Page 49 of Endless Love

A few minutes later, the elevator door creaked open.

“It’s upstairs,” I said.

“What’s going on?” asked Willow as the four burly men wound up the stairs to my bedroom.

Deciding I really wanted this to be a surprise, I searched the living room for something I could use as a blindfold. My eyes darting left and right, they landed on my plaid cashmere scarf that I’d left on the couch. I made a quick dash for it, and when I returned to Willow, I told her to turn around. I began to wrap the scarf around her eyes.

“What are you doing, Ry-Man?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m blindfolding you.”

“Huh!?” She squirmed.

“Don’t move. You’re making it hard.” Really hard. I could feel an erection in the making, already straining against my jeans.

Upstairs, I could hear the movers dismantling my four-poster bed. A few minutes later, two of them carefully marched down the stairs, holding the bed on its side while the other two carried the mattress and bedding. I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was a part of me that wanted to stop them. My stomach clenched as I blew out a steeling breath. Once downstairs, they headed toward the elevator. One of them pushed the button and the door re-opened. To my shock, Allee was standing inside the carriage. She flashed an approving smile at me and I gasped.

“Ry, is everything okay?” asked Willow.

“Yeah.” My voice wavered as I watched the men cart the mattress, the bedding, and the bed into the elevator. Then to my surprise, Allee gave me a thumbs-up and then blew me a kiss. I caught it with my heavy heart and blew a kiss back. The door cranked shut, and to be honest, my heart sunk to my stomach as the elevator descended. My Allee was gone.

“Can I take this scarf off now?” asked Willow, bringing me back to the moment.

“No, not yet.” Grasping the fringed ends, I pulled it a little tighter.

Willow was getting impatient and annoyed. “C’mon, Ryan, tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ll see soon.” I meant that figuratively and literally.

Ten minutes later the elevator returned, and this time the four men were carrying my new bed and the mattress along with two large plastic bags filled with the bedding and accessories I’d purchased at Bed Bath & Beyond and had delivered to the antiques dealer. Brand new pillows, sheets, a comforter, and a duvet cover. And some candles. My pulse thudding, I watched as they brought everything upstairs. Butterflies flitted in my stomach. I hope I’d made the right decision.

“This is absurd,” protested Willow. Lifting her arms behind her, she attempted to untie the scarf. I caught her wrists in time and stopped her.

“You’re being a really bad girl. One more bad move and I’m going to have to spank you.”

She giggled. But truthfully, the thought of giving her tight little ass a little spanking that would make it turn ballerina pink turned me on. My dick grew harder and began to throb. I hoped the movers would assemble my new bed quickly with all the trimmings.

In no time, they were back downstairs and told me everything was done. Digging my hand into my jeans pocket, I pulled out my money clip and handed them each a twenty-dollar bill as a tip. They were beyond thrilled by my generosity and happily bid me goodnight. Before leaving, one of the movers gave me a thumbs-up, hinting at the night ahead. My pulse quickened and I could feel it in my dick.

“Okay, baby, hold my hand,” I anxiously told Willow, taking hers in mine once they were gone. Carefully, I led her up the winding stairs to my bedroom and when we got to the top, I took off the scarf.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, soaking in my, or should I say, our new bed. Having instructed the movers to make it up and place scented candles throughout the room, the antique bed with its shimmering pink upholstered headboard, thick white duvet, and fluffy pillows looked absolutely delicious.

“Oh my God!” Willow gasped again, her voice breathier, more in awe.

“Do you like it?”

“Oh my God! It’s so beautiful. Honestly, the most beautiful bed I’ve ever seen.”

Moving my hand to her lower back, I ushered her toward it. She ran her fingers over the plush Egyptian cotton duvet and then over the pink satin headboard.

“I found it today right after my lunch. It called out your name.” This was my way of letting Willow know it was a bed for her. A bed for us. That I was ready to move on.

“I love it!”

“It belonged to some legendary Russian ballerina.”

“Really? What was her name?”

“No clue.” I hadn’t asked, and now that I thought about it, maybe this clever antiques dealer had made up a story to make a sale. It didn’t matter. Willow’s eyes fixated on the bed and then zoomed in on the small whimsical pillow that was anchored in the middle against the pile of fluffy goose down pillows. She read the embroidered words aloud:

“Make love, not war.”

While I’d almost bought one that said, “Dance until you drop,” something told me that might upset her. Don’t ask why, but I followed my gut instinct. So I bought this one instead, which was fitting in these politically trying times. It replaced the ‘I’d-rather-be-in-Paris’ pillow I’d given to Allee, which I’d torn up in a fit of rage right after her death.

I nuzzled the back of Willow’s long neck. “So, what do you say…”

“Say what?” she whispered back.

“We make love.”

---