SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  I’m a guy who can take on entire companies and dominate entire industries, but I suddenly feel overwhelmed by my current situation, the situation that I’ve created myself.

  Olivia

  “I thought he said it was going to be a small wedding?” I say to one of my bridesmaids, who I’ve never met before.

  We’re in a back room, ostensibly getting ready, but the team back at the house did such an… intense job on me that there’s really nothing more left to be done.

  “It is small. I think it’s only a hundred people.”

  I take a good look at her. She’s high-class, and completely unlike myself in every way. Even without her jewelry, her dress, and her thousand dollar shoes, her mere presence would scream refinement and sophistication. And yeah, snobbery, too. She has a way of looking at everything with her nose slightly pointed to the celling, and I get the feeling that I don’t like her very much.

  “How do you know David again?” I say.

  “We’re old friends,” she says, without offering any more by way of explanation.

  So these are the sorts of people he hangs out with?

  “It’s too bad you didn’t have any close friends,” she says, giving me an odd look. “But I’m glad David asked me, since I always do love being a bridesmaid.”

  “I do have friends,” I say, basically lying, unfortunately. “They just couldn’t make it. But my friend Sasha is going to be here. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “Sasha,” she says, rolling the word around in her mouth as if she doesn’t like the taste of it. “She’s your friend?”

  “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

  There I go, sticking up for myself again.

  The door opens, and Sasha enters, wearing jeans and a partially ripped t-shirt. She looks like she’s been up all night drinking.

  “This, um, person is your friend?” says the snooty woman, whose name I don’t even want to know, let alone remember.

  “Sasha!” I say.

  “Olivia, what the hell are you doing?”

  “You’re late,” I say. “But I think they can still get you into the dress. Did you bring any shoes?”

  “Never mind,” says the snooty woman, sounding pleased with herself. “I have some extras. I always do travel with extras.”

  “Great,” I say.

  “Olivia, you’re really getting married? To your boss? You’re going through with that crazy plan? I thought you said you’d never do it, not in a thousand years. And you told just recently that you’d considered it but turned it down. You lied to me?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Yup,” I say.

  “I thought the whole thing at the apartment with the movers was some kind of really elaborate practical joke.”

  I can’t answer. All I can do is shrug my shoulders. I hate lying to her.

  “It’s real,” I say.

  “Look,” says Sasha, giving the snooty woman a nasty look. “Can I speak to you in private?”

  I nod and follow her out into the hallway.

  She pulls me into the bathroom violently and slams the door.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, but if you’re having some kind of crisis about your virginity, this isn’t the way to handle it. I mean, getting married just so you can get laid.”

  I’m about to tell her that that’s completely wrong, and that I’m in love with him. But that doesn’t sound that believable either, and honestly her idea is more plausible. She might get mad, but at least she’ll believe it.

  “That’s right,” I say. “That’s what I’m doing. But at least I’ll finally lose my virginity, right? That’s what the whole wedding ceremony is about, right?”

  “You’re crazy,” says Sasha, shaking her head.

  “Come on,” I say. “Sasha, listen to me. I know this is crazy. But… it’s like, I never do anything crazy. And this is my chance to break out of that. This is my chance to break out of my little shell, and to do something different crazy. I just want to be like you, out having fun all the time, but I’m just not like that. This is just my own way of doing something totally insane.”

  Sasha breaks into a grin. “That does sound like you,” she says. “But this is really crazy. You know that, right?”

  “Yup,” I say. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no time for that. You’re going to do the wedding, right? It wouldn’t be my wedding without you there.”

  “Of course,” says Sasha.

  “OK, come on then.”

  Now it’s my turn to drag her back into the room, where she strips down and changes into one of the dresses. The snooty woman, whose name we learn is Chloe, helps us do Sasha’s hair. Chloe ends up coming through with shoes, rushing out to her car to bring back another pair of thousand dollar shoes. Despite her obvious feelings about Chloe and her snootiness, Sasha can’t help but break into a smile when she puts the shoes on.

  “They’re really nice,” she says.

  “They’re the best,” says Chloe.

  “They’re very pretty,” I say.

  Apparently once you get Chloe talking about shoes, she simply won’t shut up. Sasha nods along politely for a while, while I completely tune out.

  What’s happened to me?

  It hits me all of a sudden: what I’m doing is completely crazy, right? Sasha’s completely right.

  I’m getting married to a man that I barely even know, and I’m already living in his house. Sure, it’s not a real wedding in the sense that I’m doing it for the money. But even though it’s not real, here I am in a beautiful building wearing a beautiful wedding dress, getting ready with my bridesmaids. It sure feels real, even though it’s not. And in everyone else’s eyes, it is real. Sasha thinks it’s real, and so does my dad.

  To my horror, my dad took the whole marriage thing very well. He didn’t even ask me any questions about who the guy was, or why he’d never heard of me dating anyone. He simply congratulated me way too enthusiastically, as if he’d just been waiting to marry me off his entire life.

