VEGAS follows you home (51 page)

After nearly two and a half hours of discussing colors, flooring, counters, tiles, and hundreds of things I never thought I'd be discussing with Damon, I'm wore out. Instead of the dinner originally planned, Damon and I stop for take-out.

Stuffed full from four pieces of Sicilian style pizza and two glasses of iced tea, I lean back into the couch, tempted to roll my pants down below my stomach. Damon pauses the TV just before Alex can give the next Jeopardy answer and turns to me.

"Done?" Damon asks, a piece of crust held between his teeth.

Even though it's completely common, something many other people do in their homes, my heart flutters.

"Yeah." I nod, rubbing my stomach.

His eyes follow the movement before focusing back on my face.

"Everything okay?"

"Just full." I smile.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious about my stomach, I tug my sweater out and away from my body. He grins around the crust before tearing a piece off with his white teeth. Pressing play on the TV, he looks back at the screen. My eyes linger on his profile before I give the game show my full attention.

I'm so comfortable. My body protests any movement from the soft warmth surrounding me. I force my eyes open. Aside from the light of the television, the room and windows are dark. Stretching, I find my lower body is pinned to the luxurious cushions. My brow furrows and I remember where I am.

Damon's apartment. Damon's couch. Damon pinning my lower half with his body.

Propping up on my elbows, I glance down my body. Damon lies stomach down, his face buried against the side of my stomach, his arm draped across my hips, and his muscular left leg wrapped around my right. The way his body is flush against mine, I can feel every breath he takes — deep and even. My body reacts, flushing with heat. Swallowing the lust, I lie back down, letting my breaths match the rhythm of his.

Damon's left hand glides up and under my sweater. His fingers find the band of my cotton pants and dip inside. Pulling the material down over my belly, he splays his fingers over the now exposed skin. His hand warms my skin, branding it forever with his gentle, caring touch.

This is new. Doing it alone during my pregnancy with Alex, I never experienced this. The feeling of someone else loving the person inside you as much as you do. My family and friends had been supportive, but now I realize…it isn't the same.

A shuddering breath leaves me. Emotions swell and I close my eyes against threatening tears.

"Hey," Damon quietly rasps.

His head lifts from my side and angles up.

"You okay?" he asks when I don't respond.

I feel his eyes on me, watching me. Worry radiates off him and his hand tenses against my stomach.

"If you want me to stop, I will." He begins to pull his hand away.

I shake my head, finally finding the composure to speak.

"Alex didn't have this," I say, my voice cracking.

"What?"

His body presses closer. I rest my right hand over his on my stomach.

"I was alone." I swallow back tears. "And that was okay. But now, with you…" I rub my hand over his. "Alex didn't have two people loving him more than life itself. Not like this," I hiccup.

"Shh…"

His hand presses against me.

I shudder.

"It feels so unfair to him," I croak.

The couch cushion shifts and I open my eyes.

Damon straddles my legs, propping his upper body on his hands, which are placed on each side of me. With one hand, he pushes the sweater until it gathers below my breasts.

"You are a wonderful mother."

Bowing his head, he presses his lips to my belly button. Raising his head, his eyes find mine in the darkness.

"Alex is a wonderful and loved little boy."

His lips press a couple of inches above my navel.

"He has not lacked for love or care."

He kisses just below the bunched cashmere.

"Alex was loved more than life itself before he was born."

He brings his face above mine.

"He had you to give him all of that. And even before I knew of him, those feelings were in me. I am just now able to show him all the love I have."

Reaching up, I grip the sides of his face and pull his mouth to mine. This time, I claim his mouth, owning him.

He gives me some of his weight, dropping down onto his forearms for support. The feel of his entire body pressing against mine heats my body. Suddenly, the sweater is too warm and uncomfortable. My pants are too tight and constricting. The cotton bra feels like it's made of steel wool. I want every piece of clothing removed. I want his warm, toned skin pressed against mine and I will have it.

Fisting his shirt, I tug and pull at the material.

Moving his weight to one arm, his right hand slips under my sweater. Our lip mash together and teeth click. Our breaths are heavy through our noses, heat dampening each other's skin.

Damon curls his fingers into the cup of my bra and pulls. The feel of his fingers and the cotton scraping across my nipple causes me to break our kiss with a gasp.

"Damon," I moan.

His lips fuse to my neck, sucking, licking, and nipping. Shoving the cashmere up further, he moves, dipping his head down to take my nipple into his mouth. Arching my back, I squeeze my thighs together.

As he lavishes attention to my breast, his hand moves down my body and slips into my cotton pants. One finger instantly finds the thin elastic of my panties and slides under the material.

Faintly, I hear music.
Oh my God, he's making me hear music?
Wait, the music is familiar. Very familiar. It's not music. It's chiming.

Damon stops, pulling his head away.

"That's your phone," he pants.

I meet his eyes, darkened by lust, and prepare to pull him back down to my breast, until I realize why the chime is familiar. Mercedes.

"Alex," I whisper, eyes widening.

As a mother, I immediately think the worst. Erik.

My fear and panic written all over my face, Damon jumps from the couch and retrieves my cell phone.

Sitting up, I readjust my bra and sweater.

By the time Damon returns with the phone, it has stopped ringing.

