Spiralling Skywards: Falling (Contradictions #1) (29 page)

“No worries, I’ll wait for their calls.”

“Okay, well I’ll leave you to do more begging and getting on with asking Sarah to marry your pussy arse.”

“Already on it, Mags, already all over that shit.”

Liam winked at me as he spoke, I may have dissolved into a puddle and disappeared into the mattress.

We both said goodbye and laid back down on the bed. Liam pulled me towards and then on top of him.

“What’s going through your head, pretty girl? Don’t go quiet on me.”

I laced my fingers together on his belly and rested my chin on them so that I could look at him.

“I’m not sure,” I told him honestly.

“It’s like it’s a big deal, but it’s not.”

“I always knew she was lying.” He tucked my messy hair behind my ears. “I was more concerned that you would always wonder.”

I shrugged with one shoulder.

“I probably always would have.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s understandable. I probably would have too if I’m being totally honest.”

We were both silent for a while, just looking over each other’s faces.

“That means my divorce will go straight through now. She can contest whatever she likes, but it won’t stick.”

Even though I just got the truth regarding Olivia and Liam’s marriage, I would still be happier once they were divorced.

“That poor baby. What horrible circumstances to be born into.”

“They are horrible.” He traced his fingertips up and down my spine as he spoke. “But as harsh as this sounds, it’s not our concern. My only concern is us. You and me. Two thousand and seven, bub, it’s gonna be our year.”

I know I
told Sarah that I’d wait but I didn’t wait long. I couldn’t. I woke one morning to an email from my lawyer telling me that my decree absolute had been granted on the first of March. The only reason I hadn’t officially asked Sarah to be my wife was because I still had that hanging over my head. I might not be the most sensitive type of bloke, but even I knew that asking one woman to be my wife whilst still married to another was a bit of a dick move. So, I’d waited, but that email meant that I’d no longer had to.

The previous three months had been the best of my life. Despite not formally proposing to Sarah, we’d moved ahead with purchasing the house that we’d looked at together. I’d used some of the inheritance I’d received from my grandparents as a deposit, and Sarah had insisted she use some of the insurance pay out she’d received after the death of her mother. It had been held in trust until she was twenty-one, but even on its release she hadn’t touched it.

Both of our names were on the mortgage and the deeds. We were partners, and I was desperate to make our union permanent. We spent every weekend at the house. I’d hired a building company to do all of the structural work and plastering. Thanks to Luke’s mate Callum, we had a painter and decorator lined up. Sarah had known him for years too, so the pair of them bounced ideas off each other constantly. Her knowledge of interior design astounded me. She knew just the shade of cushion, curtain, or rug to pull together to make each room look as though we had spent a fortune on it. She would see a piece of art work and remember that we’d seen a photo frame four weeks previously, which would complement it perfectly.

My mum and my sisters were good with the cushions and the candles and all that shit, but Sarah astounded me with her eye for detail. She’d set up a board for each room and had paint samples, fabric, carpet swatches, and pictures of furniture pinned to each one. I stayed well out of it. Her knowledge of Indonesian clay pots and lamps from Morocco far exceeded mine.

The business had taken off exponentially in the few months we’d been up and running. With the downturn affecting industries across Europe and America, everyone was looking to Australia for work. What were tough times for many, were a boom time for us.

Our life outside of work and redesigning our future home was mostly spent in bed, mine or hers, we didn’t much care. If we were at the flat, we didn’t even need a bed, any surface would do. Vertical, horizontal, over the arm of—we weren’t fussy. Each other, that was all we needed.

We were taking that weekend off from renovations and driving to Suffolk so I could meet her grandparents. I felt bad it hadn’t happened sooner, every time we’d made plans to visit them, I’d had to cancel and Sarah had ended up going alone. I’d just been so busy with work and the house that some weeks I’d worked seven days straight, but that weekend Luke and I had made an executive decision to give everyone a four-day weekend to thank them for all the hours they’d put in. Sarah had to go into work on Friday morning but after that, we were both off until Tuesday.

