Free Coming Around Again by Billy London Page B

a glass of wine and patted the space
next to him on the sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she practically
collapsed into her husband’s side and groaned, “Can we still give them up for adoption?”
    He laughed. “Today, I was very tempted to leave
Daniel on a doorstep with a note. Any doorstep.”
    “Have I thanked you for that?” she murmured,
pressing her lips to his cheek, once and then again, lingering to inhale the
scent of him.
    “Not in the way I prefer. I thought you may be too
tired for that.”
    “I’ve been tired every day for the last three years
and three months. Bloody children. We’re not having any more.”
    “Absolutely not. Stay on the pill, Mrs Strøm. Not
having anyone fiddling unnecessarily with my machinery.”
    “Up to you. Just remember, when I’m tired, I’m
forgetful.”
    He took the wine from her hand and pulled her into
his lap. “I’ll have to make sure you’re well rested.” Running his hands over
her sides, he gently cupped her breasts, and rolled his thumbs over peaked
nipples. “Stella?”
    “Don’t talk,” she said on a dreamy sigh. “Just keep
doing that.”
    “Have I told you at all, that you are a wonderful
mother? And my sons are extremely lucky?”
    She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. “Not
recently, no. Thank you. I do my best.”
    “You do more than your best,” he assured her,
pulling her jumper from her body, the material still damp from the twins’
exuberant bath. “You do everything. I am in awe of you, your patience, your
strength…”
    “Are you trying to get me into bed? Or make me
cry?”
    He framed her face between his palms. “I couldn’t
ask for a better mother to my children. The only two I will ever have. Because
two…”
    “Is enough,” she concluded their mantra, created
their first night back from the hospital with two screaming, demanding, and
impatient babies.
    She rolled her hips gently into his groin. “That
was lovely, but are we doing this or what? One sip of wine and I’m ready to
pass out.”
    He swiftly raised the jersey maxi skirt to her waist.
“We’re doing this.”

Chapter Seven
     
    Stella felt an elbow digging into her ribs. And
something else hard between her buttocks. Worst of all there was definitely a
hand, a large male hand, cupping her breast. Underneath the material of Niels’
T-shirt, on the bare skin of breast that remained untouched since the last time
she’d had sex with her husband, cupped.
    “Are you awake?” Niels grumbled from behind her.
“Do you need to be sick again?”
    “The hell are you doing?” she demanded, wrestling
out of his grip and slapping his hand from her tit.
    “I was sleeping,” he said on an enormous yawn.
“Until you started moving about.”
    “You were feeling me up. Rubbing your chub into my
bum,” she accused.
    Niels lifted the duvet and started laughing. “Oh,
come on, Stella. You know how much I love your pumpkin.”
    “Don’t call it that.”
    “This is all automatic. I don’t think it’ll ever
change. There’ll be a day when I’m old and couldn’t encourage an erection. But
while you still have that delectable ass, I will forever feel my manhood.”
    “You’re ridiculous,” she threw at him, turning onto
her side and tucking the duvet more tightly around herself.
    Niels caught the T-shirt in a bunched fist and dragged
her against his bare chest. “You didn’t have any complaints when you were
sleeping earlier. Actually, you told me to move my hand lower.”
    “I’m clearly delirious. And you’re taking advantage
of a sick woman.”
    “My wife.”
    “Ex-wife.” She shivered as his palm slipped warmly
underneath the T-shirt again, his thumb skimming over her navel.
    “There’s still a possessive pronoun. Mine…” he
added on a whisper.
    “Look, I’m ill. I don’t need you molesting me with
our children in the next room.”
    “Why do you pretend I don’t know? Post-orgasmic
Stella always sleeps better than irritable