock.

Now it felt good. Different. Strange. But it was Niels.
The sensation of him inside her was as familiar and natural as breathing. He
began to move, slowly lifting and lowering her in slick motion that opened her
with each thrust. His thumb flicked against one peaked and tight nipple, and
she looked again at their reflection. The starkness of his golden-hued arm
against her rich, brown breasts, his reddened cock driving between her
buttocks, and just above the movements of his spike, her swollen and parted
pussy. She couldn’t help herself. The view forced her to reach over his hand
and catch her own clit between her fingertips and rub delicately.

“Yes, touch yourself. You’re tightening around me
again…”

She felt otherworldly, her body imploding from the
tips of her toes and a furnace in her buttocks. Her hands shook against her
clit, the little kiss of flesh burning to the touch, throbbing underneath her
fingers. He reared up, pushing harder into her and growling deeply against her
shoulder.

The orgasm came like a volcano, from the very
depths of her belly and rumbled through her throat into a scream. Niels
followed her, thundering thrusts against her buttocks until she felt scorching
hot liquid pulsing into her body. The veins of his forearm strained beneath his
skin and he grunted her name several times.

“You’re right,” he panted, slowly getting to his
feet and lifting her into his arms. “I do owe you.”

“This…isn’t happening again.”
Why couldn’t she speak? She sounded drunk.

“Why ever not, Mrs. Strøm?”

“I can’t feel my legs. Look, I’m shaking.”

He carried her into the bathroom and sat her down
on the bidet. “Isn’t that a good thing? Means it wasn’t the Stephen King novel
it could have been?”

Stella twisted her aching body around to allow the
water to flow. Still strange. Almost like the last part of her innocence had
been taken. Niels opened the shower cubicle and began running water. “Can you
come in or do you still need me to carry you?”

She held out her arms to him. “You may carry me.”

With a grin, he lifted her from the bidet and into
the shower. As the best husband in the world, he covered her hair with a cap
and then used her netted puff to clean her skin. “Thank you,” he murmured,
bending down to wash her feet.

“Whatever for?”

“Trusting me,” he replied, gently lifting one foot
and pressing his lips to her skin. At that moment, Stella had never felt more
loved, more honoured, more worshipped than she did with her husband kneeling at
her feet.

Six months post-divorce

Stella’s barrister leaned over and picked up her briefcase and removed
her papers. She’d never been to court in her life. For anything at all. Not a
parking ticket. Not a missed train fare and definitely not for speeding. But
she sat in a court waiting room, dressed in a black suit she’d bought a few
days before, waiting to justify why the children she’d given birth to should
live with her full time. Fucking Niels, hadn’t he taken enough from her? She’d
declared war on the house, so she supposed he’d go for her weak spot. The boys.

How had her life come to this? She’d been in love. Successful. Made her
parents happy by giving them not one, but two boys to fuss and fight over.
She’d taken two holidays a year with her husband and she’d done her wifely duty
by him. What had been so wrong with how they’d lived their life that Niels
couldn’t bear it any longer? Couldn’t bear her?

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.

God, she was going to be sick. She pressed a hand to her throat and
focused on what the barrister was saying to her. Honestly, she was distracted
by the fleck of pink lipstick on her pearly white teeth.

“All right, so what you’re suggesting for the children is…every other
weekend?”

“That’s fair enough, right?”

Her barrister made a face. “I’ll be honest. You’re probably looking at a
shared care order. Equal time with both you and Mr. Strøm. The boys have talked
to the court officer and they say they love you both and are happy spending
time with you both.”

Urgh, that phony guy who’d come to the house and watched as Danny took
it upon himself to test Stella’s limits. Had that officer not been around,
Danny would have been in his room with a sore bottom. Instead, he’d gone into
the dining room for a time-out.

Danny threw at her, “Dad does time-out better!”

The court officer had pressed his lips together and made a note before
talking to Will alone, in the living room with the door open. As soon as he’d
left, Danny’s sulky mood ended when he realised his mother was making a steak
pie, his favourite. He liked to pick apart the crust with his fingers and
rearrange his plate into order. Gravy and meat to one side, crispy crust pieces
to the other.

“Muma,” he asked. “That man asked me if I want to live with you or Dad.”

“I know,” Stella said, fighting for calm, and battering her pastry with
all the force it deserved. What a thoroughly indelicate question! Were any of
these people trained to even talk to children? Understand their psyche?

