The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance

by Bell, Victoria

  Luckily, I’m here now, at the pretty glass house, where my pretty lying wife waits. When I open the door, it’s too quiet.

  “Phoebe?” I call, but there’s no answer.

  I didn’t account for her not being here. What if I rush into the kitchen and then feel something cool and hard on my back.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Phoebe is that you?”

  “Shut up,” she growls, “I’m going to be doing the talking now.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, just as she kicks me to the floor. My head smacks off the tile. When I look up I see her, standing over me, the gun pointed at my head.

  “You try to get away; you lie to me, I shoot you.”

  I gape at her. It’s Phoebe, and yet, it can’t be. Eyes angry slits, mouth a furious gash, it can’t be her.

  “Got it?” she barks, and I nod.

  “Now, the first question,” she says, positioning her stiletto-ed foot over my chest, “What is Dyanacar?”

  “It’s an IT company,” I say.

  She digs in her stiletto deeper.

  “You know who I am. You know what I will do to you if you lie to me again.”

  And, looking into her blazing eyes, I can see that she’s dead serious.

  “It’s a front for the Canadian secret service. We find and catch dangerous criminals.”

  Phoebe nods leans down to pat me with the side of the gun.

  “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

  She digs in her stiletto deeper.

  “What happened to your son and wife?”

  “Phoebe I-”

  She jams her stiletto in deeper, and I cry out.

  “Ok, ok. We were on vacation in Japan. Our first family vacation in years. My wife and son, my Fanny and Kuya, were in the hotel sleeping in. I went out to find some quick food, a little breakfast. A few mafia guys barged in and mistook them for their target, shot and killed them. I came back to find them dead.”

  At my story, no change comes over Phoebe; it’s as if I hadn’t said the words at all.

  “Is that why you accepted me – you thought I did it?”

  I shake my head. She digs her stiletto in deeper.

  “Then, why is it?”

  “No, but – I wanted vengeance. I knew – know – you’re just like them.”

  At this, she laughs, shakes her head.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Now,” she says, “One last question.”

  She straddles me, holds the gun up to my face.

  “Was it all an act, from the beginning? Did you ever care for me at all – love me?”

  I stare at the gun and the woman behind it, the one I’ve never really known, the one who’s probably going to kill me now. She jams the gun into the side of my cheek.

  “Answer me.”

  But when I open my mouth, neither my derisive “Yes!” nor my fearful “No” come out. Instead, it’s a gargled “I don’t know.”

  Eyes flashing, Phoebe digs the gun in deeper.

  “Liar!”

  She shoves her face into mine, inches away, her black hate-filled eyes boring into mine, into my brain, seeing my every thought, impulse. She pauses, and I slam my head against hers.

  “Ah!” she yells, falling back and letting go of the gun. I grab it and, as she scrambles to the right herself, point it at her.

  “Don’t move.”

  Phoebe freezes laughs.

  “You don’t even know how to use it.”

  With a slight movement, I shoot into my cupboard. The impact makes Phoebe jump, and I pat her shocked head.

  “My dear wife, you may think I don’t really know you – but that goes both ways.”

  Phoebe says nothing, only keeps on glaring at me.

  “Well, nothing to say now?” I ask, and she smiles a horrible smile.

  “Do it – kill me – that’s what you were supposed to do, right? If I wouldn’t give you any information.”

  I search her face, but it’s as defiant as ever.

  “Why are you protecting them, the mafia? Why keep their secrets when they killed your entire family?”

  She sneers.

  “As I said, Antoine, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t your regular mafia agent – they chose me, I didn’t choose them, remember? They never trusted me, so they dealt with me with one-on-one meetings, little visits when I least expected it. I don’t know where they met or what any of their grand schemes were. I just got my visits, took out my targets, and then waited. That was it.”

  As I stare at her, at her expressionless face that has to be lying and yet, doesn’t look so, she smiles again, spreads her arms.

