“It’s so beautiful,” I whisper, gazing out the French doors. The moon is full, casting a soft glow over the hills and mountain tops. It looks like a painting.
Dillon walks up behind me wrapping his arms around my belly and resting his chin on my shoulder. “You are even more beautiful.”
I hug his arms to me and we rock side to side, just admiring the view and listening to the quiet of the night.
“I have something for you. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
“What is it?” I turn quickly in his arms, barely able to hold in my excitement.
“A gift.”
“A gift? For me?” Maybe he should wait. Today has been too much, I’m not sure if I can stand any more sentimental gestures.
He opens up his closet and he reaches his hand to the very top and fishes around for something. He pulls down a flat rectangular shaped object wrapped in shiny silver paper and a pink bow.
“Come sit.” He pats the bed. I crawl up and sit in the middle with my legs crossed and bounce excitedly. I’ve never received a wrapped gift before, except for the candy and flowers Dillon gave to me. My mother would sometimes surprise me with a new toy from the box, but never anything wrapped in shiny paper. The anticipation of opening it is killing me.
Dillon stands there holding it in his hands with an amused smile on his face. He’s enjoying me acting like a little girl waiting impatiently for my gift.
“Dillon!!” I squeal.
He laughs and places it in my lap. I try to take my time. I pull on the ribbon, watching it come undone and fall into my lap, and then I very carefully run my finger along the seam of the paper where it’s taped. I pull the paper off and tears immediately flood my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks. I’m speechless. I bring both hands to my face and sob into them.
“Don’t cry.” I hear Dillon say as the bed dips next to me and his arm wraps around my shoulder pulling me to his side.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I say with my hands still over my face.
“Do you like it?” I remove my hands from my face and hold the journal in both of my hands. It’s absolutely the best gift anyone could ever give me. It looks old. It’s a dark sepia colored hand-made leather bound journal with a leather strap that wraps around it. It’s filled with hand-torn fine art paper. It is absolutely amazing.
“I love it. I love it so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.” I lunge into his arms and we both fall back on the bed.
“I know you spent a lot of time writing in your journal before and you sounded crushed when you told me about your mother taking it from you. I just wanted you to be able to write your thoughts down again.”
I lay in the curve of his body with my head on his chest as he runs his fingers through my hair. I think about all the things I want to write down right now. I want to write down all the emotions I felt today and over the last few weeks. I want to write about my feelings for Dillon. I want to write down my biggest fears and my greatest hopes. My dreams for the future.
Dillon gently moves me off of his chest so he can get off of the bed. He digs through his dresser drawer and hands me one of his t-shirts to sleep in and then hands me a pen from his dresser. “Go ahead. I know you’re dying to.”
I smile big at him, jump from the bed, and run to the bathroom, changing quickly into the shirt he gave me to sleep in, and then hop back onto the bed. Propping the pillows up behind my back so I can lean against them, I pull my knees up to rest my journal on them and twirl the pen across my bottom lip as I organize my thoughts. Then I start to write like a crazy person.
Dillon strips down to his boxers and climbs onto the bed next to me, laying on his side, propped up with his elbow just watching me. His head rests near my hip while his hand caresses the back of my thigh as I write. I write about Dillon. Everything about Dillon. A mix of emotions bubble up inside of me as I write my feelings down. His fingers tickling the back of my thigh start to become more sensual. I look down at him and see the same emotions reflecting back in his eyes. Desire, need and love?
“I don’t want to wait seven days,” I say with a sigh.
“What do you mean?”
“It takes seven days for the pill to work.”
“I wasn’t…”
“I want to.” I set my journal down on the nightstand as he pulls my knee toward him which spreads my legs wide. He kisses the top of my knee as his hand trails down my inner thigh to my damp underwear. His eyes still focused on mine, he slides his hand into the side of my underwear and strokes me with his finger. I clutch the back of his head as he slides his finger deep inside me. I lift my hips, pushing him in deeper. Not wasting any time, he slides a second finger in, and then a third, stretching me. My lips part, as I exhale and I squeeze my eyes closed. He pumps his fingers in and out a couple of times, and I become extremely wet.