  I’m lost in my own thoughts, and before I know it, there are people rushing all around us. The wedding coordinators are dressed to the nines, wearing headsets, talking to each other over the radio, and shuffling us around.

  Everything becomes an absolute blur of confusion and chaos. I barely even know what’s going on, except that they’re getting me ready to walk me down the aisle.

  My dad’s here, and he gives me a grin, before taking me by the arm and weaving it through his. He’s wearing a suit, looking better than normal. But his hair is still slicked back in the way that only long time gamblers can manage. He can’t shake the sleaze, not one bit.

  Oh yeah, this is what happens: I take his arm and he walks me down the aisle.

  I thought David said it was going to be a small wedding. But as I glance around, trying not to do so obviously, it seems like there are a couple hundred people here. And they’re all staring at me. Most of them are smiling, but there are about a dozen faces here or there, all women, who glare daggers at me. I suppose I’m taking their man away from them. Or at least that’s what they think.

  The building is some kind of non-religious chapel, and it’s simply beautiful. Intricate and ornate stained glass windows run practically from the floor to the high vaulted ceiling. There’s a pulpit, and a woman who looks something like a Buddhist monk is standing at the front.

  David Masters is there, and he takes my breath away.

  …quite literally.

  For a second, I think I’m going to start coughing. It feels as if I’m choking.

  But I get my breath back, taking in deep sighs that I hope no one else notices.

  He looks incredible.

  His hair is perfect, and the navy blue suit he’s wearing hugs his body in just the right way.

  Most importantly, he’s staring at me like he’s never stared at me before. His eyes lock int
o mine and there’s no doubt in my mind that there’s nothing in them but intense desire for me.

  But this is a fake wedding, right?

  It’s not real, I remind myself.

  It’s not real. He’s not really going to be my husband.

  Well, in the eyes of the law, he is.

  As I stand in front of him, not listening to the words that the monk lady is saying, gazing into his eyes, I have to remind myself to breathe.

  The rest of the world has fallen away to a dull roar, and the only thing that remains for me is David Masters, who doesn’t cease fucking me with his eyes for a single moment.

  I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I am to be marrying this man, this Adonis who stands before me, who’s completely fixated on me and nothing else.

  But, wait, I’m not really going to be marrying him.

  …right?

  But it wouldn’t be a real fake wedding without a fake wedding night, right?

  David

  I’m sitting in the back of the car, Olivia squished up next to me. I’m extremely aware of her body pressed against me. The side of her right breast is pushing into my shoulder. My cock is, of course, as hard as a rock in my suit pants.

  She smells like, I don’t know, something delicious and sexy. Wisps of her hair are coming undone and poking gently into my face.

  The driver’s just pulling away from the wedding. Outside of the car, the wedding guests are standing around chanting at us and clapping.

  “I think that went pretty well, right?” she says, turning towards me.

  “I think they bought it,” I say.

  “This is a nice touch, driving away together.”

  “It wouldn’t seem like a wedding without. I mean, what are we supposed to do, just part ways right after walking down the aisle?”

  “This is a really nice ring,” she says, raising her finger to her face to examine the ring better.

  “Sorry I didn’t get you an engagement ring,” I say.

  She shrugs. “That’s more modern anyway, right?”

  “I don’t think so. I think people still do engagement rings.”

  “I don’t mind,” she says, peering at the gold band. “Let me see yours.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  I hold it up for her and she takes my large hand in both of her small hands. Her skin is silky smooth and soft, and she leans in closer to my hand, her breasts spilling onto my chest.

  She looks so fucking hot in that wedding dress. I just want to rip it off of her and take her right here in the limo.

  “Ooh,” she says, apparently impressed with my ring. She holds my hand in hers for a couple moments longer than I would have expected. She doesn’t seem to want to let go.

  “I wouldn’t peg you for the kind of girl interested in rings,” I say.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You seem practically minded. Weddings and rings are the opposite of practical, aren’t they?”

  She shrugs. “I guess I’m still a woman at heart.”

  She giggles after saying this.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I say.

  “That was surprisingly fun,” she says. “I’ve never had a wedding before.”

  “I have. Trust me, this is the best part. It only goes downhill from here on out.”

  “Your marriage didn’t go well?”

  I shrug. I’m not sharing her giggling effervescent mood. I’m on the edge of being grumpy. That happens sometimes when I’m horny and sexually unsatisfied. The thing that would take the edge off this mood of mine that’s developing is if she bent all the way down over my lap and blew me right here in the car. My cock swings as I think this. It’s simply aching.

  “That’s one way to put it,” I say. “My ex-wife is a real piece of work… She’s not a bad person. But she’s got a drug problem that she couldn’t beat.”

  “I thought you hated her or something? After all, she’s trying to take your daughter from you, right? This is a weird conversation to be having right after our wedding, by the way.”

  That makes me chuckle, lifting me out of my mood slightly.

