SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  This is how I used to work before I was rich—hunched over the computer, in a darkened room.

  Plus, I don’t like to get into my emotions much. Ignoring them and simply dominating them with sheer force of will is what’s gotten me this far… but something feels different.

  And I know exactly what it is.

  It’s Lily.

  More like her absence.

  The absence of Lily.

  It’s still hitting me hard. It feels like a physical pain, like a hard punch in the stomach, or the absence of some vital organ.

  How do I deal with it?

  I fucking work, that’s how.

  I’ve been down here in the basement for days, only retiring up to my room to sleep for a few hours, or to hit the kitchen to grab some beef jerky.

  Everyone always told me to redo the basement, to make it inhabitable. After all, I have the money to do whatever I want to do to it.

  But I never wanted to. Honestly, I prefer the completely unfurnished typical basement look. There’s everything a classic basement has here. There are cobwebs, an old washing machine and dryer (not that I use it, since I just send my clothes out), a water heater.

  The floor is just a basic concrete floor. In one corner, there’s a big pile of some cardboard boxes that contain the possessions I had before I became rich. I’ve never looked back. I’ve never even opened the boxes.

  The boxes contain all the regular stuff you would expect from a single programmer in San Francisco, who was living on people’s couches when he couldn’t pay the rent. Those were hard times, but I got through it.

  The boxes also contain family pictures that I haven’t looked at in years. Hell, I’ve never opened the boxes since I moved here.

  When I grew up, it was just me and my mom. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and I don’t have a dad either. He took off when I was just a kid, leaving my mom to work as a secretary and a typist for years, struggling to raise me.

  When I was little, she often had to finish her assignments at home. For that, she had a computer, one of those old basic ones.

  But it provided me hours of entertainment. And she not only let me use it, she taught me how to use it. I knew all the commands, and she taught me how to program it a little, since she was also taking a community college course on programming in order to try to get a better job for herself, in order to give me something better in life.

  I took to it like a fish in water.

  Of course, I knew I didn’t want to be a nerd, much less a computer nerd, so I did every sport I could in high school. I started working out in high school, and everybody knew I wasn’t someone you’d want to mess with.

  By the time I got to college, my mom had to stop working. She’d gotten sick and at first, and we didn’t know what it was. She didn’t have any energy and simply couldn’t get out of bed. The doctors weren’t any help. They told her to do exercises or something… and they told this to a woman who could barely get out of bed. And it’s not like she looked fine and healthy sitting there in the doctors’ offices.

  But I wouldn’t give up. I kept taking her to doctor’s appointments after doctor’s appointments, even when she didn’t want to go.

  They finally found something wrong with her and gave her a diagnosis. It was lung cancer, which was quite obvious when they put her in the MRI machine. She’d never smoked a day in her life, not a single cigarette. It just wasn’t fair. She died only a few months later. The disease had already progressed too far. And there wasn’t any treatment available anywhere… stage 4, the kind you don’t tend to recover from.

  I blamed myself. I blamed myself for her having to raise me, even though that wasn’t my fault. And I blamed myself for taking her to the doctor who finally diagnosed her. I know it wasn’t my fault that she was sick, and the doctor only found the problem, instead of causing it. But maybe she would have been happier not knowing just how sick she was… happier until the end.

  My eyes are blurry and my fingers are tired to the bone.

  My mind’s been wandering to strange places…

  I force myself to focus back on the computer screen. I’ve been looking over the evidence that Johnny gave me on that USB drive for the hundredth time. Johnny wouldn’t tell me where he got these, but they seem legitimate. Apparently these are the real tests that Simmons ran himself, and they actually show worse performance than my own algorithm.

  So it’s true? Simmons faked the benchmark speed scores?

  His algorithm is really just a steaming pile of shit? It’s not even not better than mine, it’s far worse?

  But I need evidence. I need more than what Johnny gave me.

  I need to figure out how Simmons could have possibly faked someone else’s benchmark scores. I really doubt he had any undue influence—the guys who run the tests aren’t the sorts of people who can be influenced by money. They’re huge nerds, interested in the technology itself.

  No, it couldn’t have been that.

  If Simmons did do it, he must have hacked their system. And those aren’t the types of systems that are easy to hack. He would have had to have some very specialized and highly advanced code… something like a worm that would be able to manipulate their data.

  But how? How would that be possible? Nothing’s impossible.

  I feel like my mind’s running in circles.

  I can’t remember the last time I slept.

  I rub my eyes.

  My thoughts go back to Lily.

  That’s not doing me any good. Better not to think of her. She’s convinced I’m just the douchebag billionaire, that there’s nothing else to me…

  I look over again at the old cardboard boxes.

