Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  As handsome as he is, I doubt he’s had any difficulty finding women.

  The thought of his hands on another woman’s body, his lips on another woman’s mouth, makes me want to cry. How can I possibly live up to what he has had before me? I don’t know what I’m doing at all. Andrei plans to teach me, but what if I don’t do it right?

  These fears rocket through my head, plaguing my thoughts so fully that I block out the ride home. When the Corvette finally stops outside the building, my stomach churns. I want this — I want him — more than anything, but I’m just so scared.

  Andrei turns to me, leans over the console, and takes my face in one big, strong hand. He gazes into my eyes for a long moment while I hold my breath in anticipation. Then he dives in to kiss me hard, his tongue pushing into my mouth and his fingers tracing down my cheek, my jaw line, my neck. I feel wanted. It’s a foreign feeling, but I am beginning to crave it intensely.

  Wordlessly, he gets out of the car and helps me out, as well, before taking me by the hand and leading me into the building. With a silent urgency we rush to the elevator. As soon as the doors close, he pins me between his body and the wall, kissing me and feeling me up. His manhood presses hot and hard against my hip and I rock into it, eliciting a groan from deep inside his throat.

  The elevator doors open with a ding and he scoops me up so that my legs are wrapped around his waist, then carries me down the hall and into our apartment. He rips off my jacket and lets it fall to the floor, his lips never breaking away from mine. Without even flicking on the lights, he swings me around to perch me on the kitchen counter, his hands tugging at my dress to pull it up and over my head. I shiver in the cool air and lean into him self-consciously, not wanting him to look at my nearly-naked physique. I know he’s seen it before, but I still feel so exposed and ashamed to be naked in the presence of a man, even if he is my husband.

  But he refuses to indulge my modesty, pushing back to look me up and down, his eyes roving over every inch of me. I am wearing a pair of frilly, pink satin panties and an ivory-colored bra which Andrei selected for me in one of the boutiques we visited earlier. The cups of the bra are sheer, lined with lace and decorated with tiny rosettes, allowing for my rosy pink nipples to show through the fabric.

  “Krasivaya,” he murmurs, shaking his head and swiping a hand over his mouth.

  “Wh-what does that mean?” I ask, starting to cover myself with my hands.

  Andrei catches my wrists and pins them behind my back, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “It means you are beautiful.”

  “Am I?” My voice is breathless and soft.

  “It is my intention to make you feel as lovely as you look,” he promises, scooping me up again to carry me into the bedroom. He gently sets me down on the bed, smoothing down my hair and kissing me on the forehead.

  Standing in front of me, my eyes are drawn to the bulge in the front of his jeans. It looks too enormous, too powerful, straining to break free from its constraints. I wonder what it feels like, what it will feel like inside me.

  The very thought makes me wet.

  Andrei catches me looking at him and says softly, “This really is your first time, isn’t it?”

  I nod, looking down at the floor a little ashamedly.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I — I think so. Yes.”

  He untucks his shirts and unzips his jeans slowly, sliding them down his thighs and stepping out of them. Then he shrugs off his jacket, and unbuttons his shirt it to toss it over his shoulder onto the floor. Standing nearly naked in just his silky black boxers, I gasp a little. Seeing him this way for the very first time is startling: all that muscle hinted at beneath his clothes is now exposed in front of me and I can scarcely believe he’s real.

  “You… you’re so handsome,” I breathe, my eyes wide. Hesitantly, I reach out and touch his taut stomach, every abdominal muscle sharply defined and rock-hard. There is a faint trail of dark hair leading down from his navel and disappearing into his boxers. I trace this downy path with one curious forefinger, stopping short at the waistband of his underwear.

  But before I can withdraw my hand, Andrei takes hold of it and slides my hand down farther to brush over the massive bulge there. I gasp again, and cover my mouth with my other hand, even as my own private parts respond with a gush of wet warmth. I must be so slick down there by now, and Andrei has hardly even touched me at all.

