SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  But I soon forget them, as we’re falling to the grass again together, tumbling around. His hands are all over me, and I can’t keep mine off his body.

  He kicks his pants off, and he’s buck naked. His youthful, muscular body is against mine.

  He’s pulling my shorts off, having to make an effort because they’re so tight and they cling to my thighs.

  “Fuck me,” I say, my breathing ragged and intense.

  “Not just yet,” growls Noah.

  He moves down, pushing his head between my thighs. His strong hands grab my legs and pull them apart, opening up a space for his head.

  His rough and gentle tongue touches my thighs, right by my pussy. He’s inching his way closer and closer, and I shiver with excitement.

  His tongue reaches me, a broad stroke coming across me. It sends delight coursing through me.

  I feel his fingers pushing aside the hood of my clit, which is impossibly swollen, probably red like a cherry. He hits it delicately with his tongue.

  He gradually increases the speed of his tongue. He pauses and sucks.

  I cry out in delight when he starts going at it intensely.

  I’ve never experienced anything like this before, not in all my life.

  I’m crying out. My body is shaking.

  I can somehow feel from his body the delight he feels in giving me pleasure, in causing this reaction in me.

  The orgasm starts almost suddenly. It’s been slowly building up. But my awareness of it comes on all of a sudden.

  It feels like my body’s vibrating with the pleasure. I cry out and Noah doubles his efforts and his intensity.

  My body feels light. My eyes are closed but I open them to see the moon, to look down at Noah’s beautiful head and his shaggy hair tousled perfectly, buried between my legs.

  I take his head in my hands. His hair is surprisingly soft but I grab him forcefully and pull him in towards me. I love this motion. There’s something so hot about the idea of him servicing me, of him giving me this pleasure, this gift.

  My vision starts to go blurry around the edges.

  I hit the peak. It crashes through me like a tidal wave.

  I cry out, moaning intensely, not caring if anyone can hear me. Not that there’s anyone around, anyway.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” growls Noah.

  He’s on top of me again. I can feel his cock between my legs. I can feel its head pressing against my pussy ever so gently.

  Noah kisses me.

  “Fuck me,” I say, dying for his cock. I’ve never wanted something so much in my life.

  He pushes his cock slowly inside me.

  It hurts.

  But the pain gives way to an even greater feeling, an intense pleasure, even greater than when he was going down on me.

  Noah’s moving his massive cock in and out of me slowly. His body is against mine. His skin feels good against me, smooth and perfect. It seems like I feel each of his muscles.

  He pushes himself up and pulls himself back, so that he’s on his knees and holding my legs, one with each hand.

  His cock plunges into me deeper this way, and he’s soon increasing his speed, thrusting into me with force.

  “I love feeling your pussy,” he growls.

  Suddenly, a thought hits me: something that’s been drilled into my head forever. What about the condom? I’m not on the pill. And Noah’s not wearing a condom. At least not that I noticed.

  We got so caught up in the moment I guess we forget. At least I did.

  “You have a condom?” I manage to say, between the thrusts of pleasure, between the moans.

  “Aren’t you on the pill?” says Noah, a look of worry momentarily overtaking his face.

  I know he’s going to stop if I say I’m not on it. I know he’s going to stop and pull out of me and this may never happen again.

  But it’s like I’ve been waiting all my life for this moment. I can’t waste it. I can’t just throw it away because of some silly little piece of plastic.

  After all, it’s pretty hard to get pregnant, right? You have to have sex at exactly the right time of the month and all that. Couples can try forever to get pregnant, and sometimes it never happens.

  What are the chances that the first time I ever have sex, I get pregnant?

  I nod my head.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Noah just grins at me.

  “Good,” he growls.

  “I love the way your cock feels,” I say.

  Noah’s face is pure concentration as he pounds into me.

  One thing I wasn’t prepared for: how intimate this feels. It’s not just like he’s using me or my pussy to please himself. I can see it in him, and I can feel it—this is an experience between the both of us. His naked cock is inside of me. I’ve never had a connection like this with anyone.

  I’ve never had anyone inside of me, and I’m not going to stop.

  After all, he’ll probably pull out, right?

  “Fuck,” grunts Noah. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  He stops for a moment, and I wonder what’s happening.

  But he gets off me and guides me with his hands, showing me how to turn over. As soon as I understand what he wants, I flip over eagerly.

  He enters me from behind, his cock filling my pussy completely.

  The grass feels good on my body, cool and softer than any mattress. My breasts are buried in it and I bury my face in it too, closing my eyes and savoring the sensations of Noah’s cock pounding into me.

  He has such power in his movements to be able to thrust like that.

  The final orgasm hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s much more powerful than the last, almost overwhelming.

  I cry out, moaning intensely.

  I feel Noah’s cock twitching inside me, throbbing powerfully.

  It’s all over before I know it. We’re lying together in the grass, my head in the crook of his arm.

