Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  "Seems so," he laughs, "I know you can't exactly choose between 'business or pleasure' here, but you seem tense. You shouldn't let a night like this go to waste, you know."

  There's a playful glint in those eyes, dusky blue like a smoke-filled sky, and I realize that he's daring me. To do what, though?

  As the dance music starts to pick up again and he gives a sideways nod to the dance floor suggestively, I get the message, biting my fingernail with a thoughtful smile on my face as my eyes rove over him.

  Maybe Natalie's right, for once.

  Besides, those lips are starting to make me curious.

  I get my last chance to decide to be a responsible adult as he offers me a hand to draw me up, and before I realize what I'm doing, I've set my own slender hand into his, and a strong, gentle grip is lifting me to my feet and pulling me towards the dancers.

  Whether it's the drinks or the atmosphere tonight, I immediately feel like there's a weight off my shoulders as I start dancing with the stranger.

  He knows how to move in a suit, and his motions are every bit as limber and flexible as his demeanor hinted at. It's easy to read a man by how he carries himself.

  I dance close to him, used to moving as well as one can in heels, and I feel his strong hands moving up my sides before long. And I revel in it.

  It's been so long since I've let myself just have fun. In the back of my mind, I remember one more time that I'm barely scraping by, Dad's old debts are due soon, not to mention the protection money, and this place can't exactly watch itself.

  Then I tell that part of my mind to take a night off.

  Soon I'm grinding into the guy, the freeing atmosphere of the night urging me to enjoy this stranger's body, and as my wide eyes meet his, I realize he's been daring me into this from the moment he walked in.

  It's in his moves as well as his gaze. He's always stepping to the side, a hand teasing at mine to follow, not just pulling me around but hinting for me to let him take the lead. With every moment that passes in the deafening music, I realize I want that more than anything else right now.

  His eyes keep flitting to the exit with a meaningful look. I know exactly what he's hinting at, but my playful smile keeps him from thinking I'll go so easily.

  By the time the song comes to a close, my backside is pressing into his front, and I feel powerful arms wrapping around me, those luscious lips whispering into my ear now that I can hear him speak.

  "For someone so tense, you're in tune with your body. That's a rare pairing."

  "I was about to say the same," I answer, exposing my neck to him and letting his cheek brush against it.

  "So," he adds, hands moving down my sides to rest on my hips, and I can feel the desire in them. "The question is: are you willing to listen to what your body wants?"

  I turn my head just enough for my gaze to catch his, and I bite my lip, a sparkle of my own in my eyes as I let the question linger in the air between us for a moment longer.

  Katy

  Less than an hour later, I'm pressed up against him as we push through the door to his apartment, my hands tearing at his shirt while my lips are devouring his.

  I hardly paid attention to where exactly we'd gone — we were all over each other on the taxi ride here. All that catches my eye is that it's an upscale penthouse not too far from the club.

  He leads me through the richly-furnished living space to his bedroom, a platform bed with rich, cream-colored sheets waiting for us as I work his tie off and tear at the buttons of his shirt while his jacket slides off.

  I've already kicked my shoes off, and his hands are working my dress down my body, feeling my slender frame as they go. My underwear isn't nearly as fancy as I'd like, but then again, I never expected to be going home with anyone when the night started.

  But I can't concentrate on that, because the man's shirt is off now, and I can't help but stare at him as my mouth opens involuntarily.

  His body isn't just strong, it's impossible.

  Muscles that ripple down his arms meet at massive, rock-hard pecks that I brush my fingertips against in awe, not paying attention to what he's doing with my bra until I feel it fall to the floor and my breasts spill out before him.

  The desire I see in his eyes drives me wild, my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. I press myself against him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I feel the bulge in his pants pressing against my waist. His own heartbeat feels just as hard.

  "I need this tonight," I breathe, need in my voice as I grind my hips into him. I let my hands slip down from his shoulders and slide to his washboard abs, biting my lip. "God, how are you even real?"

  There's a smile on his face as his hands unfasten his belt while he kicks his own shoes off. "Me? You're the one with the eyes like a siren's."

  I slowly lay back on the bed, watching him strip while I wiggle out of my thong to let my fingers go to my lower lips freely, and I gasp at how ready for him I am already.

  "You know what sirens do to men, don't you?" I tease, but my heart flutters in my chest again when he pulls his trousers down to reveal a massive, thick cock, already stiff and immediately hardening completely as his hand wraps around it gently.

  "If this is a test of my willpower," he plays along, kneeling down on the bed and putting an arm on either side of me to loom over me, "then you've already won."

  He lowers himself onto me, and I melt into his kiss, letting his tongue delve into my mouth ravenously.

  He pulls back from it, and I put my hand behind his neck to beg him back to me, but instead his lips dive for my neck, and I let out a silent gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

  His cock is stiff and grinding against my wet cunt, hungry to delve into me, but as he starts to move it to impale me on it, I gently push him back from me, despite the protests of my body.

  "Something wrong?" he asks in a husky voice as he come to a stop.

  "Condom," I breathe, my hands going to my nipples to make up for the pause in stimulation.

  I see his thick arm reach to the nightstand and pull a drawer open, but all I can focus on is the heat of his body. His muscular legs are brushing against my sensitive inner thighs, and I want to beg him to hurry up.

  I watch him tear open the little package he withdraws and slip the thin material over his massive, bulging crown, enveloping the thick girth of the cock down to the neatly trimmed base.

  "Don't keep me waiting any longer," I urge him, every tense moment of the past few months eager to melt away under him, and he obliges.

