SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “Pittsburgh?”

  She shakes her head. “A little rural town. Nobody’s ever heard of it.”

  I nod.

  “And I basically, well… I basically studied hard, and I went to law school earlier. I had to drop out, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Chronic fatigue problems… it’s a long story, but I’m over that now.”

  I nod my head stiffly. “Good,” I say. “I don’t want my wife to have chronic fatigue. Doesn’t have a good ring to it, does it?”

  She seems not to know what to say.

  “Well,” I say, checking my watch. “That should be enough time.”

  “Don’t you want to know anything else?”

  “Anything else?”

  “About me, I mean.”

  I shrug. “I think I got the gist.”

  Olivia

  I leave his office not knowing what to think. A thousand emotions are running through my head.

  First and foremost is the anger that I always suppress, always hide away.

  He really surprised me. He’s just such a… dick. Yeah, he’s a dick. There’s really no other way to describe it. Although, if had to, I’d say that he’s an arrogant cocky bastard.

  But, then again, he’s paying me a million dollars for a few months of easy work.

  I shouldn’t complain, right?

  But that’s what I’ve been telling myself for my whole life, that I shouldn’t be complaining. That’s what I told myself when my dad stole all that money from me. I know it’s absurd, but I said to myself, ‘you’re just lucky to have him in your life. So he needed a little extra money, what’s the big deal?’ But even as I told that to myself, I knew it was completely false and completely insane.

  I knew at the time that what he did was completely wrong, completely uncalled for.

  But here I go again with the same dialogue.

  I guess I have daddy issues?

  But while David Masters is older than me, it’s not like he’s close to my dad’s age. My own dad is fast approaching 60, and David seems like he’s somewhere in his 40s. But he doesn’t look it. He has the body of a man much younger. He’s fit in all the right ways. There’s absolutely nothing physically wrong with him. But personality wise? I don’t know.

  Everything David said came across like an order. He kept cutting me off, and he seemed to barely listen to me. What he did seem to be doing was checking me out, quite obviously.

  And I couldn’t help noticing his massive erection that sent his dress pants up like a circus tent.

  I may be a virgin, but it’s not like I’ve never seen a cock in real life. So I know that even though I just saw it through his pants, David’s cock is massive. Not only long, but thick. It gets my pulse racing just thinking about it.

  But I’m just doing this for the money. After all, it’s not like I’d want to get involved with a man like David sexually. I always imagined that I’d lose my virginity to a sweet but intense guy, full of masculinity, a boyfriend who understood me and my situation well enough to go gentle on me. If there’s anything I know for certain about David, it’s that he’d be anything but gentle. He’d just take me.

  That sends a shiver through me, and I don’t know why.

  I’m back in the mailroom, sorting through some papers absentmindedly, not really paying attention to what I’m doing.

  I’m completely in shock. What in the world have I agreed to? It hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to be moving into his house, spending time with him at social functions. That sounds exhausting. And I’m supposed to be taking it easy, recuperating. I’m lucky to have gotten over chronic fatigue. Not a lot of people do.

  And what am I going to tell my dad, let alone Sasha?

  I’m supposed to move out tonight? With none of my things?

  It’s hard to even imagine how the next few months are going to go.

  But I’ll treat it just like law school—I’ll just tough it out and get through it. I’m good at doing that. At least until I get chronic fatigue or something even worse.

  But a million dollars.

  I’ll have to research how to keep it away from my dad. There’s no way I can let him know anything about this, or he’s going to do his best to get his hands all over that money.

  If I have to, I’ll put it in shady foreign bank accounts, like people do when they’re running some illegal business. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure my dad doesn’t get his grubby hands anywhere near my million.

  I start daydreaming about what I’m going to do with the money.

  Obviously I’m too responsible to go out and buy a new car and a bunch of expensive purses, although that’s tempting.

  No, the first thing I’ll do is pay off my debts, in cash. I’ll march right into whatever offices I have to and smack down the total amount, with interest of course, in cash, and watch their faces fall.

  That’s so like me—fantasizing about paying off my loans with my million dollars.

  But it’s not like I have to win the lottery to bring this fantasy to reality. I just have to pretend to be his wife for a few months.

  How hard could that be?

  “How’s it going, Olivia?” says Natalie, sidling up to me out of nowhere, and snapping me out of my own thoughts.

  “Oh,” I say, startled. “Good, just working on these papers.”

  I’m vaguely holding a handful of disorganized papers.

  “Looks like it,” says Natalie with a smirk.

  She looks me up and down, spending a lot of time examining my hair and my skirt.

  “Hmmm,” she says, making a face.

  “What is it?”

  “You were in his office for quite a while, weren’t you?”

  “Whose office?”

  “David Masters. You know, the boss?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, he just wanted to discuss some… things.” That’s probably the least convincing thing I’ve ever said in my life.

  “You don’t have to pretend with me,” says Natalie, winking at me. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Tell anyone what?”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re not going to get in trouble or anything. He’s slept with plenty of women in the office.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah,” says Natalie. “And most of them still work here.”