  “I guess you’re right,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that. But, about my ex-wife… no, I don’t hate her, really, despite how I might talk about her sometimes. I can understand her position. She just wants to be with her daughter. And she’s convinced that I spend all my time partying and… uh… womanizing, not to mention working, rather than spending time with Laura. She thinks I’m a terrible dad, and in some ways she’s right.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  I shrug. “It’s true in some ways. I don’t spend enough time with her. But it’s not that I don’t have the time, it’s just that I don’t really know how to do it.”

  “You don’t know how to spend time with her.”

  “I mean, I know how to go into her room, but once I open my mouth it’s like I don’t have anything to say… I just don’t know how to talk to someone her age…”

  “What were your parents like?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.” I’m suddenly feeling uncomfortable and defensive.

  “Did they talk to you a lot?” she asks sweetly.

  That makes me laugh, a kind of rough, callous laugh that comes out naturally. “Not at all,” I say. “My dad preferred the belt to words, if you want to put it like that.”

  “That’s awful,” says Olivia, pushing her curvy body further up against me.

  “You know,” I say, looking down sideways at her body. “You remember that this is a fake marriage, right?”

  “Of course,” says Olivia. “But you have to admit that it’s kind of fun, right?”

  “I guess in a way,” I say. “But what happened to the shy, studious girl that I fake proposed to only a couple days ago? You’re acting completely differently.”

  She giggles as she answers. “I don’t know,” she says. “I’m honestly just as surprised as you are. I guess I just never realized how much fun this would be.”

  “You really found it fun?”

  “Sure, the building was beautiful. And I have to admit that I love the dress…”

  There’s something else that she’s thinking but that she’s not saying out loud.

  “Well,” I say. “If you really think it’s that fun, what if we just go along with it and pretend that we really are getting married, just for tonight?”

  “You mean…?”

  Realizing she’s referring to sex, I add, “Oh, I don’t mean that we’re going to fuck.”

  She blushes at my coarse language.

  “I’m not in the habit of buying sex,” I continue. “And I’m not going to start with you. This is a business arrangement only, but that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, enjoy the situation. And by that, don’t get the wrong idea. I just mean that we can enjoy the couple’s massages at the hotel, and sit around and play card games like the bored newlyweds used to do, clinking champagne glasses and all. It’s just fun, like make believe.”

  “I’m surprised you would suggest something like that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re always so serious. You’ve got this ‘my way or fuck you’ attitude.”

  I laugh. “I hope I’m not like that all the time.”

  “Maybe this marriage is lightening you up a little.”

  “I think it’s lightening you up a little,” I say. “So what do you say? Are you in?”

  “Sure,” she says, looking me in the eyes.

  I know we’re both wondering the same thing…

  We fall silent for a few minutes, before I speak again, breaking the silence. We’ve got about twenty more minutes until the limo reaches the hotel.

  “I got us two rooms, because I really doubt anyone would go to the trouble of checking up on this little detail. And I can just say that you snore and I had to get a separate room. Lots of couples do that.”

  “Why do I have to be the one to snore?”


  I shrug. “I’ve slept with a lot of women, and no one’s ever said that I snore before.”

  A weird look creeps onto her face.

  Is she hurt by that, that I’ve slept with a lot of women?

  “It’s not that many,” I say. For some reason, I find myself wanting to ease this apparent pain of hers.

  “No? That’s not what I hear.”

  “Who would you hear that from? I may be notorious, but I didn’t think I was that notorious.”

  “People at work talk about it,” she says.

  “Oh,” I say. “I guess that makes sense. I may have had a few… dalliances at work. But that’s normal. I mean, you must have slept with your fair share of guys, right?”

  She blushes a deep red.

  “Come on,” I say. “It’s our wedding night. This is where we traditionally tell each other all the secrets of our past, especially our sexual past.”

  “How many women have you slept with?” she says.

  I shrug my shoulders. “If I knew, I’d tell you,” I say. “But honestly I lost track after a hundred. And that was in my twenties, so…”

  “A hundred!” she says, her mouth falling open in surprise.

  I can’t help fixating on her plump, lipsticked lips, wondering what it would look like with my thick cock jammed inside, her lips pushing forward in a pout as she sucks my cock deeply and slowly.

  “More than a hundred in total,” I say. “But it’s 2017. It’s not like it used to be. Come on, maybe you haven’t slept with a hundred guys, but you must have slept with like ten, right? I mean, you did go to college, didn’t you?”

  “I was pretty studious in college,” she says.

  “There’s always time for a little fun, though, right?”

  She’s growing redder all the time. She suddenly shakes her head.

  “You mean you haven’t slept with ten guys?”

  She shakes her head again, indicating a firm “no.”

  It’s honestly not a sadistic streak that makes me continue with this. It’s just that I really want to show her that it’s normal to have sex with people and it’s nothing that she needs to be embarrassed about.

  Well, that, and I want to basically justify my own womanizing ways, by showing that we’re not all that different. What’s the difference, really, if it’s eight men or a couple hundred women?