"I'm sure he's fine," he assures, handing it to me.

Missed call. Mercedes.

I hit the call and redial.

"Liv," Mercedes answers, Alex crying for me in the background.

"What's wrong?"

Panic wells in my chest.

"He's fine," she reassures. "His ear is bothering him. He keeps crying, pulling on it, and saying ear. I just need to know if I should give him Motrin or Tylenol."

"Does he have a fever?"

The couch shifts and Damon stands, disappearing from the room.

"It's only 99.9. Not too high."

"Give him the Motrin based off the dosage scale on the label."

Standing, I start pacing.

"Okay."

Unwilling to hang up, I keep Mercedes on the phone in silence.

"Liv?"

"Yeah," I blurt.

"He's fine. If it gets worse, I'll call. Okay?"

"Okay," I whisper and disconnect the call.

I take a deep breath and hold it for one calming moment before releasing.

A sound behind me draws my attention. Turning, I find Damon standing with my bag and another bag.

"What's all this?"

"I think I grabbed everything, but whatever I missed, we can get later."

"Where are we going?" I step closer, my brow furrowed.

"Alex isn't well." He walks to the coatrack and picks up my coat before holding it out to me. "You're going to be worried about him if we stay here. I'd rather you not stress. Besides, I'm concerned about our son as well."

I take the coat and slip it on, while Damon gets his own.

"But, this is the alone weekend…"

"We can do it another time." He shrugs into his coat.

My chest fills with warmth, heart skips a beat, and I swallow back emotion. Alex now has this — us.

Buttoning up my coat, we grab our things and leave the planned weekend behind.

Mercedes doesn't show one bit of surprise when we walk into the apartment. She gives a small smile as I sit down next to her on the couch and launches into the current state of Alex.

"He just went to sleep about fifteen minutes after the Motrin. I took his temperature before I called you but haven't since then. I figure the medicine has it down for now."

She speaks to me, but her eyes follow Damon and the bags he carries.

"You didn't have to come home, Liv. He really is fine."

Her eyes come back to my face.

"I can't be away when he's sick." I shake my head.

"Do you want me to stay? I can help if he wakes up during the night."

"I'll help her."

Both of our heads turn. Damon leans against the wall at the edge of the hallway.

"You're staying?"

I don't have to look at her to see the smile she's wearing.

"Yes, Mercedes, I'm staying."

"Okay, well let me grab my things and get out of your way."

She stands from the couch.

"You don't have to go," I blurt, feeling guilty with it being late in the evening.

"It's fine. I can—"

"Please, don't go on my account. You can have the spare room," Damon states, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Realizing, with Mercedes here, he plans on sleeping next to me, embarrassment heats my face.

"You sure?" Mercedes looks from Damon to me.

I nod, swallowing hard.

"Of course," I croak.

"I'll take the couch." Damon grins at me.

"You can't sleep on that thing all night," Mercedes implores, a trace of disbelief in her voice.

"I'll be fine." He straightens from the wall.

"You can sleep with me," I say with more composure than I feel inside.

His eyes meet mine, but he says nothing. We stare silently for a few moments before Mercedes breaks the quiet.

"Well, I'm going to head to bed. That little guy tired me out."

She steps to me, leans down, and kisses my head.

"Night, Liv."

"Night, Ced," I return, my eyes staying locked with Damon's.

In my peripheral vision, I see Mercedes brush by Damon and disappear down the hall. Once the spare bedroom door clicks shut, Damon speaks.

"Are you sure? I can sleep on the couch."

"The couch isn't comfortable enough for an entire night. It's fine."

"Olivia, I don't want you to be uneasy next to me all night. You need your rest."

"I'll be fine. I promise."

He studies me for a minute longer before striding forward and offering me his hand.

"Shall we?"

Without hesitation, I take his hand.

"We shall," I respond.

The corner of his lip curls and my heart thumps against my ribcage. He leads us to my bedroom where we change into pajamas and climb beneath the covers.

I settle onto my side, facing away from him. He slides his arm around me, spanning his hand across my belly. The heat of his body penetrates my back and the skin on the back of my neck warms from his breath.

Damon doesn't do anything else and I find myself more relaxed than I have in so long. So much so, I fall asleep quickly underneath the weight of his arm.

Crying pulls me from a slumber so deep, it takes me a few extra moments to sit up. When I do, I notice Damon is gone. As I realize this, he walks into the room with a bawling Alex.

"Momma," he sobs, stretching his arms out for me.

"Baby, come here."

Damon puts him in my arms. I pull him in close, cradling him to my chest.

"Is this the right medicine?"

Damon holds a small plastic bottle in one hand and turns on the bedside lamp with the other.

"It was on his dresser," he adds.

"Yes, that's it."

"Momma. Hurt ear," Alex cries.

I begin rocking him as Damon reads the back of the bottle.

A sucking sound draws my eyes from Damon down to Alex. His first two fingers are in his mouth. He gnaws on them and saliva covers his hand. Pulling them out of his mouth, he fusses. When I stick my own fingers in his mouth, he starts chewing again. Hard lumps from a tooth just beneath his gum press into my flesh. I remove my fingers and hug him tight.

"Poor, baby. Are those mean teeth bothering you?" I coo.

"Teeth?" Damon holds a dropper full of Motrin.