  The pleasure still washes over me like a warming breeze.

  We don’t speak for a long time. I just enjoy the presence of his body and the afterglow of the orgasms.

  “That was incredible,” says Noah finally. “You were incredible. It felt so good coming inside you.”

  “Wait?” I say, suddenly growing frantic. I sit up on my elbow and look down at him. “You came inside me?”

  “Yeah? You didn’t notice?”

  “Why would you do that?” I say. “I thought you’d pull out.”

  I may be a little confused when it comes to sexual things, given my lack of experience, but I have watched porn and been to health class. In those porn videos, the guys are always pulling out. I thought that’s just what everyone did.

  “I thought you were on the pill.”

  I don’t say anything for a moment. Suddenly, I have the idea that telling him I was on the pill, in the heat of the moment, was a really bad idea. But it was the heat of the moment, quite literally. I didn’t want it to stop.

  “You are on the pill, aren’t you?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Aren’t you?” he says. He sounds angry.

  “No,” I finally say.

  “What? Are you crazy? Why did you say you were?”

  “I didn’t want you to stop,” I say quietly.

  “What? I had a condom with me. I could have put it on… I just forget at first…”

  Now I feel like a complete idiot. But how was I to know he carries around condoms? It’s not like I’ve done this before.

  “Look,” I say, speaking calmly and softly, even though I’m nervous. I don’t want him to be angry with me. I just want everything to be OK again. “It’s probably fine. I doubt I’ll get pregnant.”

  “That was really dumb,” says Noah. He sounds even angrier. “I can’t go around having kids. I’ve got things to do, places to go.”

  “It’s not like I want to have a kid either,” I say.

  Noah just shakes his head at me.

  He’s su
ddenly up in a flash, grabbing his clothes and putting them on hastily.

  “You’re unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head at me. “I thought there was something between us.”

  Before I can say anything, he’s already walking off. The last thing I see of him is that he’s pushing his way through the branches of the hedges. Then he’s gone from view.

  I’m here in the clearing, completely naked and alone.

  Noah

  Five Years Later

  I wake up in the middle of the night.

  Loud noises. Everything is disjointed.

  I’m disoriented. Confused.

  Gunshots echo around me.

  My heart is thumping as if I’ve just run a marathon.

  Shouts come through the dark. People cry out in pain.

  An explosion from somewhere.

  Rockets roar in the night sky, a horrible whooshing sound as they slice through the air.

  I’ve got to do something. People are down. People are hurt. My comrades need me. There must have been some kind of attack.

  But I can’t remember where I am. I can’t remember what I’m doing here.

  I jump up out of bed. My hands grope around me frantically for my weapon. For my flashlight. For my knife. For something.

  But nothing’s there.

  That’s the worst feeling in the world. There’s nothing I can do to help. I’m unarmed.

  Fuck it.

  I’ll take them with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll strangle every last one of them. I’ll fight until I’m so riddled with bullet holes I can’t even stand up.

  I rush forward, but something stops me. It’s like an invisible barrier between me and the action. I push and push, ramming the invisible barrier with my head.

  But it just bends and gives to me. It’s like a huge, invisible rubber band.

  Something flashes towards me. It’s a huge missile, the kind that they fire from jet fighters.

  And it’s aimed straight at me. I can see it clearly, as if it’s moving in slow motion. But it’s roaring at me faster than the speed of sound.

  Fuck it. I’ll take it on myself. It doesn’t scare me.

  I brace myself, ready for the missile’s impact.

  Something seems strange about this… a single rational thought floating through my head.

  How can I see a missile approaching me?

  This is when I wake up.

  I’m in bed, covered in sweat.

  Fuck, not again.

  I close my eyes and open them again, just to double check whether this is really reality.

  I look around.

  There’s no battlefield.

  There are no gunshots.

  There are no missiles, no fallen comrades.

  I’m alone in bed in my hotel room. I must have fallen asleep with the lights on again. I even left the TV on, turned to some boring news channel. The light from the TV is eerie and strange looking.

  I grab the remote control and press the power button and the faces of the newscasters flicker for a moment before they fade away forever.

  Looking at the nightstand clock, the time reads 4:00 AM.

  Fuck. There’s no chance of me getting back to sleep tonight. Once I have one of these intense nightmares, it’s impossible for me to fall asleep again. Trust me, I’ve tried, and I just lie in bed wide awake.

  It’s been six months since I completed my tour. I received an honorable discharge. I received more medals than I can count, for bravery on the battlefield, for courage under fire, for all sorts of things.

  None of that means anything to me right now. It didn’t mean much to me at the time, either.

  I thought it would. When I was in training to become a Navy Seal, I dreamed every night of showing everyone what I was capable of. I dreamed of doing something I could be proud of, of really making a difference.

  When the time came, on various secret missions, I did what I had to do. And more than that.