  “Most of them?”

  Natalie laughs. “Don’t worry,” she says. “So… what was it like?”

  So she thinks I’m the type of person to sleep with the boss, even though I’m brand new?

  My first instinct is to deny the whole thing. But then I think better of it. After all, I’m being paid a million dollars to pretend that I’m his wife, right? And right now, I’m supposed to be pretending that I’m going to be his wife. What better way to do that than to pretend I slept with him in the office?

  After all, if I’m anything, it’s an overachiever. I’ve been one all my life.

  I may as well do this job right.

  “Well, OK,” I say, lowering my voice to almost a whisper. “If you must know, we… had sex.”

  Her eyes light up and her eyebrows rise.

  “I knew it,” she says.

  I nod my head, not knowing what to say next. After all, I’m a virgin. What do I know about lying about sex? I don’t have the slightest idea of how to describe it.

  “So how was it?” she says.

  “It was… good.”

  “Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. “It was that bad, eh?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It was wonderful. Really… wonderful.”

  “Oh,” says Natalie. “So… tell me. Is it true? What they say about his cock?”

  “Yes,” I say, nodding my head vigorously, trying to look and sound convincing. “Absolutely.”

  She’s looking at me, clearly expecting me to say something more.

  What do women say about guys’ cocks once they’ve slept with them?

&
nbsp; I think back to what Sasha tells me, but I’m pretty sure she goes light on the details for me because she knows very well that I’m a virgin, and I’m uncomfortable sometimes when she tells me too much.

  “It was… wonderful,” I say.

  Natalie laughs. “So they’re all lying? It’s actually, you know, small?” She holds up her fingers to demonstrate what must be the size of a small penis.

  “Oh, no,” I say, knowing that I’ve got to make it seem like I’m head over heels for David. “It was massive.” I hold out my fingers, emulating her, but making the size quite large, almost a foot.

  Natalie doesn’t seem to know whether I’m joking or being serious. She laughs nervously.

  “Yup,” I say. “That was some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I tell you, if it was up to me, I’d marry him today. You’ve got to lock guys like that down.”

  I’m so bad at lying and acting that this comes out really stilted and bizarre.

  “Well,” says Natalie, looking at me in a new way, apparently not sure what to make of me. “I don’t think he’s the type to marry.”

  We’ll see about that, I think to myself as I turn towards the photocopier.

  David

  I wake up startled, my heart beating rapidly, as if I’ve just run the mile in four minutes flat.

  The images of my dream are starting to fade, but I can still remember some of them.

  My dad was there in my dream, the way he often is. His pants were sagging around his waist because his belt was in his hand.

  “Come here, you little brat,” he was saying, speaking out of the corner of his mouth in the nastiest, cruelest tone imaginable. “You know what I do for you? You know how hard I work for you? And what do you do? Nothing, you’re just a little piece of shit, a little brat.”

  Just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream.

  I sit up and reach for the glass of water on my nightstand. The water is room temperature, and it soothes me, calming my system down.

  I take a couple deep breaths and lie back down on the pillow. But as soon as I close my eyes, the images come back.

  But it wasn’t so bad, right? It was basically a spanking with a belt. Nothing more. That happens to a lot of people, right, especially when I grew up? It’s nothing I should be having nightmares about. It’s not like it affected me in any negative way. For proof, just look at how far I’ve come in the business world.

  I open my eyes again and check the clock. 4 AM, on the dot.

  I might as well get up. Too much sleep is bad for a man anyway. Makes him weak.

  That’s what my dad used to tell me when he would wake me up, screaming at me, early in the morning before the sun was up. He’d have been up all night drinking, and couldn’t stand the idea of me sleeping away in my bed, comfortable, and not working on anything, not doing anything productive.

  Getting out of bed, I throw on some gym shorts and a t-shirt. Time to hit the home gym.

  The lights in the rest of the house are off. Nancy’s in her room, sleeping, presumably.

  I stop by Laura’s room, standing outside, and I put my ear against the door. Her soft, cute little snores come through the door, and they make me smile.

  After all, Laura’s the most important thing in the world to me. The reason I’m doing this whole crazy fake marriage thing is just to keep her safe. It’s the reason I work so hard. Well, one of the reasons.

  But a pang of longing hits me in my stomach. I wish I could connect with her better.

  It’s one thing to keep her away from Alicia, but am I really providing such a great home for her, after all, if I’m not really there for her?

  Am I acting just like my own parents, being so emotionally distant?

  I walk down the darkened hallway and pass one of the other bedrooms. The door isn’t usually closed, but tonight it is. Putting my ear against the door, I can hear faint breathing sounds coming from it.

  In my sleepy state, I’d completely forgotten that Olivia’s already moved in. That’s her, sleeping behind the door. She’s probably in a thin nightgown, with the sheets tossed halfway off of her, revealing her perfect, half naked body.

