Wanted Always (Xander Barns)
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Authors: Sarah Tork
Wanted
Always (Xander Barns, #2)
By
Sarah Tork
Other Books
by Sarah Tork
Xander
Barns Series
Always
Wanted (Xander Barns, #1)
Young
Annabelle Series
Young
Annabelle (Y.A, #1)
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author
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@Sarah_TO1
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Wanted Always (Xander Barns, #2)
By: Sarah Tork
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living
or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The
characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.
Cover design by
Robin Ludwig Design Inc.,
http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com
Images From:
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Editing
by Hot Tree Editing.
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*Demetria*
Pink clouds, lace, and silk were the key
elements of a room this large; a family of four could live comfortably inside.
Loud instrumental music plays in the background from a pink iPod dock with a
pink iPod attached to it. Sitting on my plush, purple-velvet makeup chair in
front of a table filled with every facial product known to man, with a large
mirror nestled behind it, I, Demetria Williams, gaze at my reflection with a
scowl. I’m mentally preparing the things I could say if I ever saw my beloved
with another woman.
Option one: “Pining, you say?”
Option two: “Silly girl, you reek! Don’t
you know you smell like a thief?”
Option three: “It’s not right to steal.”
Option four, and my personal favorite:
“Geez, I smell something stale and rancid; do you smell that?”
Yes, those are the exact words I will use.
I’ve decided to be prepared just in case an undesirable dared to pop up and
take what’s mine.
My love…Xander!
The music ends and a 50s song about love
and loss begins playing; the violins fill every inch of the room. My eyelids
flutter closed. I allow my brain to wonder further, taking my body, mind, and
soul to a place beyond the clouds where it could just be him and me.
My happy place.
Yummy, I can still fucking taste it.
Glorious feet, washed in a bowl of water
with the finest cleansers, nails filed in perfect crescent shapes.
It smells glorious as my nose touches his
feet, as my tongue swims joyously around his big toe. I feel his body quiver in
shock from the sensation my mouth is giving him. I stretch out my hand, itching
for a touch of his muscular naked leg. I want my hand to tickle playfully
across his thigh, teasing him on its way to the sweet spot, the X, my favorite,
mine period.
Then something horrible happens, the
memory fades.
This is ridiculous!
My eyes snap open, furious that there are
no more memories to relish in and pretend they actually existed right in front
of me. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have had only a few memories to recall. I
would have had enough to fill my day and then the next.
I just want one thing in this life, and I
am denied it. A man who made my entire body quiver violently for hours, while
he whispered sweet things into my ear. My love for him only grew with the first
stroke of his strong, clever hands, but I knew I loved him even before we began
our spontaneous encounters of lust.
It’s been many months since my last
encounter with Xander, which is wrong—very, very wrong. I’m so freaking
furious, but with no one to blame but myself for letting him get away. The
anxiety that fills me day after day finally became too much last night.
Sighing, I glance around my large bedroom,
eyeing the strips of wallpaper on the floor, and the remnants of drywall that
dusted every inch of my custom, cherry hardwood floor.
I can’t be blamed; it was a reaction I am
sure any normal person would have expressed, if not worse.
The rage had been set off when I realized
it had been four long months since my last encounter with him. I just couldn’t
take it anymore. Anger melted as every kick, punch, and curse violently escaped
my body. Today is a new day, and no matter how it was last night, it was over.
I am fresh. But I am still a lady. A real lady doesn’t let her anger take over
completely; she just has her moment in the privacy of her own bedroom, letting
it all out, so that the next day, she can start fresh. I learned that from
Mother very well, and as always, she spoke the truth. I did feel better today.
Not as great as I could have felt, but definitely better compared to the
monstrosity of emotions that circled inside me yesterday.
I feel fresh, and that should be enough to
calm my mood, but it isn’t, not at this moment. My hands twitch with no warning
as the desire to taste him resurfaces. They rest on my lap with nowhere to go.