  Holding my breath, I trace the outline of his shaft through the fabric of his boxers, then I get a little braver and run my palm up and down its substantial length. Andrei groans his approval and pushes into me ever so slightly.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says kindly.

  With that, I pull down his boxers and he steps out of them to stand totally naked before me, his colossal manhood jutting out, hard and engorged.

  “Oh my — oh my gosh!” I exclaim. “It’s so big.”

  “Touch it,” Andrei says imperiously.

  I am reluctant at first, intimidated by his size. But then curiosity and desire overcome me and I gently wrap my hand around his member, my fingers barely able to contain him. When he doesn’t pull back, I decide to run my thumb around the head of his shaft slowly. Andrei closes his eyes and groans.

  “Da, malyshka. Good girl.”

  His growl of approval sends me into a frenzy. Suddenly, I need him. Now.

  “Please… I’m ready,” I whisper. Andrei opens his eyes and immediately reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, then gently pushes me back to lie down on the bed. He tugs my panties down my legs and drops them on the floor before climbing over to straddle me. He positions himself between my legs, holding his member so that the head of his shaft rubs up and down my slick opening. My breath comes raggedly as I try to rock my hips up into him, needing more.

  Andrei circles the little bundle of nerves at the top of my private parts and I shudder involuntarily, feeling close to a climax before he’s even entered me. I am suddenly aware of the soreness between my legs — I am literally aching for him.

  He leans over to kiss me again, softly at first, then with a relentless need.

  “Please, oh please…” I moan between kisses.

  And then it happens. The head of his member pushes into me and I cry out in surprise. My eyes roll back in my head as he rocks back and then pushes into me again and again, only pushing a centimeter or so farther each time. I glance down to see that he isn’t even halfway sheathed inside me yet! I already feel so full, my virgin muscles stretching desperately to accommodate his massive size.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice raspy with need. I can tell that he is straining, using every ounce of his willpower to hold back, to keep from hurting me. From the lust burning in his dark eyes I can tell that it takes everything he has not to simply ram into me and split me in two.

  I feel a rush of mingled desire and affection for this powerful, mysterious, shockingly considerate man I now call my husband.

  “Yeah,” I reply, the word scarcely more than a pronounced exhale.

  And with that, he finally pushes into me completely, filling me to the hilt. A sharp wave of pain electrifies my body and I yelp in surprise and agony. Andrei’s hands rush to stroke my face, his lips peppering my mouth and cheeks with kisses.

  “Shh, I will go slowly,” he assures me, resting his forehead against mine. He reaches down to gently circle the inflamed bundle of nerves between my legs, stroking me into a pleasurable oblivion even as his shaft breaks through the barrier and causes me to cry out in pain.

  “Ty v poryadke,” he says soothingly, and I don’t understand, but the foreign words soothe me.

  He starts moving his hips, pumping into me very slowly and carefully at first. His thumb circling my tingling bud quickens its pace, and before long I can feel an orgasm approaching.

  “Ohhh,” I moan, tilting my head back as my body lurches upward of its own volition and my second climax shudders through my veins, despite the dulling pain.
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  “That’s it, baby,” Andrei mumbles, starting to move faster. “Otlichno.”

  He grasps at the headboard, his control beginning to slip. His massive shaft pummels into me, hitting deep inside, filling me up until pain and pleasure reach identical heights. My fingers claw at his back needily, animalistic moans falling from my lips. Finally, I come again, warm honey gushing from between my legs as Andrei pushes into me again and again, my opening convulses around him.

  With a few quick, frenzied snaps of his hips, Andrei thrusts hard into me one final time and bellows in ecstatic relief as he fills me up with a hot, thick stream of his seed.

  “Ohh, dorogaya…” he moans, collapsing forward onto me, his forearms just barely bracing himself so he doesn’t crush me with his massive chest. His eyes are tightly shut and his breath comes slowly and raggedly, the two of us panting in the charged silence between us. Then he opens his eyes, those dark orbs blazing with a quiet intensity. I stare at his face in wonder and awe — I feel as though suddenly everything has changed.