  I found that doing it was the reward in and of itself.

  I saved the life of a comrade.

  Or two.

  I made mistakes, too.

  People died. And it wasn’t my fault. But I still blamed myself.

  By the time the medals came, I no longer cared about the medals themselves at all.

  I tossed them in the trash the first chance I got.

  Soldiers won’t admit this often in public, but it’s a common feeling. You think all those medals they give out end up proudly displayed on the mantle?

  No, most of them end up in the gutter or the trash.

  People who have been through war aren’t the same as people who haven’t.

  It changes you, in some dark way. It makes you stronger, too, but not in the ways you thought it would.

  After what I went through, you don’t feel like you can take on the world singlehandedly.

  I can only do that in my dreams. But I don’t have dreams anymore. Just nightmares. The most terrible nightmares you could ever imagine.

  The one I had tonight was a light one.

  Last week, I had one where I was in the middle of a village and there were all these kids lying there with their heads completely severed from their bodies, mutilated beyond recognition. Blood was all over the place, so thick that it formed puddles on the dusty ground, forming little streams of thick, deep red blood.

  I’m pacing the hotel room, back and forth across the carpet.

  There’s no point in wasting time.

  I get dressed.

  Instinctively, I reach for my gun. The gun that I carried with me at all times. Sure, we used a variety of weapons. But I always had my 9mm pistol with me. It went with me everywhere.

  But it’s not there.

  I’m a civilian now. I turned the gun in when I left. I had the option to keep it. And a lot of guys go out and buy their own guns and get permits for concealed carry. That’s the only way they can feel safe in a civilian environment, in any environment.

  But I don’t want to touch a gun again. Not after what I went through. Not after what I had to do.

  That doesn’t mean I feel safe without a gun. I know that physically I can take on any enemy that comes at me. But the civilian world is so different from being in the Seals.

  In the Seals, everything was defined. We ate at a certain time. We had missions. We had orders. We knew what we had to do. Sure, things got hairy. The shit would hit the fan and all hell would break loose. But there was still always a plan, and a backup plan. I had to think on my feet, but at least there was always the idea of a known enemy.

  There’s no known enemy back here in the States. Everything is different. Civilians are different. It’s like being on another planet, one that I left a long time ago.

  Leaving the hotel room, I walk down the deserted hallway. I take the silent elevator to the gym.

  Working out is what keeps me under control.

  A lot of guys see a therapist to talk about their issues from war. But they had it worse than me. They’ve got PTSD.

  What I have is just a normal reaction to what I went through. I can manage it myself. I’ve managed everything myself.

  I don’t have PTSD. I don’t need a therapist. I can keep everything under control, especially if I get enough hard exercise.

  Hopping onto the treadmill, I start my warm up.

  But it’s not a civilian warm up. It’s more intense than the football practices I used to do in high school.

  I keep hitting the button until the treadmill is at its top speed. I’m almost at an all out sprint.

  After twenty minutes of running intensely, I hop off. Time for the weights.

  I move through the weights rapidly, not giving myself any time to rest. I wish there were free weights here.

  Where I was stationed, there were always free weights. Often they were rusty, but they were well used. I love the feel of the cold steel against my hands.

  But the machines do fine. I just max them out on the weight and jam my hands a
gainst them. I need to get the anger and frustration out somewhere. That’s what the weights are for.

  An hour slips by and I hardly notice it.

  Another hour goes by, and I’m done. I’m covered in sweat. I pull off my t-shirt and wipe my face with a towel left here by the staff for hotel guests. I doubt these hotels typically see this much sweat.

  There’s a mirror on the wall opposite me, and I find myself staring into it.

  I look so different than I did just a few years ago. For some strange reason, I can still picture myself clearly in my yearbook photograph. I looked innocent and impossibly young. But at the time, I thought I was a complete adult. I thought I was ready for anything.

  In a way, I was right. I learned in the Seals I could handle whatever was thrown at me.

  But I didn’t realize how intense it would be.

  In the Seals, I was stronger than everyone. Faster than everyone. A better shot than everyone.

  More importantly, I was smarter than everyone.

  Playing football in high school, I never even got a whiff of my true potential. In the Seals, I grew beyond anything I could have imagined. I accomplished things I would have never thought possible. Dangerous missions with seemingly impossible objectives. I did what no one else could do.

  My face now in the mirror, staring back at me, is older, tougher. My hair is short, compared to my long hair in high school, so common with the football players.

  There’s something else there, something in my eyes, something that I don’t dare to examine too closely.

  I head back up to my room. The hotel is still silent. No one else is up yet. Probably there’s just the nightshift person at the front desk, in case anyone comes in late.

  Stripping down, I get into the shower. I don’t bother even turning the hot water tap. Something I got used to in the Seals, a habit that’s served me well. It wakes me up and washes away all the bullshit that accumulates in my brain.

  I may be having nightmares. I may not be in the military.