Sarah had stayed over with me at the flat the night before, and I’d kept her awake until past midnight, teaching her how to give the perfect blow job. For over a month now, I’d convinced her she wasn’t very good and needed more practice, daily if necessary. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t caught on, and I knew was gonna be in trouble when she did, but until then, I’d take whatever she offered.

I was in love. Besotted. Enamoured. Devoted. I was head over fucking heels,
in
,
with
,
for
this girl.

Some nights we’d lay in the bath together in total silence. Continuously pulling out the plug and then topping up with hot water. Some nights we’d stay awake until dawn just talking and telling stories about our lives, hopes, and dreams. Other nights I’d make love to her for hours, driving both of us insane as we licked, sucked, stroked, and kissed every part of each other’s bodies. Sarah may pretty much have been a virgin when we first met, but, despite what I’d convinced her about her BJ technique, she was a fast and willing learner.

I loved to watch her face, hear her moans, and see her eyes widen with pleasure at every new experience I’d introduced her to. Gone was the shy girl of four months ago that would try to cover herself whenever we got naked. When we were alone at the flat, we rarely wore clothes. Obviously when we were over at her place things were a bit different. Sasha had witnessed my naked arse more than once as Sarah and I tried to escape upstairs.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything except her. I was love fucked, and I didn’t care who knew. Now that my divorce was finalised, there was nothing stopping us from taking it to the next level. I wanted it all. I had her, we had the house, next was marriage and babies. I wanted at least four, Sarah not so much.

She still had issues with her own childhood. Well, her issues were more about her parents than her childhood. She’d never met her dad, and she didn’t remember her mum. She was convinced that she’d be a bad mum because her parents weren’t exactly great examples. I thought otherwise. Sarah was a caring person by nature, and I knew she’d make a great mum. I just had to find a way of convincing her.

We’d talked about kids while we were deciding what to do with each of the four bedrooms in the new house. I wanted to decorate at least one as a nursery straight off, Sarah insisted it wasn’t necessary just yet. Yeah, we’d see.

I put Sarah’s coffee down on the bedside table nearest her head. Now that we were sharing a bed every night, I’d discovered that Sarah didn’t have a side of the bed, she liked all of it. She slept like a star fish some nights, and for a little person, she took up a lot of fucking room. The first thing we would buy when we moved into the new house would be a bigger bed—the biggest we could find.

She was face down, her arms spread wide like she was on a crucifix, and one leg was hooked out of the doona, which was another one of her sleeping habits, one leg
had
to be out of the covers at all times.

Her back was completely uncovered, the doona barely covering her arse cheeks. I tugged on it gently, revealing a bit more, but I’d disturbed her sleep and she rolled over to face me. I crawled in next to her.

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

I got a grunt in return. Sarah was not a fan of mornings. That was the main reason I preferred to stay here. Sasha was the same as Sarah, there was barely a word said between them, other than ‘morning’ and ‘see ya’ over at their place before they each left for work...

Dealing with one non morning person was bad enough, having two to hide from was pushing it for me, especially as it was so unnecessary. I’d asked Sarah more than once to move in here with me but she didn’t want to. She was all for us moving into the house together when it was ready, but for now, she liked to have her bit of space. I could deal, if she didn’t come here, I simply went over there.

“Your coffee’s there,” I whispered against her mouth.

“I know, I
can
smell it.”

“You want something to eat?” She’d thrown one arm across her face to cover her eyes, but she raised it so she could look at me.

“How many mornings have we woken up together?”

“Not nearly enough for me to appreciate the level of happiness you greet each day with.”

“Obviously, else you’d be fully aware that I don’t eat as soon as I open my eyes.”

She closed her eyes again and re-covered them with her arm.

“What time you gotta be in?”

“Nine o’clock, same as every other morning when you ask me.”