  Am I a woman now?

  What does this mean for the two of us?

  Our marriage has been consummated! We are now bound to each other by a deeper, more binding connection than a simple piece of paper and an exchange of verbal vows. We are now interlocked, forever, soul and body. I belong to him, and not just because he bought me,

  And he belongs to me.

  Andrei surprises me with the tenderness of his next move. He leans forward to gently rest his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply as though trying to breathe me in. Holding himself up with one impossibly strong arm, his other hand comes up to lightly cup my cheek, his thumb passing fondly over my lips. Then he kisses me sweetly, his mouth just barely grazing mine in the most delicate of angel kisses.

  “Are you alright, lyubov moya?” he asks, his voice so soft and full of genuine concern.

  I nod, happy tears pooling in my eyes.

  When he sees the shining moisture in my gaze, his face contorts into an expression of worry and he kisses my cheek. “O net, then why do you cry?”

  A single tear escapes to roll down my cheek and neck as I lay perfectly still on the bed.

  “I am so happy,” I reply, my voice choked with emotion. I feel so complete, so whole, so incredibly swathed in warm, unfailing love — for the first time in my life. I have never felt so close to another human being in all my years, and to think… I have only barely met him.

  We spend the next morning in bed, being lazy and simply enjoying each other’s presence. After our first time together, I am sore, my muscles aching and my newly-christened private parts unaccustomed to such exertion. When we finally get up, I am appalled to see a large bloodstain on the satin sheets from underneath me. I’m so shocked by the sight that I nearly faint, apologizing profusely for ruining the beautiful bedsheets. But Andrei assures me it’s nothing to fret over, that we can just buy new ones. So he pulls the stained sheets off the bed, tosses them in the wash, and runs me a luxurious bath complete with candles and bubble bath he stashed away some time ago.

  As I sit in the bath, sinking down into thick white foam that smells of roses and lavender, I smile to myself. I can’t believe my luck. I know it can’t be possible that every girl ends up with a man so strong and doting. I stay in the bath for a long time, my head leaned back and my muscles starting to loosen back up. The toasty water and floral scents soothe my aches and pains until I start to feel like my old self again.

  Well, except for the fact that I can never be my old self again. I am a changed woman.

  After my bath, I curl up on the couch with a blanket and watch television while Andrei orders us something called “take-out” for an early lunch. I don’t even know what we’re watching — it’s a “soap opera” as Andrei calls it, with a cast of very dramatic, beautiful, immaculately-dressed characters who all seem to be either sleeping with or related to each other in one way or another. It’s an eye-opening experience, watching TV for the first time without parental supervision. And this is a real show, not a news segment or a religious story.

  “Do you like Chinese food?” asks Andrei, dialing a number into his cell phone.

  I bite my lip, feeling very ignorant for the millionth time in the past few days. Yet another question I don’t know the answer to. I shrug.

  “I… I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.”

  Andrei raises an eyebrow in a look I’ve been getting a lot from him lately. “You’ve never had Chinese food.” He says it like a statement, rather than a question.

  I shake my head sadly, fiddling with the blanket in my lap.

  “Do you like chicken?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vegetables?”

  “Of course.”

  “We can work with that.”

  When the food arrives, I have no idea what it is or where to begin. He hands me a pair of long, skinny wooden sticks and tells me to use them instead of a fork. I look at him like he’s lost his mind, suspicious that he must be playing a trick on me. After he places his hand over mine and shows me how to place the chopsticks between my fingers and pinch pieces of chicken off the plate, I start to get the hang of it, though I never quite do it gracefully.

  The rest of the day goes by smoothly, the two of us lounging around. In the afternoon, I fall asleep on the couch, and Andrei goes out to buy new bedsheets. When I wake up, he’s come back and changed into an exceedingly handsome suit, his hair slicked back. He gently urges me to get up and put on a gorgeous gown we bought yesterday.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, rubbing my eyes sleepily.