“I said I’d live with you, if you got me tickets to see Arsenal at the
Emirates.”

God, don’t let me beat this child.
“Why would you say
that?”

Danny shrugged. “Are you going to buy them for me?”

“You know I don’t even like football,” she sighed, brushing the pie dish
with melted butter. “So that’s not really going to work.”

“That’s what the man said. I shouldn’t accept bribes from you or Dad.”

“And what else did you say?”

Danny hesitated then wrapped his arms around her waist. “I wish you and
Dad would live together again. Then no one would ask me anything stupid.”

Stella unravelled herself from her son and crouched to look him in the
eyes. “You know we both love you. So much.” She stroked both his arms in
soothing motions. “We’re sorting everything out and then we can go back to
normal. Okay?”

“Nothing’s going to be normal,” he murmured, shrugging her off and
disappearing into the living room.

And he was right. How could anything go back to normal, when normal had
been Muma, Daddy, Danny, and Will together? Causing mayhem (once dental and
bodily hygiene standards had been met) and sharing everything. Challenge for
the next normal, then.

“What cinches everything,” the barrister continued, “is that Mr. Strøm
has a house that’s very close to you. On a nice day, walking distance.” A house
the man bought with their shared money. Without her knowing. In his name only.
So he could deprive her of her children. The actual audacity of the man was
breathtaking.

“As if Niels would walk for three miles to a house when he can drag race
in his fancy Audi.”

The barrister raised her eyebrows. “Has he done that?”

“No. Look, he’s upset everything. Everything. My children are my world.”
She felt tears coming to her eyes and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead.
Oh god, time out. “Whatever he wants. I’m not going to fight with him anymore.”

Her barrister tapped Stella on the knee and got to her feet. “I’ll go
and have a chat to his counsel and I’ll come back in a moment. We can resolve
this today and then no more court. All right.”

She gave a tired nod and watched her barrister disappear into a room
with Niels’ glossy-looking counterpart. The man himself saw her sitting alone
and wandered over, hands in the pockets of his perfectly cut suit.

“Good morning, Mrs. Strøm.”

“Never my name,” she reminded him, barely looking up from her right
hand, where her engagement ring now sat. “What do you want?”

He took the barrister’s place beside her and stretched out his long legs,
crossing them at the ankle. “What are you planning?”

“I’ve told my barrister to agree to whatever it is you want. I’m
officially defeated.”

He removed his hand from his pocket and flicked his index finger beneath
his nose. Will did the same thing when he was about to tell the truth. Why was
she fighting so hard to keep two boys so close to her who would only grow up
into the man beside her and break her heart?

“It’s not about defeat,” he sighed heavily, turning his eyes on her like
gas-flamed lamps. “Since we can’t do this together, we can at least do it
fairly. To the boys.”

“And I wasn’t being fair?”

He gave a slight shrug. “I could have asked for full residence.”

“Wasn’t going to happen,” she said with a starkly dangerous smile.

“Really?” His tone lightened in interest. “Tell me why?”

He had to be joking. “If you think for one minute that I’d let you take
my children away from me permanently, then you never knew me. And you have no
idea what I’d do to you if you even tried.”

“You’re getting violent again, Stella,” he said mildly. “Remember what
the judge said about that.”

“Fuck the judge,” she retorted. “And fuck you. Go and sit somewhere
else.”

“Aren’t we going to talk about this holiday?”

He had to be mind-fucking her for old time’s sake. “What holiday?”

“It’s in my proposal. Denmark for the week. Stay with Grandma and
Grandpa. Call Muma in the evening…” They’d planned to do that together. And he
was doing it on his own? Or with some young fancy thing? Her stomach rolled in
protest.

“Don’t make that face,” he ordered. “I’ll bring them back.”

She shook her head. “What did I do to you? Didn’t I love you enough?
Didn’t I give you enough of myself? Is that why you want to hurt me? You want
to keep hurting me?”

His teasing countenance vanished, a frown of concern replacing it.
“That’s not how it is. It’s not about getting at you. You know damn well how
much I’ve been wanting to take the boys home with me.”

“Who else is going?” she demanded, her heart constricting in fear—fear
he was about to confirm her worst nightmare.

“Just me and the boys.” He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “No one
else, I swear.”

She leapt to her feet. “Don’t touch me.”

