Whore

by Elise Faber

  I was.

  Moving forward, not forgetting, but not letting it define me. Not any longer. I deserved that. Damon deserved that . . . and I wanted it. I wanted a future with him.

  “Baby.”

  I sniffed. “I know.”

  “I wish I could hold you right now.”

  “I wish you could, too.”

  We turned the conversation to lighter topics then—Damon dropping back into his story about Tanner and Tanner’s fiancé Kelsey, and then telling me how he’d done some touristy things for the first time ever, including riding a cable car and getting ice cream at Ghirardelli's—vanilla, of course.

  We hung up when I yawned three times in quick succession, and that meant that I never got to the bottom of the weird look on Damon’s face.

  Turned out, I only needed to use a little of his patience.

  I was going to find out just after my plane landed in San Francisco.

  And it was going to change absolutely everything.

  Thirteen

  Damon

  She was the picture of Hollywood glamour, walking down the stairs of the private jet she’d hired, her jacket flowing behind her as she moved, red hair a shining sheet of fire down her back.

  “Hey,” she murmured, coming close and pressing a kiss to my lips, where I waited at my car, parked just outside the private tarmac.

  “Hi, baby.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled up at me. “I’ve never let another man call me baby, you know that, right?”

  “I’m special,” I said with a sage nod.

  “A special something,” she teased.

  “That much is true. Come on.” I held open her door, waited until she was inside, then snagged her small suitcase from the attendant, slipping him some cash.

  “Oh, no,” the attendant began trying to give it back. “Ms. Larson already—”

  “Keep it,” I said. “You got her to me safely.”

  “I—”

  I rounded the car and tugged on the driver’s side handle. “Have a good night.”

  “Thank you.” With a nod, he headed back to the plane.

  “Everything okay?” Eden asked when I’d sat down and started the car.

  “Everything’s great,” I said. “You’re here. My parents aren’t expecting us until tomorrow night, and I’ve booked us a hotel room in the city. We’ll order room service and forget about the curse of the Ego.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  I maneuvered us out of the lot and onto the freeway, glad I’d chosen a hotel that was close by. “You’re perfect.”

  She smacked my arm lightly. “Stop being charming.”

  “It’s all I’ve got.”

  “You’ve got a lot more than that,” she said, and that she’d spoken the words in that tone, that she’d looked up at me like that—with warmth and truth and conviction —meant the world to me.

  Damn. She absolutely slayed me.

  “Baby.”

  “Shh,” she said.

  “I—”

  “Just drive.” Her hand dropped to my thigh. “I want to get to the hotel as soon as possible.”

  I didn’t need the heat in her gaze to tell me what she wanted to do when we were there. Not when her desire burned through her tone.

  Shit. I wanted that, but also, we needed to discuss my suspicions. “There’s also something we should talk about—”

  She leaned over the console and nipped my jaw. “Talk later. Fuck as soon as possible.”

  I should have told her the night before.

  I should have told her the week before.

  “I—”

  “Later,” she said firmly. “For now, just drive and tell me about your day.”

  I did what she asked. I drove. I told her about the day. I swallowed my guilt by telling myself that my suspicions about the state of her uterus were probably better served by a conversation that didn’t take place in a moving vehicle.

  But, in truth, it was avoidance, plain and simple.

  We’d made such strides, and now I worried this potential unplanned pregnancy might cause the past to come flooding back into the present, might be the final straw.

  That all the progress she’d made, that we’d made, would be undone.

  Not for me.

  I loved this woman, would take any hiccups in stride.

  But Eden?

  I worried she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  And I was absolutely terrified that I was going to lose her.

  “Mmm,” she said, setting the bowl of soup to the side and picking up a piece of surprisingly good sushi.

  I wouldn’t have guessed a hotel’s offerings would be so tasty, but this one’s was.

  She scarfed it down, doing a great job of out-eating me.

  I was unsettled.

  With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her stomach and rubbed it lightly. The action made my heart pulse, and I knew it made my face change because suddenly she bolted upright and exclaimed, “Oh no! Are you going to be sick?” She ran for the trash can and snagged it out from beneath the desk then rushed over and stuck it under my nose. “Do it in there. Was the fish bad?” She picked up the plate with the remaining sushi and sniffed. “It smells fine—”

  “Eden.”

  She froze, head slowly rising so her eyes met mine. “That’s a snap,” she murmured. “On the first time.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I set down the trash can and grasped her hand, tugging her so she sat on the bed next to me.

  “Ooh, I like this,” she murmured, crawling into my lap.

  I’d managed to distract her from sex with food because her stomach had begun growling midway through the drive and hadn’t stopped. Then I’d claimed I needed a shower and had hidden in the bathroom until the food had arrived.

  Cowardly.

  Ridiculous.

  Which brought me to this moment.

  “No, baby,” I said. “I’ve been putting off bringing this up because I kept thinking there wasn’t a right moment, that it might upset you, and—”

  She leaned away from me, face going pale.