  “So, do it – kill me. I can’t be any use to you or your agency. I’m a heartless murderer, a violent sociopath who needs to be taken out – so do it.”

  I stare at her, at this stranger. My finger is on the trigger, yet can’t seem to press it.

  “Do it,” she says, more insistently this time, “For fuck’s sake, Antoine, just do it.”

  Her face is red now, her black eyes angry and daring.

  “And when you do it – one more thing – you want to know why they kicked me out, why they killed my brother and tried to kill me? You want to know what mission it was that I finally turned down, the target I wouldn’t take out?”

  Her grin is face-wide, almost painful looking.

  “It was a kid, Antoine. They wanted me to take out a kid.”

  As I gape at her, still that smile is plastered on her face. My hand is trembling, and she’s lying, has to be – I have to shoot her. My orders are obvious, what I have to do is clear.

  “Do it, Antoine,” Phoebe’s urging me, “Just fucking do it.”

  And, as my finger presses down on the trigger, the gun slips out of my hands to the floor.

  It clatters on the ground between us. My glance goes from her shocked face to the gun, back to her again.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  I sit down on the ground.

  “Now, before you kill me, please just hear me out. Just give me that.”

  I can’t see if she nods, but at any rate, I’m not dead yet, so I continue “After I had lost my wife and son, the world became a black chock of pain. Every day I woke up and remembered, and every day I couldn’t bear the pain of their loss, of the gaping chasm of the days to come, the days I was supposed to spend with them. Their killers were never found, of course, and I couldn’t seem to get better either. I saw their shot-up corpses in my sleep, saw their faces in every other little boy and brunette woman that passed. Everyone I spoke to was insignificant because it was not them, everything I did didn’t matter because it wasn’t with them. The first few weeks I tried killing myself, but after a while, I was too hopeless even to try anymore. Days rolled on under gray clouds; everything was so heavy, too heavy. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that someday, somehow, the horror that was inflicted upon them would be made right – that I would make it right.

  And then I heard about a job at the agency – they’d found a former mafia Japanese woman who was trying to escape the country under the guise of a mail-order bride. And, at once, I knew – that was what I had to do. I threw myself into the task with a vengeance, messaging you and playing out every possible scenario in my head, how I was going to trick you, defeat you – serve you the justice that the killers of my family never got. And then, Phoebe, I met you. To say that you were unexpected would be an understatement. Even that first night, I found myself fighting the attraction, the strange sense that you were not the heartless killer I’d been told to expect. Every day that passed, despite everything, I found myself falling for you more and more, the way you scrunch up your nose when you laugh; the intent way you have of looking at someone, as if they’re the only person in the whole room; your bratty irreverence. I didn’t want to – couldn’t – and yet I did, I fell for you. I have fallen for you. Because Phoebe – I know t
his – you are good. Despite everything, you are. I don’t know why I know it, why I know that you’ve told me the truth about yourself – that you have been forced into this violent, horrible life, but I do. And perhaps the most remarkable thing is not that I – despite everything – love you in spite of this, but that you survived. Your basic goodness, it never left. Even after they’d twisted you into something you weren’t, you took the form but not the spirit. Phoebe, look at me, it’s in your every laugh, each one of your smiles – thank goodness, they didn’t kill you.

  And I guess what I’m trying to say, my poor, dear miracle, is that I was so caught up in what I was supposed to do and supposed to feel, that I never actually noticed what I really was feeling. Alive. For the first time in two years, every minute I spent with you and do spend with you, there’s no denying the sensation, this wakefulness coursing through my veins. I wake up excited and go to bed equally so. You make me feel light, happy, like a child again.”

  She’s sitting up now, staring at me with intent eyes, waiting for me to finish so she can say something or kill me, who knows. I give her a soft, sad smile.

