Tuesday, 30 September 2014
Coming Around Again
I'm back from my little jaunt to Italy! If you hadn't seen on my Facebook page, I left a little excerpt of the book that has seen me through a box of Kleenex, weeping and wailing and wailing and weeping. I'm over it though. Not selling it am I... Maybe this bit will though!
Niels takes over my blog..
Stella felt an elbow digging into her ribs. And something else hard between her buttocks and 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.”
“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 you? Post-orgasmic Stella always sleeps better than irritable Stella.”
So very true, but she couldn’t let her barely ex-husband touch her anywhere outside of the sanctity of marriage. God, the things she’d let that man do to her sexually…
“You shouldn’t,” she muttered while his index finger traced the line of her lace Brazilian-cut knickers.
“Nothing I haven’t done before,” he assured her, parting her thighs with his hand and slipping his fingers beneath the edge of her panties.
“Sleep, my sweet,” he whispered. “Nothing for you to worry about.”