Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

She’s tight and warm and so fucking flawless it hurts.

And this time, ironically, we don’t even have to fucking think about a condom.

In slowly until I’m seated fully inside, I stroke my cock between her legs and suck on any skin I can get underneath my lips. She claws at my shoulders, trying to get closer, and I understand the feeling.

We’re as close as physically, humanly possible, and yet, somehow, I can only wish for more—for the ability to climb inside her entirely.

Taking her jaw in my hands again, I seal our mouths and our bodies and make a vow to myself to spend the rest of the night doing this for as long as our stamina will allow.

Raquel

Last night was so perfect it hurts. Every touch, every kiss, it was even better than I remembered it being, and I’ve spent more than a night or two in the last nine or so months worshiping it.

And by God does that make me nervous. Harrison has been my rock through every moment since the day he paid a million fucking dollars to get me alone in that hotel ballroom. He’s blended, he’s supported, he’s stood up for me when I was afraid to stand up from myself, and he’s done it all because he’s intent on being a part of this baby’s life.

Jesus, the man moved here for me. Just packed up his life and came, no questions, no compromises asked, because he wanted to be a man our child could be proud of.

And now, I’ve gone and complicated it by letting my heart get recklessly—perilously—involved. And he doesn’t even freaking know I lied to him about being on birth control, that this whole thing—this pregnancy, this sweet, little baby—has occurred because of that very lie all along.

He’s literally given up everything for me, and I haven’t had the decency of telling him the truth.

My God, just the thought of him finding out, of me actually telling him…it has my heart wanting to dive out of my chest. Simply put, it scares the bejeezus out of me.

What if he decides he doesn’t want to be around someone like me? Someone who would commandeer his whole life without even giving him the decency of being completely honest.

God.

I jump out of bed as panic overwhelms me and head for the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.

I’m so stupid. When you find a great guy, you tell him the truth every damn step of the way so you don’t get this deep into all-consuming emotions with a time bomb still ticking in the freaking background! Gah!

I take a deep, deep breath in and then slowly let it out.

I give myself a long, hard look in the mirror and a stern talking-to. “Do not mess this up, Raquel.”

Don’t mess this up? Hell. Do you even know what that means anymore? It’s quite possible you already have messed this up.

Lord Almighty, I do not have time to stand here, staring at myself while I argue with myself. And I certainly do not want to take the risk of reaching the mental breaking point—in my own damn bathroom—that leads to me delivering this baby in a padded room.

Yes, yes, on that, we can agree.

I look at my reflection one last time, shake my head, and focus on the things I can control. Like getting away from this stupid mirror and getting it the hell together.

With a heavy sigh, I open the bathroom door and, carefully so I don’t wake up Harrison, I tiptoe through the bedroom to the door, step out into the hallway, close the door as gently as I can behind me, and make my way down into the living room.

When I arrive, Heidi and Toby look up from their spots on the couch where they’ve apparently been going over the schedule for the day and waiting on me to start my morning.

It’s my own fault for not remembering they’d be here this early, but I really could have used a little decompression time from my mental freak-out—cough near breakdown cough—before facing the wolves, for shit’s sake.

“We have to leave for the set in an hour, Raquel,” Heidi says by way of greeting, and it’s all I can do not to say the foul things I’m muttering under my breath a little bit louder. Instead, I settle for taciturn confirmation.

“I know.”

“Great. Because we also need to talk about your appearance schedule for next week, your stylist’s picks for your final few appearances before the baby, and the details of your photo and interview spread in the hospital.”

I’m nodding along mindlessly until spread strikes a chord, and my head whips around.

“Huh? What spread?”

She rolls her eyes like I’ve known about it all along, but I know for a fact I would have remembered agreeing to this sort of thing.