  Something about them draws me towards them. Honestly, I haven’t opened them in all these years because it’s just too painful to look at pictures of my mother. That probably just makes me seem like more of a douchebag—that I don’t have pictures of her anywhere in the house. But she was the only family I had. How can I bare to think about her, and the way she looked when she died, emaciated and weak, completely confined to the bed?

  Without knowing why, I get up out of my metal chair and walk over to the cardboard boxes.

  I stare at them for a moment, considering the decision I’m about to make.

  My heart is actually beating faster as I grab a utility knife from a shelf of tools and make the first cut into the packing tape that seals up the first box.

  This one’s just clothes, things I used to wear when I was broke and working on my now-famous algorithm. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t throw these out years ago. They’re all dated, but also cheap.

  Basically, I never had an extra cent until I made my fortune, and I knew I could get girls just with my body… the fancy clothes weren’t necessary. They still aren’t… not that I want anyone except Lily. I haven’t been hitting up my contacts list, and I haven’t been hitting the clubs. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s all because of her.

  I toss the first box aside before cutting into the second one.

  This is it.

  A single tear starts to well up in my eyes as I pull out the framed pictures of my mother. Here’s a picture that shows me as a little kid, probably ten years old. My mother was beautiful, with long blonde hair that came down past her shoulders. She dressed a little like a refined hippie, or something like that, when she wasn’t at work. I can remember the day the picture was taken. It was a day trip to the beach.

  I spend another hour looking through the pictures and thinking about my mother. I feel guilty as hell now that I have these pictures out. I couldn’t deal with the sight of her pictures, and that’s why I kept them down in these boxes in the basement. But how ridiculous is that, that I can’t confront my feelings? I’m supposed to be able to tackle anything, anything at all, emotions included.

  After a while, I can’t keep looking at the pictures.

  But they have an effect on me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like looking at the
m let something out of me, or freed me up somehow.

  My mind, of course, finds its way back to Lily again, and her tight ass and her perfect tits… but there’s more to her than that. There’s more than how she can suck my cock and take me all the way in…

  There’s something that I haven’t been able to admit to.

  I know she’s not going to pick up the phone.

  But, to my complete surprise, she does.

  “Come over,” I say.

  “Why? You just want to fuck me.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But there’s something else…”

  I’ve got her attention now.

  I know what she craves and what she needs.

  “Something else?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Lily

  I’m standing in a supermarket line when he calls me. Actually, to be more accurate, I’m standing in the line at the customer service desk, ready to ask about a job.

  Not that there’s anything wrong with working at the supermarket, but it’s not the same as being a programmer. It’s not what I want to be doing, and this isn’t exactly a nice supermarket.

  I don’t know why I pick up.

  Maybe it’s because I’m missing him. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m just crazy.

  He is, after all, the douchebag billionaire.

  But this time, when he talks, there’s something different in his voice. Something different in the quality. He says he wants to talk about something. He says he wants to tell me something. And I know from the way he says it that it’s not about work. I can’t explain it, but I just know.

  I take one more look at the supermarket around me, and realize that while I really don’t want to work here until I find a programming job, I must be crazy for walking out of here right now because I apparently “know” that Ryan wants to tell me… something, instead of just jamming his cock into me.

  About an hour later, I’m at his house.

  I really can’t afford taxis or Ubers anymore, so it’s public transit for me, with the crowds and strange smells. Not that I have anything against it, in general, but you know when you’re sitting next to someone who’s just gotten off a long shift of manual labor?

  Yeah, walking down the street with the fancy houses towards Ryan’s place… it’s a breath of fresh air. I hope seeing him is going to be too. Not that I don’t want to make another bad decision and just jump his bones… but I can’t. I need something else from him. I just don’t know if he can really give it to me.

  I stand on the fancy front porch with the pillars and stare at the door for a moment.

  Should I really be doing this?

  What would Hailey tell me to do? Not that I’m talking to Hailey anymore.

  What would my mom say to do? The mother I know would tell me to come home and work at the furniture store. But the mother I just spoke to most recently would tell me to… follow my dreams? Those are her words, not mine.

  Well, let’s hope this dream pays off. Let’s hope I’m not doing something incredibly stupid… again.

  Before I can ring the doorbell, the front door flies open.

  It’s Ryan, looking as hot as ever, with his broad shoulders, his perfect model-like jaw line.

  He’s wearing just some old jeans and a t-shirt, showing off his tattoos, as well as his incredible arms.

  His hair is a little disheveled, and he looks tired but also excited at the same time.

  Looking at him again, so many emotions come up: anger, excitement, attraction. All the big ones, wrapped together in a confusing package.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the slightest idea, so I say something basic and stupid instead of something real. “How did you know I was here? I haven’t even rung the doorbell yet.”

  “Intercom system and cameras,” says Ryan, pointing to the camera up in the corner of the porch roof.