“Stella…”

“Have your holiday,” she suggested, backing away from him. “Enjoy it.
But that’s the last thing you have on your terms. If anyone’s going for full
residence, it’s me.” She stormed to the conference room where her barrister was
writing something out. “I’ve changed my mind. Full residence in my favour.”

Both women’s mouths fell open. Closing the door, Stella went and sat on
the other side of the waiting room. Dread ripped her insides to shreds. The war
had been over, but Stella wanted to reanimate her soldiers and carry on. No
more giving in.

***

Eighteen months
married

Stella waddled into the kitchen, to Niels’ sigh of
disapproval.
“I told you to stay in bed,” he said impatiently.

“I can’t lie down any more,” she murmured, handing
over a hot water bottle. “I ache all over.”

“Back?”

“Everywhere.”

He gazed at her in concern. “You shouldn’t have
come with me. The flight didn’t agree with you. You’ve been off since we came
back.”

Stella simply put her arms around her husband and
squeezed. “Of course I should have.”

“You should have listened to me.”

“Don’t I always?” she teased.

He curled a hand around her neck and pressed a kiss
to her hair: “No. I couldn’t have dealt with it without you.”

Those were the first words he’d used in reference to
his dear grandmother’s funeral. The moment Alwine Strøm called Niels and told
him the old woman had passed peacefully in her sleep, Stella booked them both
on the first flight to Copenhagen. Whatever Alwine needed, Stella did her best
to help. Niels did everything else. He only wavered in his strength during his
grandmother’s favourite hymn. Once he regained his composure, he became a
master of ceremonies—dealing with the mourners, food, drinks, and ensuring his
own mother was supported. At twenty six weeks pregnant, Stella’s doctor warned
her flying was not the smartest thing to do. And yet, how could she possibly
have left the Strøm family to deal with their loss without her? When she knew
her husband needed her? If not to talk, but to be there for him to hold her,
sometimes so tightly it hurt.

They’d only returned from Denmark last night and
his silence stopped frustrating her a long time ago. Niels rarely talked about
his feelings. It wasn’t his thing. He never had to open his mouth to say if he
was upset, or angry. He made it pretty obvious, but to have a round table
discussion about his emotions? Not for the Dane.

“Yes, you would have.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s a shame she won’t get to
meet your masters.”

“Is that their new name?” she laughed, patting her
tummy, full with two male children who did control her every moment. “She would
have told them who’s in charge.” For a moment they quieted, thinking of the
fearsome and blunt wonder that was Niels’ grandmother. Stella spent most of her
time between a devastated Alwine, her mother-in-law, and a strangely
unemotional Niels. The world seemed a little duller, less fun without the old
woman’s cackle and blunt, inappropriate sayings.

Stella’s back gave another twinge and she groaned.
“It’s like they’re punching me.”

He filled the hot water bottle and pushed her out
of the kitchen with a firm hand. “They clearly want you to do as you’re told.”

“Can you rub my belly for me?” she begged. “Then I
can stick the bottle at my back?”

“If you had just stayed in bed, you’d get the
same.” He led her up the stairs and eased her back into bed. With the hot water
bottle at her back, Niels rubbed her overly pregnant belly with his large,
rough palms. The two babies inside her wriggled with joy at the contact. She
glanced up at her husband’s face and saw such contentment, it brought a lump to
her throat.

“Don’t,” he warned her, not taking his eyes from
where one baby elbowed his palm.

“Don’t what?” she asked, throat thick with tears.

“Don’t make that funny noise. The one you always
make when you’re about to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she warbled.

Niels leaned down and cradled her belly between two
huge palms. With a sigh he touched his mouth lingeringly to her belly and
murmured, “You’ve never made me happier. Or prouder.”

“See, now I’m crying.”

He laughed and looked up at her. “I love you. So
much.”

“I don’t love you anymore! Making your poor,
pregnant wife cry!”

He sat up, only to kiss the tears from each eyelid.
“Yes, you do. Stay here and I’ll bring you some rooibos tea. I mean it this
time, don’t you dare move.”

She watched him leave and then continued the slow
circles over her belly. “Do you see how bossy your father is? See how he orders
me about? You two have to defend me. This is my castle, and you two are my
knights. You get me?”

She received a volley of feet and hands in
agreement. Best to get in there before Niels did. After all, three out of their
four member family had penises. Sometimes that trumped a Queen in her own home.

***