The man of my dreams is nowhere close.
How long is this going to go on until I
can’t take it anymore? I have no way of reaching out to him without gathering
suspicion from our social circle.
Thank God, thank God, the last time I saw
him, I took something. Something that has turned into the most valuable item I
have ever had in my possession.
A handful of his hair that I clipped while
he slept the last time we were together. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded
anyways; everything about him would soon belong to me. What’s the difference if
I took an advance on that?
A disgusting vision paralyzes my mind, as
I envision another woman sliding her fingertips all over him.
“Silence, thief!” I whisper to the whore
in my mind, a promiscuous commoner who has no business being anywhere near
Xander. As my mind blocks every possible passageway out, her body jerks at my
request, then abruptly tucks herself into a little ball once she sees who she’s
messing with. It’s funny, they’re only silent when they’ve got nowhere else to
go. The whole vision plays out in my head.
“You’ve been caught!” I kneel down beside
her, whispering into her ear. “Do you wanna take a trip out to one of the seven
seas? No, then why do I keep finding you in places you shouldn’t be?”
Silence consumes the room. Xander has
disappeared and it was just her and me now. “That’s what I thought.”
Taking care of business finally, I nail in
the last board over the hole to hell, where I’ve dropped her naked and
screaming for her life. But I don’t care. She deserves what she got. She was
trying to take something that wasn’t hers.
Damn it, she isn’t real, that didn’t
happen. Right now, my revenge is contrived in my mind to ease the pain in my
heart. The pain in knowing that women like
that
exist. They’re using
moments I deserve to relish in, to experience real life in. Instead,
I
am forced into the background as these whores freely do as they wish. All the
while, I wait for his voice to call mine, just like he did the last time, four
months ago.
I know I pleased him tremendously, so
where is he?
I want to win this time. I’m so tired of
waiting and not receiving, I’m so tired of wanting and not getting. I’m so
tired of being unable to relieve the ache my body feels, void of his touch all
these many months.
I’m sick.
I
know
I pleased him; he was
clearly satisfied. I know it. I saw it. I smelled it. I tasted it.
I’d inhaled everything about him.
Everything about him consumes me, and until I reunite with him, there will be
no rest. The time to wait is over. The time to start doing things is about to
begin. I’m about to get what I’ve always wanted. One way or another, my baby
will be mine.
My mattress squeaks as I plop down with my
legs hanging off to the side.
Adjusting my pale pink satin,
spaghetti-stringed nightgown, I bend over and slide my custom leather, designer
handbag from underneath my bed frame. I place it in front of me, on top of the
light pink and lime green lace duvet cover, and unzip it. I pull out a
snack-sized Ziploc bag from a hidden compartment I specially designed with
Rudolpho M. Terrerier last December. I came home with the treasures, not
knowing where to hide them from Mother’s prying eyes and nosy fingers. I unseal
the bag slowly, careful that the treasures inside don’t escape.
The sight and close proximity of Xander’s
beautiful chestnut-brown hair consumes my body, immediately in ecstasy, as if I
have just done drugs. Only Xander is a drug that needs no rehabilitation. It is
a privilege, a gift from the gods to bask in during tough times, used only in
dire situations, when no other option is foreseeable.
I unseal this bag at least once a week.
I’ve already opened it once this week, but after last night, I need to go in
again; that’s how much pain I’m dealing with right now.
I dip my finger inside the bag, and my
eyes roll back at the first graze.
There, that’s better.
I’m on the way to feeling like myself
again, when three rough knocks disrupt me. My eyes snap open, appalled. A
beautiful moment shamefully destroyed. The lack of respect for the bag is
cringe-worthy, but can I expect anything less from my mother?
“Demetria, darling!” An annoying screech
dares to call from the other side of my door.
I scowl at my locked door, quickly
resealing the precious contents of my bag. Taking a moment to collect myself so
I don’t call Mother out for disturbing me during my ‘me’ time, I breathe deeply
once, in and out.