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Come in,” says Ryan, holding the door open for me.

  I had better not be doing something stupid again, I think to myself, before walking past him into the house.

  I’m so nervous that I find myself holding my breath as I do so, as if that would somehow protect me.

  I have to squeeze past him to get into the house, since he’s not holding the door open that wide. My body brushes up against his, and it sends a thrill through me.

  We walk into the living room. The sun is shining brightly all through the house, lighting everything up inside here. Once again, I’m struck by the luxury of the house, the decorations.

  We sit down on the couch, side by side, but with plenty of space between us.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” I say.

  I’m practically holding my breath, waiting for an answer.

  His demeanor is a little different… he’s still rocking his commanding presence as always. He’s obviously the boss of just about everything and anyone, whether or not they’re working for him. I’m not going to call it a softness, but there’s something else there.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” says Ryan, turning his body to look me right in the eyes. “I… I don’t know where to start, but, well, I just wanted to tell you a story.”

  “A story?”

  I guess I was thinking he was going to admit his love for me… this isn’t exactly what I was expecting. But he’s talking differently than he usually does—I’m not growing angry.

  “My mother raised me,” he says. “My dad ran off… It was just me and her. That’s how I got started in computers, you see…”

  The story comes tumbling out of him. He tells me all about his childhood with his mother, and how if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have known anything about computers whatsoever. He tells me how close he and his mom were, how she made dinner for him every night, despite being dead tired from her job as a secretary. And he tells me how she took classes along with her job and still managed to raise him.

  There aren’t any tears in his eyes, but I can see the sadness in his face as he tells me how his mom started getting sick, and about how he finally found a doctor who was able to diagnose her, only to find out that she was going to die very, very soon from terminal lung cancer.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say. There may be no tears in his eyes, but there are some in mine. The way he tells the story is just heartbreaking. I’ve never had anyone open up like this to me ever, and the douchebag billionaire is certainly the last person that I would ever expect to talk like this.

  He tells me more, about how he locked away all these feelings for so long, and about how it wasn’t until today that he opened the box that contained the pictures of his mother… feelings that he’d been trying to lock away for so long came rushing back… he’s glad he did so.

  “And I wanted to tell you all this,” he says. “Because… well, I realized I’ve been locking away all sorts of emotions… not just those about my family history…”

  His words come out in spurts, but he’s still not awkward and he’s never stumbling over his words.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say.

  “And this has a lot to do with you.”

  “With me? What do you mean?” I know what he’s going to say, I think, but I have to ask anyway.

  “I feel something different for you… Something intense, and I didn’t want to admit it.”

  I pause for a moment. A thousand thoughts are buzzing in my mind, with a thousand possible things to say. In the end, I let my instincts guide me, and tell him what I feel. “I feel the same way about you,” I say, my voice soft. “You hurt me… I thought there was something between us, but then you treated me like any one of your other girls.”

  “There aren’t any other girls. You’re different from anyone I’ve ever been with… and I feel something for you… I think I…”

  I hold my breath, but he doesn’t say it.

  “Let’s give it anot
her chance,” he says.

  I don’t say anything. For a response, I lean across the wide gap between us and kiss him softly on the mouth, letting my lips fall against his like rose petals.

  He kisses me back, softly, but not so gently.

  “Let’s take it slow this time,” he says.

  “OK,” I say.

  We continue kissing, and his strong hands work their way across my back and down my shoulders. He pushes my hair aside and kisses my neck gently.

  I moan softly.

  “I don’t know if I can take it slow with you,” I say, my voice soft and throaty, filled with lust.

  Just being near him again, having his hands on me, it’s incredible.

  This time may not be slow, but it’s different than the other times we’ve had sex. I can already tell this isn’t just fucking. There’s more than lust here, something else, something powerful between us that pulses through our bodies.

  I feel his hard cock in his pants, pushing outward and upward.

  “We’ll go to the bedroom,” he says. “No more closets and couches for you.”

  “None?” I say, inflecting my voice. “But I liked the closet.”

  “I know you did.”

  He picks me up in his arms easily and carries me against his dense chest. He carries me through the house, up the stairs, and lays me gently on the plush mattress.

  It’s almost dusk outside. We’ve been talking for hours without me realizing it. Ryan closes the blinds gently, and comes to lay beside me on the bed, putting one of his strong hands on me.

  I snuggle up to him, and his hard cock presses against me.

  “I love having your cock pressed into me,” I whisper.

  Slowly, I start grinding my body against him and his cock. I can’t help it. I do it almost automatically.

  The tension builds and builds between us, and finally it snaps like a twig. There’s simply too much attraction between us to take it slow.

  His mouth mashes against mine, our tongues tangling. His hands are all over me, and mine are on him.