Coming Around Again
Contents
Copyright © 2014 Billy London
Note about eBooks
CAVEAT
Playlist
The Break Up
Prologue
Chapter One
The Divorce
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
The Fight
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Struggle
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
The Turning Point
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Reunion
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
The End
Epilogue
Billy’s Book List
About Billy London
Coming Around Again
Billy London
Copyright © 2014 Billy London
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.
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
Note about eBooks
eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without my written permission. If you like my writing, you won’t do it. Cheers.
CAVEAT
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!”
Playlist
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
The Break Up
Prologue
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’.”
Chapter One
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 clea
n 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.