  “I don’t want to care about you, but I do, Phoebe. And I can’t promise that I can protect you from this cruel, violent world, or that I can be everything that you need. But I can promise you this: that I’ll never stop trying and that I’ll never be happy living a life without you in it. No, now that I’ve known life with you, there’s no going back. I’m in love with you Phoebe Williamson, for better or worse.”

  The silence afterward seems to stretch for forever. Phoebe’s face reveals nothing; she doesn’t even look at me. When she does speak, the voice trembling with emotion seems to come from somewhere else.

  “What you have said just now, what you have just done… there are no words to describe what I’m feeling – or if there are I don’t know them. For much of my life, ever since my parents were killed and I was forced into a life of violence, I forgot what true feeling was like. I put it away, like a dusty book I intended to get back to as soon as the timing was right. I didn’t expect much out of life; I figured I’d be killed in a job or put down when the mafia got tired of me. I only kept going to protect my brother. Even when I refused that last horrible job, I thought I’d have some time to protect him, some time to get both of us away. I was wrong. I came home to his corpse face-up, staring at me accusingly. As if, as he died, what he had been thinking was just how much I failed him. Afterward, I wandered around the slums in a sort of deadened haze, caught sight of that newspaper article about mail order brides just by chance. That whole bride scheme I never expected to work. No, I expected to duck around the slums of Japan for the rest of my life or until I was caught at least. Even then, I knew anyone I was connected with through the mail-order bride website might even be a ruse. When that actually panned out, I planned to stay a year here and then leave. I didn’t expect to have feelings for you, because I didn’t have them for anything or anyone, anymore. I mourned my brother, but I had thought my last shard of emotions had died with him. And yet, coming here, seeing your gentle kindness, your free, playful spirit – it came upon me insidiously. If I had known what it was, if I had remembered what love and caring were like, maybe I could’ve prevented it, I don’t know. As it stands, it happened. I love you. I don’t know when or where or which exact moment that I knew for certain. I don’t know how any two people can fall in love so fast. All I know is that I do – I love you Antoine Rivieras. I love your curly hair, and gentle gap-toothed smile, I love every part of you.”

  She picks up the gun, then drops it once more, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

  “When you answered me the truth about if you had ever cared for me, I never planned on shooting you. No, I planned on shooting myself.”

  Now it’s my turn to pick up the gun. Walking over to the window, I open it, and, in one quick heave, toss it out the window.

  We both laugh.

  “You know you’re going to have to go get that later, right?” Phoebe asks with a wry smile.

  I nod. Her smile falls.

  “And I don’t know if you realize just what you’re getting yourself into by sticking with me – or if I can even live with myself if I let you.”

  Sitting down on the floor beside her, I sling my arm around her.

  “That’s really too bad – because you don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Oh really?” she says, a second before she tries twisting away.

  “Really,” I say, pushing onto the floor.

  My lips find hers, and her body gives in, to mine, to me. Her arms are so soft, and her tank strap slips down just by itself. Underneath she’s braless, her pink puffy nipples just begging to be sucked. I happily oblige, sucking the puffiness away until I’m onto the next, while she grasps at my hair in delight.

  When I release the other nipple, her lips claim me for themselves, while her tongue slips in and around, continuing the dance, the rhythm, the building that can’t be stopped. And it’s clear, as our hips rock side to side, as she grinds herself into me, that this is inevitable, our joining of bodies.

  I pull myself away so I can pick her up in my arms and carry her to my room. There, I throw her on the bed.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

  “Even when you had the gun pointed at me?” Phoebe teases.

  I press myself onto her, smiling.

  “Especially when I had the gun pointed at you.”

  I unzip her shorts and pull them down.

  “Ever since I met you, all I’ve wanted to do is this.”