  “It’s not—”

  I reached for her. She backed away.

  I stood, hand out. “Please, come sit down,” I said. “I need to tell you this. I can’t go on without at least mentioning it.”

  Eden looked absolutely sick, but she nodded then sat back onto the edge of the bed. “Is what you’re keeping from me why you’ve been so weird?”

  Fuck. So much for sly.

  “Yeah.”

  Her chin came up, her shoulders stiffened. “Fine. Just say it.”

  But, how to say this gently? How to break the news—

  “I think you’re pregnant,” I blurted and forced my eyes to meet hers, saw that her face was ashen, her eyes closed off, and I kept talking, the words coming faster and faster. “That time in the kitchen, I didn’t use anything. I mean, I’m clean, but I have working sperm, at least I think I do. I’ve never tested it.” I winced. Shit. Move on, asshole. “And . . . um . . . anyway you’ve been sick and nauseous, your clothes are tight, your boobs—” I flopped a hand in the direction of her chest. “They’re—They’ve you mentioned they’d . . . grown. And I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about protection at the time and that was irresponsible.” Another wince. “The possibility you might be pregnant didn’t even occur to me until a week ago, and I’ve been thinking myself into circles, assuming one moment I’m wrong, because you’d know if you were and you wouldn’t wait a week to tell me.” I thrust a hand through my hair. “And then the next, I remember I didn’t use a condom and the nausea and puking and boobs, and I think how could I have been so stupid? I—”

  She put a hand up.

  I shut my mouth.

  “What the fuck, Damon?” She glanced down at herself. “I’ve only gained five pounds, and you think I’m pregnant. Do I look that horrible?”

  Oh shit.

  Oh. Shit.


  “I’ve been indulging in pizza and set food and haven’t been working out because of the hours I’ve been filming, but shit, it’s only five pounds. Do I really look pregnant?”

  Fuck.

  I took a step toward her, hating the hurt on her face. “No, baby—”

  “I have a narrow frame. A couple of pounds seems like a lot—” She sniffed.

  “Eden. I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t realized about the condom—”

  Her hand came up again, stopping me, and then the other came up, too, both of them cupping her breasts—which normally I would highly approve of. However, in this case, my cock was decidedly quiet.

  Mostly because my stomach was churning from realizing I’d hurt her feelings.

  “You think I’m fat,” she whispered.

  “No. Not at all. You’re beautiful, baby,” I said. “I just—the nausea, me being stupid enough to not use a condom— This is my fault.”

  “My boobs are bigger because I’ve gained weight over the last month.” She touched her hips. “I’ve also gained here.” She sighed. “My boobs are extra big this week because I just finished being on my period, and I always get swollen and a little extra busty during my time of the month. The puking is because I ate a catered lunch. I wasn’t alone—half the crew got sick. The nausea . . . I think is a combo, the food, stress from dealing with Grant, my tight clothes, PMS.”

  “Oh.”

  She shook her head. “Yeah. Oh.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, daring to take another step toward her. She didn’t stop me, so I relaxed. Marginally. “I’m a total idiot.”

  “Not a total idiot,” she muttered, her lips curving just the slightest bit. “I can see the signs you saw and why you thought that. I guess . . .” Another sigh. “My bigger concern is, why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “What?”

  “You said you’ve known for a week. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  I hung my head. “You’d had that rough day with Grant before the Pizza Night in your trailer in L.A. and had to be back on set with him for that really important scene that night.”

  A nod. “And the rest of the time between then and now?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you on the phone.”

  “What about the weekend? We were together for two solid days and—”

  “I was an ass,” I admitted. “I was worried about your career and your projects, worried that we’d finally moved forward and were having such a great weekend. I didn’t want to ruin that with . . .”

  “Potentially life-changing information?”

  Fuck.

  I nodded, miserably.

  “And if I’d decided to drown my Grant sorrows in a bottle or two of wine?”

  “I would have . . .”

  Hell, I didn’t know what I would have done.

  She stood, shook her head. “Damon.”

  “I know, baby. I should have just brought it up the moment I even thought it.”

  Eden moved toward the windows, staring out for several long moments. “I can’t actually have kids, Damon,” she murmured. “You should know that. I was . . . damaged when Tim pushed me down the stairs.”

  A knife-like blade of pain stabbed me in the heart.

  “Baby,” I murmured and stood.

  She spun, put her hand up again.

  “That’s information you need, information you need to accept. I don’t know if you want kids someday, but they can’t be born of my body. Not anymore.”

  “Honey.”

  “If you want that, I can’t give that to you.”

  “I just want you.”

  Tears trailed down her cheeks. “You say that now, but—”

  No. I went to her, tugged her into my arms. “I’ve waited six years for a shot with you, Eden Larson. If kids are in our future, we’ll find a way that works for both of us.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get there.”

  I sucked in a breath, held her tighter. “You don’t need to get anywhere.”