  I was still at work when she moved in. Everything is set up for the wedding, which is taking place in two days. I’m going to play it off as a love at first sight sort of situation, where she’s showed me the errors of my ways and showed me that I don’t need to be a player anymore. I just hope the judge buys it.

  He will, though. I’m sure of it.

  I head into my home gym in the basement, flipping on the lights and standing by the weight racks for a moment, trying to wake up. But the weights will wake me up. That’s all I need.

  I need to feel the cold steel in my hands. After long days in the office, I crave something that’s decidedly not cerebral, something that’s real.

  Two hours fly by, doing bench presses, leg lifts, squats, and deadlifts, with a considerable amount of weight.

  At about six o’clock, I head upstairs, and Nancy’s the only person awake.

  “We’ve got a new member of the household,” I say to her.

  “I met her last night, sir,” says Nancy.

  I nod. “Everything go OK?”

  “I had to show her some… things.”

  I nod. I don’t want to know what they were. Probably feminine things.

  “Sir, I have a question,” says Nancy, standing nervously with her hands folded in front of her.

  “Shoot,” I say, pouring myself a tall glass of milk and hitting the button on the automatic coffee maker, one of the finest, that I purchased from overseas.

  “Well, sir, I was wondering if your daughter knows about the new guest.”

  “Oh,” I say, my face falling. In truth, I hadn’t given it much thought. I guess I am a shitty dad. I haven’t even told my daughter that I’m getting married, or figured out what I’m going to tell her about the fake marriage.

  But I take a deep breath and try to think clearly about the situation.

  I do some quick mental calculations, trying to figure out the various risks with each decision. That’s the way I make my business decisions. It’s just a matter of risk analysis.

  I guess the only reasonable thing to do is to lie to Laura and tell her that I’m really getting married. She’s just a kid and I can’t count on her to keep a secret.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” I say. “But I’m getting married to our house guest. Two days from now, if the plans go through.”

  “Oh,” says Nancy, apparently not knowing what to say. “…Congratulations, sir.”

  I nod. “Why don’t you tell Laura for me? OK?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to be the one to tell her? That’s a big change for a girl her age.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure out how to do it,” I say.

  I down my glass of milk and jog upstairs, still wearing my gym shorts and t-shirt.

  Laura’s still asleep, of course. She doesn’t need to wake up for school for another two hours.

  I head to Olivia’s door and knock softly on it, so that I don’t wake up Laura.

  “Whaaa?” comes a sleepy reply.

  “Rise and shine,” I say.

  “Not time,” she says, her voice about as full of sleep as a voice can get.

  Ignoring her protest, I open the door and walk into the room. It’s dark in here, with the shades completely drawn.

  Olivia’s just a pile on the bed. The sheets completely cover her body and her head.

  Her breathing tells me that she’s gone back to sleep, or that she never really woke up.

  I walk over to the bed and pull the sheets back from her head with one swift motion.

  “Time to wake up,” I say. “We’ve got a lot of things to discuss. The wedding’s in two days.”

  She lets out a scream, her eyes wide and her eyebrows rising.

  “It’s just me,” I say. “Remember, I’m your future husband.” I flash her a grin. “You wouldn’t scream
at your future husband, would you?”

  “Sorry,” she says, sounding a little more awake, probably because of the adrenaline. “I just got startled. But what are you doing in my room?”

  “I didn’t realize you were going to sleep so late.”

  She looks at the clock. “It’s six AM.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Instead, I take a good look at her. The sheets are starting to fall away from her as she shifts around in the bed sleepily.

  She’s not wearing a negligee as I imagined. Instead, she’s been sleeping in a tight t-shirt that clearly displays the form of her breasts, which are naked and braless beneath it.

  My cock twitches in my gym shorts.

  The sheets are clumped up in a way that shows me the form of her hips and legs beneath it.

  My cock twitches again.

  Her hair is messy, and she’s never looked hotter. She’s not wearing any makeup, but her natural features don’t need any. Her skin is crisp and clear, and her hair and eyes shine.

  “I thought this was going to be my room,” she says. “You know, my own private space.” She says it softly, as if she doesn’t want to upset me. I guess she’s worried about not getting her million dollars if she upsets me, or more likely, she’s the type who isn’t good at confrontation or expressing her own opinion.

  “How was the move?” I say, ignoring her comment.

  Let’s see what happens when I push her a little bit.

  “It was… interesting,” she says. “But, like I was saying, maybe it would be good if we set some boundaries… I think I need to have my own personal space.” It’s obviously costing her a lot of mental effort to say this, fighting her own anxieties and insecurities. She’s not the type who can tell someone something easily.

  “It’s my house,” I say. “And I’m paying good money for you. You’re going to do what you’re told, is that clear?”

  She nods her head.

  “And since this is my house, that means this is my room. Is it your room?”

  She shakes her head.

  “This is my room, right?”

  She nods her head.

  “And that means I can come in here whenever I like. Trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”