Page 20 of Save Us
Then I think of Xander, my beautiful Xander. Has he moved on after all these years? Is he angry with me for leaving him? Does he even still think about me? My mind begins to punish me by creating taunting images of his now manly figure wrapped around someone else. It hurts so bad that I want to cry all over again. New tears trail down my cheeks and I almost miss the door clicking open as Oliver walks inside.
Before he can see that I’ve climbed inside of the bathtub, I stuff the baby hat underneath my body and quickly try to wipe away my tears. Although I manage to hide the hat before he catches sight of me, he sees my hands rubbing at my eyes and appears to frown with concern. He almost looks like a normal, caring husband.
“What on Earth are you doing in there, Beth?” he asks, curling his hands over the edge of the porcelain tub. He’s wearing his signature smug expression, as though he’s pleased with the fact that he’s finally achieved his goal to send me crazy.
“Just feeling hormonal,” I half-smile with a shrug. “You know, it must be those tablets.”
“Oh, darling,” he replies with an affectionate smile, “come back to bed and I’ll make you feel better.”
I don’t need much of an imagination to know how he plans to make me feel better, so I swallow hard and breathe out slowly, if only to stop myself from screaming.
“Yeah, just give me a minute,” I reply with a fake smile.
He holds out his hand for mine and I know from that gesture, his suggestion wasn’t an optional request, it was a command. To keep the peace, I take it and let him pull me up before helping me to step out of the bath. I’m then led back to bed like an obedient dog, where he takes only seconds to crawl between my legs and slip inside, giving me his impression of making love.
Usually, I would stare at the ceiling and try to remain impassive while he jerks against me like the doll which he expects me to be. However, for the first time since being married to Oliver, I allow myself to imagine he is Xander. I’m back on that beach where it is his body moving against me, filling me up, and making love to me. Just thinking of him like this evokes painful memories, and I soon feel intense emotions beginning to swirl up from deep inside my chest. My reaction to Oliver is different this time. It’s real, sincere, but only because I am listening to Xander’s soft laugh from my dream. The whole time he’s moving against me, I keep my eyes firmly closed so I can try and believe it’s really him.
My legs wrap around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer toward my body. I soon begin panting inside of his ear, and I even bite at his ear lobes. Inside, where we are met, I clench my muscles around him, all the while I arch my back to meet him thrust for thrust.
“More, I need more!” I moan against him, prompting him to up his movements and growl with heavy lust.
“Fuck, Beth, fuck, I’ve never seen you like this…” he says between pants, “holy shit, I’m going to come so deep inside of you!”
“Yes, please, come inside of me, baby,” I moan as I writhe beneath him on that beach, in the warm sun, and with the hot sand beneath our bodies. “It’s been too long!”
“Shit!” he roars and slams into me harder than ever, but because it’s Xander inside my head, I meet him just as hard.
“I’m going to…I’m…God!” I yell, biting into his shoulder as I explode in an orgasm I haven’t experienced in years.
“That’s it, Mrs Lawrence,” he grunts, then hisses as he releases his come release deep inside of me. You’re mine, all mine, thank God!”
As he comes back down to Earth, he peppers me with kisses all over my face, before taking my mouth in a hard, somewhat painful, and possessive kiss.
“I think we’ll keep hold of those tablets if it makes you fuck like that,” he whispers inside of my ear, then begins nibbling at the flesh over my neck. I, however, begin to release new tears, only this time, they’re tears of guilt and heart-breaking betrayal.
Xander
Jonah Fox, an ancestor to one of the founding members of Mayfield, is here, in my house, and on my invitation no less. I take a moment to study the guy, taking in his tall, broad, and confident stance, looking every bit as intimidating as Oliver Lawrence. I have to smirk to myself because when looking at him, it’s easy to see how they were once friends growing up. They’re pretty much the same person, although, according to my sources, this guy supposedly possesses a soul. If that really is the case, and I have my doubts, it’s no surprise this is why he’s in the shits with both Carl Steele and his former best buddy.
When he finally steps inside, he smiles tightly, then begins glancing around my home, my kid’s home, a place that should be a haven for both of us. Thinking about that has me desperately hoping this isn’t a move I will live to regret.
“Mr Fox,” I finally manage to say by way of a greeting, trying to sound as confident as I can. I hold out my hand for him to shake, which he does so politely, if not a little stiffly, as though this is some sort of pissing contest between us. I ignore the animosity I feel toward him, then gesture for him to come and sit down in the room that has the beach as its own personal backdrop. “Please, have a seat. Drink?”
“A black coffee, thank you,” he replies with a voice that sounds as pretentious as the organization he still belongs to.
He takes a seat with confident, defined, and purposeful movements, telling me he is in no mood to have his time wasted. I inwardly begin to berate myself for not waiting until Stephen could be here with me, but he was called away on a personal errand to Paris a couple of days ago. After my trip to New York, I haven’t been able to keep still for wanting to dig further into Mayfield, as well as potential ways to bring down both its present and previous president.
I serve the guy his bitter drink before taking the seat opposite. Just as I open my mouth to begin this awkward conversation, he spies a picture of Rosie and me, together with Beth’s parents during one of our more recent trips to England.
“Your daughter?” he asks matter of factly, pointing out my little bundle of curls and cheeky smiles, to which I nod. He looks at her again, smiling and studying it a little longer than is comfortable for my liking. “She has your eyes, Mr Fenton, but I’m guessing her mother’s complexion?”
“She is definitely Beth’s daughter,” I reply and can’t help but smile with pride, “but she does, indeed, have the Fenton green eyes. Those are her grandparents.” I jut my chin out toward the older couple in the background of the photograph.
“Yes, the famous missing son,” he murmurs, almost to himself while he studies Mal for a moment or two. The whole time, he frowns at the man who never knew he was so important to this weird and powerful cult. “Forgive me, I’ve never actually seen Carl Steele’s son, or indeed, his granddaughter before. Oliver and Carl have always been very secretive about her.” Before I can respond to that, he looks at me with a softer expression. “I’m sorry about your loss, Mr Fenton. It must be hard to bring up a daughter on your own. And she must find it particularly difficult too. I can tell you still miss Beth very much.”
“Every day, every hour, every minute!” I admit all too readily.
I’m met with another one of his tight smiles, one that is not quite willing to commit to showing any kind of emotion. He then turns away from the photo altogether.