“Yes, Mother?” I yell across the room,
enunciating each word slowly so she will get that I’m annoyed.
Clearly!
The doorknob rattles. Mother obviously
thinks that addressing her is code for ‘please come in; the door is open’.
She thinks wrong. My door is locked and
will remain locked until I am good and ready to throw myself back into the
world. Not to mention, the annoyances of her daily antics that drive me up the
wall.
“Darling, may I please come in?” Mother
asks through the door.
Finally, some politeness!
With a roll of my eyes, and taking my
sweet time, I tuck the carefully sealed, snack-sized Ziploc bag back into the
hidden compartment of my designer handbag. Scowling, I zip my purse shut, and
slide it underneath my bed.
Can a day pass where I’m not harassed by
that woman?
“You may enter when I’m good and
ready! Take your hand off the doorknob first!” I order sternly from my position
on my four–poster, princess-canopy bed.
After a brief moment of silence, Mother
speaks. “Darling, my hand is no longer on the doorknob.”
Satisfied that for once in her life,
Mother actually followed simple instructions, I tiptoe to the bedroom door.
After slowly unlocking it, and before answering her, I rush back to my place on
my bed.
“You may enter,” I voice stoically,
folding my arms across my chest, displaying my annoyance as obviously as I can.
The doorknob turns, opening the door
slowly, creak-free thanks to my demands that the maid spray WD-40 on the door
joints weekly. Mother hunches timidly inside the doorframe, gazing at me for a
second to make sure it’s okay for her to traipse into my room.
What does she want now?
“What do you want, Mother?” I narrow my
eyes at her. Mother sighs loudly as she straightens her shoulders, walking into
the room; her heels clack against the cluttered hardwood. Surprise quickly
takes her as she eyes the state of the room, but knowing her, she quickly
disregards the result of last night’s stress-relief tactic, and heads towards
my bed, oblivious. Although, all is not lost on her, and knowing the clean
freak that she is, a small flap in my duvet brightens her eyes. It gives her
something to address me with, without the worry of offending me.
“Oh no, darling, this will not do!” She
grabs both ends of the duvet and pulls at it, straightening it, despite the
fact that I’m still sitting on it. “You see how much better it looks? Remember,
cleanliness and order makes all the difference.”
My eyes roll as she tugs the duvet one
last, annoying time. The entire room is in disarray, and here she is, muttering
gibberish about my duvet. It angers me; why is she so stupid, couldn’t she just
keep her mouth shut?
This better be a short visit!
“What do you want?” I ask slowly,
sternly. Mother grabs one of the bedposts.
“I wanted to see how you were doing,
especially with what happened last night. Darling, it’s been so long since
you’ve had an episode like that, is everything okay?”
I feel my blood pressure rise at an
unprecedented speed. So much for staying calm!
How dare she bring up matters of the past;
that event happened yesterday. Today is another day, and nothing of that sort
is going to happen today. I made sure of that with my happy bag.
“How dare you bring that up! You know what
talking about it makes me feel like!” I hiss, flabbergasted at her careless
candor, as if she doesn’t know me.
I’m a grown woman who has her moments, but
doesn’t everyone sometimes?
Mother grips the bedpost tightly. I’m
deeply upset by her careless candor; she’s completely oblivious towards my
fragile feelings.
I’m appalled, deeply and utterly appalled.
Breathing through my nose, my lips purse
out as the rest of my face settles in a scowl. A common expression I use when
things have gone too far. Mother knows the look I’m giving her; it means one
thing.
Protest.
These lips, these luscious lips (that
belong to Xander, only Xander) refuse to open. She does not deserve to hear my
voice, and she deserves silence. A cruel person’s punishment, and Mother had
been very, very cruel.
Mother’s eyes widened when she realizes
she has crossed over into punishment territory, and I’m not someone who waivers
when it comes to a punishment that is so well deserved.
