"You’re such a smart girl," Patrick had mumbled to himself, proud of his little Savannah for being so vigilant. Truly, he had just wanted to be close to her, just get a glimpse of her sweet face, but he had been too tempted to touch and one thing had led to another. Tonight would be different.
So, what had she thought about last night? Did she think it was a dream? Did she remember it happening at all or had she awoke with no memory of their lovemaking? While he was in prison he had fantasized daily about her – detailed fantasies. And they weren’t all sexual. Sometimes he would just think about her in the kitchen. How she must look as she went about her daily work. In his mind’s eye he could see the longing for him in her face when she stood in front of the butcher's block where they had chopped up vegetables. And when the pain would get too great, he would think about how she would wiggle her tight, little bottom when he'd sneak up behind her, surround her with his large frame and pin her to the edge of the block with his hard-on. He even imagined her humming some Elvis tune. She wiggled when she sang with Elvis.
Another thing he had loved to fantasize about was what she had on. When they had been apart before, he had always asked her what she was wearing. Once when they had been whipping him with a cat of nine tails, he escaped into his own mind and gone over every little outfit she had ever worn to bed. As the cruel stripes lashed into his skin, he pretended to watch her through the sheer curtains of their bedroom as she changed into her familiar tank-top and a pair of yellow, smiley face boxer shorts he'd bought for her that first week they’d been together. Other times, she would favor a pair of black silk panties or a white thong that made him groan from something other than pain. She’d never know how often he thought about her – just picturing her opening the window to let the breeze in – lingering a moment, cocking her head to one side, smiling just enough so that she looked like she had a secret. In his daydreams, she would turn away and walk slowly, swaying her hips from side to side seductively, almost as if she were inviting Patrick to come and take what belonged to him.
Damn, he was tired. After the MP had relinquished his post to him, Patrick had taken a walk around the property, surveying the area, making sure he hadn't been followed by Lucas. He jogged a half mile perimeter around the property, checking parked cars and anything that looked suspicious to him. A half hour later he was back at the house, standing at the side door, anxious to be with her again. “Okay, Savannah – ready or not – here I come.” If she was asleep, he wouldn’t wake her – but he couldn’t resist just being close.
*****
Savannah lay in the dark – waiting. He was here, she could feel him. God, he was alive! He was alive and well and she was the happiest person who had ever been born! Why was he making her wait? No matter. He was alive – Wondrously, gloriously alive. Tonight, she was going to go along with him - to a degree. Savannah was going to play possum. Yes, she was going to play possum until she turned into a wildcat. Patrick O’Rourke was in for a surprise.
*****
"I should just checkher and let her sleep,” he told himself as he picked the lock. A flash memory of Savannah's beautiful naked body raced across his mind and the tumbler in the lock pushed aside, granting Patrick access to the place that held all of his hopes and dreams. "Who am I kidding? I want to crawl in the bed and hold her tight.” He hadn’t had a decent hour’s sleep since they had been apart.
Savannah belonged to him and he was back to lay claim before someone else did. His woman was beautiful and the idea that she had gone unnoticed all of this time was far-fetched. After all, she had thought he was dead. Yet she hadn’t made love to him like a woman who was in love with someone else. And no one else was in her bed tonight, but him.
Ciara met him and there was no way he could ignore her. “Hey, Girl,” he knelt by her. “It’s so good to see you, too. You’ve grown up so big and pretty. Have you been taking good care of our Savannah?” Tonight, she was calmer. Last night she had been almost uncontrollable. It really was true, a dog loved unconditionally. But so did Savannah – of that he had no doubt. “Now, you go sit down and let me go see about Savannah. I’ll talk to you before I leave.” She obeyed; she was such a good dog.
Last night he had been in too much of a rush to look around. He hadn't been privileged to touch her in years and the need to be inside of her had pushed all rational thought from his head. Tonight, if she wanted him - he was going to take his time – with everything.
The house looked the same as when he'd left that night. Some of the furniture had been replaced, and there were