  Her pussy is wet already; I slide in easily. And fuck, does her tight pussy ever feel good. Already she’s groaning, clasping at my dick eagerly, but I go nice and slow. I enjoy the slow in and out, the thrust that’s sending her tits and ass jiggling in time to the rhythm. The rhythm that started that can’t be stopped, the in and out that can’t be denied. So, slow and deep I go, slow and deep. She moans, groans, twists with our fuck, with my building momentum, with my merciless rock-hard dick. Looking down at her, her black soft little landing strip and tan little titties make me even harder, makes me ramp up the pace more. Now, she’s practically yelling, and I’m nearing the edge – but practically yelling and nearing the edge isn’t enough. Not for me. So, grabbing her legs and putting them on my shoulders, I start jackhammering her as deep as my dick will go.

  Now, she’s not just yelling – she’s full-on shrieking, her pussy vibrating on my cock and – oh God, does it feel good – this – oh fuck yeah – in and – oh fuck yeah – out. And then she’s shaking, and I’m shaking, and our thrust is a shake, a climax of Gods, the ultimate release; we cum together, one shaking yelled-out orgasm.

  And afterward, we stay locked, trembling every so often with the after-pleasure of it, the latent glory. Even as my eyes start to close, my hands keep on sliding over the contours of her body. Over her shoulders, down her back, down further to her thick, juicy ass. Each cheek they caress nice and slow, feeling every piece of it, massaging every inch. Already I’m getting hard again. When I start tracing her crack, Phoebe lets out a dissatisfied murmur. I pat her head.

  Then, as my one finger slips into her pussy, my other starts burrowing into her ass. To her next dissatisfied murmur, I pat her head again, whisper “Don’t worry. We’ll go slow for the tight little ass”, and then plunge my finger in. Now, Phoebe’s groaning and my fingers in her pussy and ass are pulsing in time: in and out, in and out. She’s already wet, and I’m already hard, but my fingers only made it partway into her ass.

  So, on I pulse and on she groans. God, she’s so hot, that fat pert ass wobbling with the movement. I pause to slip my fingers out.

  “You’re right,” I say, patting a thick ass cheek, “Maybe we should stop.”

  Her whimper is followed by a further shoving-out of her ass. This is my cue to shove my fingers in all the way, in her pussy and ass. Now her groans are loud, guttural and my finger is pulsing fast and deep. When I slip
it out, we both know it’s time. As I grab the bottle of lube off the bedside table and spurt some onto my cock and her ass, she murmurs “Antoine.”

  I nuzzle my dick into her ass, murmur back “Just the tip, Phoebe.”

  So, I flip her around, crawl on top of her and start my pulsing. Just gently at first, in then out, in then out. Fuck is her ass tight, but I’m slow and steady, slow and steady. Slow and steady and further, further and further, and then, oh – fuck – yes – I’m in. My dick is inside her and yes, ughh – it’s just the tip, but now, in and out, in and out – she’s groaning too, fucking loves it – now I’m in further. And then it’s not just me thrusting my dick into her ass; it’s her ass thrusting onto me. My pace is building, and her moans are too, she loves it, she fucking loves that dick buried balls-deep into her ass. I’m almost at the edge, picking up the pace, faster and harder and she’s wailing, can hardly take it, take how fucking good this feels.

  So, it’s more, faster: more in and out, faster, more and faster and, as my dick starts trembling, as I hit the edge, I shove myself into her as hard and deep as I can and then I explode, shooting load after load into her wailing form, as she cums on me too, squirting her own orgasm back onto me.

  And then it’s done, and we go to the bathroom to wash up. Then we’re back in my bed, all wrapped in each other. It’s done, and we’ve barely just begun.

  Chapter 9 - Phoebe

  I wake him up with a pizza blowjob. His dick wakes up before he does, hardening ever-so-nicely in my mouth as I lick and suck it. By the time he’s awake, his dick is deep down my throat. At some point, amidst his groans is the sound of chewing; clearly, he’s started on the pepperoni slice I placed beside his head.

  But I’m too absorbed by sucking this big old dick to notice, really. I lift his balls up and down at the same pace as my lips, and soon, his cock is vibrating in my mouth. So, I pick up my pace, eager for what’s to come. It’s only fair, really. That I get a snack too.