I rolled over so that I was on top of her.

“I need to wee, if you lay on top of me, I’ll wet the bed.”

I kissed her nose and rolled back to the side and she slid out from underneath me. I watched her naked arse and hips sway as she walked towards the bathroom.

“You’re naked,” I called out.

“No shit, Sherlock. Ten marks for observation.”

She was so miserable this morning it was actually funny.

“I thought you got your period?”

She never slept naked when she had her period, she always wore the cutest short-like knickers to bed. Because she was extra miserable on the mornings leading up to and during her period, I’d bought her some knickers just to sleep in.

What made them extra special were the little quotes printed on the part of the fabric that covered that fine arse. There were seven in a pack, I’d bought her two packs. The quotes were perfect for her.

“Talk to me before coffee. You die.”

“
Shut the fuck up.”

“You speak, I’ll stab.”

But my absolute favourite were the pair that said

“
So, I’m a cunt in the morning, deal with it.”

She stopped in the open doorway that led to the en suit and looked over her shoulder at me. Her hair was a mess, her face make-up free. She was so fucking gorgeous that my heart and my dick both jumped to acknowledged that fact.

“I said I had a belly ache, because my period was due. Hence the reason you got a blowie. Another blowie I should say, you know, coz I’m so shit that I need the practice.”

She pointed her finger at me. “I’m on to you, Delaney, don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to these last few weeks.”

I widened my eyes and fluttered my lashes, giving her my best puppy-dog look.

She flipped me the middle finger and carried on heading into the bathroom.

“Music,” she called out. I rolled my eyes and reached toward the remote for the CD player we’d bought for the bedroom. I pressed play and “Freak Me” by Another Level blasted through the room.

“Thaaaaanks,” she called out.

Sarah, like most women, was a weirdo. When we first started spending nights together, she would always get up and use the bathroom along the hallway in the mornings. I constantly asked why, but never got a straight answer. Then one Wednesday after pub night, when she’d had waaaay too much wine for a school night, she’d confessed.

“Well, it’s coz in the mornings, all the gasses and stuff are going round.”

“Gases?” I’d enquired with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, you know, in your belly. They go around all night and get all bubbly and stuff.”

I’d pulled off both of her Converse whilst she sat on the edge of the bed and spoke. I gently pushed her to lay back so that I could undo and pull off her jeans.

“Gasses go around in your belly at night, so when you get up and have a wee in the morning, you have to use the other bathroom?”

“Yes,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“I still don’t understand, bub. What difference do the gases make to which toilet you use?”

She threw both her arms back over her head and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Cheese and rice, Liam. You know. That problem you have when you get up for a wee in the morning. That problem all men have.”

I was on my knees in front of her by then, her drunk legs, hanging limp and bare off the end of the bed.

I kissed her over the top of her knickers right between the legs. She raised up her head and smiled at me. I gave her a wink. She winked back, or at least attempted to, and laid back down.

I’d had a few beers too many myself that night and was still trying to work out what kind of problem blokes had when they woke up in the morning. There was only one I could think of.

“A hard-on? The gases in your belly give you morning wood so you have to go and use the other toilet to hide it?”

“No, Liam,” she shrieked. I’d never heard her laugh so hard before. “Ohhhmmmgeeeohhhhgeeee.”

I watched with amusement as she curled on to her side and laughed, coughed, laughed some more, and eventually gave herself hiccups.

“No, no morning wood. I do not have a willy, so no wood. No. It’s that other thing, you know, that other thing that men do when they first get up for a wee in the morning.”

It clicked.

“You mean fart? The gases in your belly make you fart when you have a wee in the morning. So you use the other bathroom because you’re scared I’ll hear you?”

She covered her face with her hands and nodded. Now it was my turn to laugh.

“Sarah, I’ve had my tongue buried in your pussy and my fingers knuckle deep in your arsehole, do you actually think I care if I hear you fart.”