Free Coming Around Again by Billy London

the bridge, to the tube station. She felt entranced as
he pulled her through the ticket barriers and onto the escalators, holding her
to his back.
    He stroked his hand up and down the length of her
bare thigh, grazing the gusset of her knickers, to her enflamed gasp.
    “Calm down, Stella.” He threw the words over his
shoulder. “When I do fuck you, it’s going to be private so I can take all the
time I need.”
    “Now?” she murmured against his neck, the woollen
collar scratching her cheek.
    “We’re inside a tube station, so the answer is no.”
    “Okay.” She acquiesced. “Now?”
    The escalator levelled off and he tugged her in the
southbound direction of the trains.
    “Private, Stella. I don’t think you’re ready for
the type of voyeurism I’m into.”
    Interesting . “Tell me.”
    He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her
into the nook of his body. With his mouth caressing her earlobe, he whispered
such fantasies, Stella’s breathing turned shallow and her whole body melted
like ice cream over a chocolate fondant.
    Niels held her with his ice-blue eyes, his
blond-tipped lashes casting shadows over his angular face. “Will you be patient
now?”
    She took a deep breath. “You need to take me home
with you.”
     
    ***
     
    Stella felt small fingers peeling back her eyelids. The bed felt
unfamiliar. Not dipped where her body had created a nice dent with her body
weight. This mattress felt as unyielding as brick. She remained in Niels’
territory. Stupid stomach flu.
    “Muma, are you dead?” came Danny’s worried voice.
    “Daniel,” Niels warned sternly, “leave your mother alone.”
    “Hello Danny, darling,” she murmured, before her thundering migraine
possessed the power of speech. Blinking the brightness of the overhead lights
away, she heard footsteps retreating. A moment later, she felt Niels lean over
her and press an ice-cold flannel to her head. The migraine withdrew enough for
her to open her eyes properly.
    “Any nausea?” he asked, helping her to sit up.
    “Don’t fuss,” she grumbled, taking the flannel off her head with shaking
hands. “I’m all right.”
    “You’ve been asleep for the better part of the day. It’s almost nine.”
    “At night?” Her voice rose to a squawk.
    He blinked patiently. “Yes, at night. It’s dark outside, look.” He
nodded to the large bay windows, the street lights starkly white in the blackness.
    “Nine and the boys are still up?”
    “They’ve been sleeping, too.”
    Stella tried to moisten a desert-dry mouth with saliva. “I need to call
into work…”
    “I called them,” Niels interrupted, taking a glass and waving it under
her nose. It bubbled and fizzed against her face in waves of ginger fragrance.
She took several gulps and handed the glass back. “Better?
    “Hmm. What did you say? Who did you speak to?”
    “That over-efficient little sheep you have, what’s her name? Reema? I
explained you were ill and not to be disturbed for forty-eight hours at least.”
    No one would blame her if she killed him. Not really. “I’m all right.”
    “Course you are. I woke the boys up to eat some soup. Can you manage a
little?” She shook her head and cursed herself for moving. “All right, don’t
trouble yourself. Have some water. And here.” He pressed two tabs of
paracetamol into her palm and handed her a glass of water. “That should sort
out the headache.”
    “Thank you,” she whispered, gulping down the tablets and liquid. Resting
back against the pillows, she examined him. The concern in his eyes was
extraordinarily disconcerting. She hadn’t seen him this worried about her
since…well, since she gave birth to the twins. Stella had been sick since, but
she’d simply worked through it. Even if she had a minute to indulge a migraine
or a cold or symptoms of a fever, she had two children to look after, a house
to run, a business to support, and a husband with far too busy hands to tame.
She was too used to