  “Wake up, sonnyy, we’re going to the opera.”

  My eyes go fully wide at this announcement and I immediately leap off the couch, rushing to get dressed. I have never been to an opera, and I have no idea what to expect. Once or twice, my mother left the radio unattended, and I heard a couple songs being belted out by women with powerful voices. I could never tell what they were saying, but that didn’t subtract from the beauty in the least.

  Andrei drives us to the massive, elaborate theater, my face frozen in an expression of overwhelmed awe the entire time. Andrei is gallant and prince-like in his suit, tall and noble in his bearing. I know everyone’s eyes are on us, even in the context of the expensively-dressed, high-society crowd. We settle into our seats and watch the opera, his hand wrapped around mine.

  It’s an utterly magical night. I am amazed at the power and strength of the opera singers, the beauty of the sets, even the decorum of the audience. Everything is perfect, except…

  During the third act, Andrei quietly disappears from my side, offering no excuse. He remains gone for quite some time. I am mostly too wrapped up in the gorgeousness of the opera to pay too much attention, but my husband’s absence does ring like a strange alarm bell somewhere in the back of my mind. Something is off, but I don’t know what, and I am too afraid to ask.

  Andrei

  I hate to leave my wife alone, even in the safety of the opera house. But I have ulterior motives for coming here. My hit on the Frenchman was sloppy, the only kill I’ve botched since becoming a professional. So it tears at my mind.

  There’s no way I can risk exposing myself, not when Cassie’s well-being is on the line, so I’ve had to look into matters carefully. Which means slowly. If word gets around that one of the Bratva’s killers is looking into the hit, it’ll incriminate me. And that’s all it takes in my world to be undone. For good.

  Finally a source turned up something, a Frenchman was in town with some pull, a rare thing. And he was at the opera, meeting with a powerful local connection about the death of his brother.

  I make a detour along the private box seats until I find exactly the one I am looking for. There, I can see the slickly dressed Frenchman, with his silver-frosted tips sat with a sour expression, talking to someone out of my view.

  “Mon frère! My own brother, killed in your ci
ty,” he says, anger welling up in the well-dressed European, his French accent thick as he spoke in English. “Killed by one of your own, a Russian,” he says with such distaste.

  “Not every Russian in the city is on our payroll,” says the other voice, but I can’t see the face of the man saying it, he’s blocked by a red velvet curtain.

  The Frenchman curses in his native tongue.

  “That is not good enough, Kasym!” he says, but I don’t recognize the name. “Not after all the shit I covered up for you in Paris, and beyond,” he adds with such distaste. “You owe me. And more than that,” he says, grinding his teeth.

  “Don’t say anything you’ll regret, Pierre. I know,” Kasym says, holding out a hand bedecked in more rings than any man ought to wear. “I will protect the flow of the goods. And if that means I have to gun down half my fellow russkiye to find the man who did your brother in, then I will. That is a promise.”

  Pierre stiffens a little, but then seems to soften, giving a nod to Kasym.

  “I have looked over you a long time, on behalf of your father, I consider myself like an uncle. Do not let me down, Kasym. I want this man to suffer. To see everything he ever had taken from him. Anyone he has ever loved to die before his eyes, just as I heard my brother die.”

  “Now that, I would relish,” Kasym says with a wicked laugh.

  Cassie

  When Andrei returns, it is as though nothing has happened — except that his eyes have this faraway look, his face hardened against the world once more.

  He still takes my arm with a soft touch, guiding me gently through the opera house as we navigate the post-show crowds back to the car. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep on the ride home, though I occasionally sneak a one-eyed glance over at my husband in the passing neon lights intermingled with nighttime darkness.

  There is something unnamed consuming him, preoccupying his mind. The thought that he is hiding something from me eats away at my newfound happiness, no matter how desperately I long to ignore it, to put it far from my mind so it can’t plague my joyful heart.