  “And you still should have told me the moment you suspected.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “You held back because you were worried I’d panic. That . . . we can’t make a relationship of that.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And if you do want them—”

  “What I want is for us to enjoy our time together,” I said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And maybe figure out a way to get my mom to spill her beans on her secret French toast recipe.”

  She smiled. “I can do that.” Then, “You should have told me.”

  “I know.”

  “We can't build something rock-steady if you hold back from me.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “I should be so fucking pissed at you right now. Especially since you thought I looked fat enough to be pregnant.”

  I winced, nodded. “Yes, you should.”

  She sighed. “Instead, I’m touched that you care about me so much that you didn’t want to hurt me or my career.”

  My lungs froze.

  She turned in the circle of my arms. “Thank you for caring, baby.”

  This woman. Fuck, she was absolutely incredible. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t roasting my balls over a fire, especially when I deserved a good searing. Instead, she’d set a boundary and forged a way forward.

  And I knew I couldn’t hold back.

  Couldn’t hold anything back.

  Not ever again.

  “I love you.”

  Her face froze, lips parting in surprise. But then she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips lightly to mine.

  “I love you, too,” she said, shocking me, my jaw dropping open. Gently, she closed it and smiled up at me. “It’s the only explanation.”

  I chuckled. “Besides insanity?”

  Her smile turned full-grin. “Yes, exactly that,” she said. “But also, Damon baby, it’s the only explanation for why you were able to get inside my armor. It’s love. It has to be because it’s the only thing strong enough to penetrate all of that steel.”

  My heart expanded like a balloon being filled with helium. I started to wind my arms around her, but she leaned back, heels dropping to the floor, lips distancing from mine, eyes narrowing. “Now, there will be no stalling or hiding in the bathroom or acting weird,” she said. “You’re going to take me to bed, give me many orgasms in penance, and promise to never”—her fingers wove into the hair on my nape and gripped tightly enough to make me wince—“ever keep something like this from me again.”

  I scooped her up into my arms. “I promise.”

  “Good.” Her hands fell to my shoulders. “Now, kiss me.”

  Another promise I could keep.

  I dropped my lips to hers.

  Fourteen

  Eden

  God. I loved his mouth.

  His lips were soft against mine and yet demanding, coaxing me from touched, albeit mildly irritated, into heavy-limbed and flushed all over from desire by the time he’d set me down on the bed.

  One moment to yank the comforter away.

  Another and he was pressed down on top of me.

  “Baby?” he murmured in my ear.

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re sure?”

  My eyes peeled open. “About the love thing or the orgasm thing?”

  Damon brushed his finger down my cheek, the slightly calloused tip catching lightly against my skin. “Either. Both.”

  I did some tracing of my own, along the bristly edges of his jaw, down his nose, across his forehead, pushing several of the slightly overgrown brown locks out of the way.

  “I’m sure about both.” I leaned up to nip his jaw. “I’m also sure that you’re way too handsome for your own good. You should have focused some of that Garcia Christmas Special magic in front of the camera.”

  He chuckled, shifting slightly so his mouth could reach my throat. “As sacrilegious as it seems to be bringing her up at a moment like this, my mothe
r would love to hear you say that. She’s always been on me to use my connections to get into movies.”

  I laughed. “Well, now you can use my connections.”

  A shudder. “God, no. The only connection of yours I want is finding a way into your pants.”

  How was this my life? I was lying in bed with a man who wasn’t rushing to take off my clothes as quickly as possible, trying to find a way to his orgasm, to snag that moment of pure pleasure. But just as he wasn’t racing to that end, I also wasn’t hurrying. I’d spent so many of my sexual interactions since Tim searching to get lost in that moment of blissful oblivion, and disappointed when it only lasted a few seconds, when it didn’t mean anything more than getting lost for a few seconds—

  Empty oblivion.

  I wanted more than that now.

  I wanted to live.

  I wanted to feel.

  I wanted . . . Damon in my pants.

  He nipped at my throat. “What are you grinning about?”

  “You getting in my pants.”

  His head popped up. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But you’re sure taking your sweet time with it.”

  A wicked smile, heat in his eyes, his head dropping back down, and his mouth went to work. He traced his lips across my jaw, let them drift up to my earlobe, suckling gently. He’d discovered that spot the first time we’d been together, and it never failed to make me shiver and moan, goose bumps erupting on my arms.

  “Mmm,” I groaned, lacing my fingers into his hair.

  He moved, shifting his weight, one hand sliding under the hem of my shirt, moving up along my stomach, between my breasts, up and down, up and down.

  “Mouth,” I demanded.

  Damon didn’t make me wait. His lips falling to mine, hand sliding out from beneath my shirt, and tugging at the buttons on its front, though not making much progress because it was one hand and he wasn’t a magician.

  I reached down to help him, our hands tangling as we both struggled with what I was mentally terming the devil’s garment. Eventually, I batted him away, yanking open the line of them. I was so glad I’d taken matters into my own hands when his eyes darted up to meet mine for a moment, fire in their depths, before tracing slowly down the exposed skin.