Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (books successful people read txt) 📗

Chapter Eight

The long white curtains billowed into the room as they caught the breeze from off the bayou.  Savannah sighed in her sleep, rolled over and pulled the covers up tighter under her chin. A small smile played upon her lips. She was happy.

A Fantasy

“Savannah, I’m home!”

Savannah threw back the covers and bounded from the bed.  Patrick didn’t even make it through the door before she launched herself in his arms.  “Thank God!  I’ve missed you so!” 

Their kiss was inevitable; Savannah couldn’t get close enough to him to satisfy her longing.  His tongue swept across her lips, teasing and probing until she sighed with longing which parted her lips and he slipped inside.  It was a gentle kiss – a sweet kiss, but one that held a promise of ecstasy to come.  “Come to bed with me.  I need you.”   

“I knew it.  You only want me for my body.”

“You’d better believe it.  I’m starved for you.”  With abandon, she began tearing at his clothes. It began with Savannah taking the lead, but Patrick exerted his dominance in a heartbeat. 

“I’m all you need.  No one will ever love you like I do.”  She didn’t argue with him.  He pulled her toward him, fitting her body flush against his.  There was no missing his desire for her; it was hard and thick against her middle.  “I want you in my bed, forever.”  Forcing her to walk backwards with his body, Savannah landed on the bed with a little bounce.

“Patrick!” 

The lab turned her head to look at the woman who had called out in her sleep.  She watched a moment, but when her mistress giggled softly, and relaxed, Ciara went back to her constant vigil.  She stood at the window and watched the road – waiting.

He leaned over her, an unmistakable burning hunger in his eyes.  “Take off that gown.  Now.”

“Yes, Sir.” God, she loved it when he took control.  With one movement, she whisked it over her head, bearing her body to his gaze and hands.  The anticipation of his touch made her quiver.  She wanted him more than oxygen. 

Leaning over, he put his hand between her legs and slowly rubbed her tender opening.  “Is this where you want me?”

“Yes.” She reached up to pull him closer, needing more kisses, more touches – more contact.  “I want you to make love to me.  I want you inside me.  Strip.”

“Who’s in charge here?” he chuckled. 

“Me.  Do you have a problem with that?”  As he shed his shirt, Savannah almost salivated with lust.  

“Hell, no!  Do I look crazy to you?”

“No,” When he took his pants off, Savannah sighed.  “You look scrumptious.”

“Scrumptious?  I think it’s you who looks good enough to eat.”  He began kissing her face – her nose, her forehead, her eyelids, each cheek.  Little moans of need escaped Savannah’s lips.  Moving on to her neck, he nibbled and sucked and kissed, biting at the tender flesh – she realized he intended to leave his mark on her.  “I’m going to love you like no other woman has been loved.  I’m going to worship your body.  You’ll never ever want another man but me.”     

Savannah clutched the bottom sheet, writhing in ecstasy. Turning toward his side of the bed, she clutched his pillow to her face and whispered his name.  “Patrick.”

“No, I’ll never want anyone but you.”  Arching her back, she fed him her breasts.  With mind-blowing technique, he loved on her breasts – kissing and licking and sucking until she was begging.  “Please, I’m crazy with wanting you.  Love me, Patrick.”  He spread her legs and came closer, but he didn’t enter her – not yet, and she was panting with desire. 

“I do love you.  Always will.  Always.”  With the most erotic gesture she could imagine, he licked a path from the center of her cleavage south – south – over her midsection, down past her belly button – almost to the place where she needed him the most.

“Oh my God!” Savannah wailed.  If he didn’t touch her clit soon she would just expire from desperate lust.

“Be patient, Love,” he smiled at her with that patented cocky Patrick grin. 

But then – everything changed – a drawing, cold, harsh tornadic wind pulled Patrick from the bed and ripped him from her arms.  “Patrick!” she screamed, reaching out for him.

“Savannah!  I’m sorry.  Forget me never, Savannah!  Remember me!”

Savannah sat up with a gasp. In her confusion, she looked around for Patrick.  “No!” she wailed.  Ciara padded over to the bed with big sad eyes.  He was gone.  God, he was gone.  Patrick – her Patrick was dead.  He had never come home.  With a broken-hearted cry, Savanna curled into a small ball and wept her heart out. She was alone.

*****

Time passed.  Savannah learned how to be alone, again.

She moved his picture from her bedside table, but she didn’t moved it very far.  It was in the nightstand drawer and she still looked at it every night before going to sleep.  That move typified everything in her existence – she had moved Patrick from the fore-front of her life, but she didn’t moved him very far.  He was still very much with her.

Sleep was a precious commodity. Because when she slept, she dreamed. At first the dreams had just been reliving the precious moments they had shared. Later her subconscious began creating new memories of how things should have turned out. Once she dreamed about going with him to Galveston. They had never discussed it, but she had always fantasized about renting one of the beach cabins. It would have been an incredible place for a honeymoon.

As her loneliness increased and reality set in - the phantasms changed. No longer were they happy or comforting, instead she began to hear and see and feel Patrick suffering. Savannah would wake up in a cold sweat, trembling, because Patrick was screaming her name. He seemed to be in pain.