  The man I met earlier this evening lowers his stiff cock to my pussy, and the tip presses against the outside. A gasp escapes me, and I realize how badly I want this.

  I grip the sheets hard as he teases me, rubbing the dark crown against my needful clit. I let my head lie back on the soft sheets, and I feel his powerful hands gripping my ass, the huge cock making its way into me gently.

  "You're mine, tonight," his voice growls, that deep, accented rumble sending warmth through my body and up to my face.

  "Prove it," I dare him, and the next moment I let out a scream of ecstasy as he pulls me up and himself into my cunt, the fiery heat of his cock filling me like it was what I'd needed for ages and never realized.

  He drapes my legs up on either side of his shoulders, broad hands on my hip and the small of my back as he starts rocking himself into me.

  I can already feel the tension in my body letting loose, the man's cock sweeping it away with every gentle thrust into me. Conscious as he is of me, I feel his hands under me and realize he's in complete control, almost holding me up with his arms alone, able to move me around however he likes.

  I'm so tight around him, and I try to move my hips in rhythm with his as best I can, but there's so much of the muscular figure surrounding me that I feel like a plaything in his hands as his thrusts start to get faster.

  Harder.

  I take silent cues from the gentle motions of his hand beneath me tells me wh
en to twist my hips just so, and each time I heed him, the new angle works a side of me I hadn't even realized was tense, and his rhythmic breaths are punctuated by my irregular gasps of pleasure.

  What am I doing? I abandoned the club, I left Natalie on her own, I-

  My guilty thoughts are cut off as the man leans forward, pinning my arms down on either side of me and rutting into me furiously now.

  The feeling of his shaft pumping in me at a faster and faster rhythm, the man looming over me totally controlling my every move even though I don't even know his name. Owning me for one night. Making me his.

  Tension winds up in my stomach as I feel muscles contracting. My pussy is already tight around him, but my abdomen tightens further as I clench my eyes at the unstoppable wave of what's to come.

  My every reflex wants to jerk away from the sensation, to just come and quickly ease myself out of it like when I touch myself on lonely nights at my apartment, but this man isn't letting me.

  I'm a complete puppet to his desires, to his hunger, and I feel his breath hot on my neck as his bucking gets even harder and starts to become less and less regular.

  My orgasm bursts through me like floodgates crashing open, and I let out a long, relieved gasp of pleasure and release even as I can feel the man's condom filling up inside me, the electric sensation rippling through both our bodies as he continues to ram himself into me.

  I'm able to crack my eyes open through the feeling, and even through the truly overwhelming stimulation I can read on his face, there's focus, like he's pressing on and denying his own body the reflex to recoil that he's denying me.

  Our bodies let themselves drop into relaxation after a few moments, and as he lowers his hot body onto me, his chest brushing against my sensitive nipples and hot breath washing over my neck, my legs tremble as our intense orgasms start to ebb, his shaft still totally submerged in me.

  "Oh...my God," I manage between breaths, "you don't know how...how much I needed that."

  He lifts his head, and his fingers gently guide my chin to turn my head and look at his chiseled, smiling face.

  "Believe me," he says before bringing my lips to his for a long kiss, "I can tell."

  I let a long breath out, feeling utterly exhausted and defeated on the bed, but his cock is so hot inside me, and still so hard. Any motion I make makes me gasp as the sensitive skin moves around his member.

  My hand goes to his face, and he lets me touch it as if I were examining a piece of art, particularly as my index finger brushes his soft, thick lips. I can feel his hand stroking my side.

  The only pang of remorse I feel is when he finally draws himself out of me, getting up off the bed and stepping to the bathroom.

  "I'm going to wash up," he calls over his shoulder as he steps inside, "you're welcome to stay the night."

  I blink and turn my head to look at the clock.

  3:00 AM.

  "Fuck," I whisper to myself. I wasn't around to close the club!

  I don't wait a second longer than the man closes the bathroom door to spring out of bed. Or try to, at least, as I almost fall to the ground on wobbly legs. But I power through it as I scramble to get my clothes on.

  The club never closed. Natalie is surrounded by partiers. She's gonna quit tonight. The club is in ruins. It's actually on fire. It's already been bought by someone, there's broken glass and rubble everywhere, oh my God!

  Those thoughts race through my head as I rush for the door. I pause for just a moment, casting a glance that lingers on the bathroom door where that statue of a man is running a hot shower.

  I don't let myself dwell on the thought of how good it would feel to dive in with him, and I make a beeline for the door and call a cab back to the club.

  A few minutes later, the driver is pulling up to the curb, and I see Natalie locking the front doors and strolling down the walkway, twirling the keychain around her finger.

  Her face brightens into a cheery smile as she sees me clambering out of the taxi, flustered.

  "Nothing fell to pieces while you were gone," she chimes before I can say anything, meandering over to the curb where I'm standing, the taxi still running behind me. "The partiers got drunker, they eventually wandered off, and your VIP lounge emptied out almost as soon as you were gone. We made a killing."

  At this point, I'm opening and closing my mouth trying to protest something. What, exactly, I don't know. Natalie reaches me and rests her hands on her hips, smiling smugly in knowing I don't have a thing to legitimately fret about.

  "So? How was it?"

  I let out a defeated sigh and lean back against the cab, looking up at the sky as I cross my arms.

  "Great. Fantastic, even." I turn my eyes to look at Natalie sidelong and add with a guilty tone, "You didn't happen to, uh, catch his name, did you?"

  Natalie bursts out laughing, and I join a moment later as she playfully slaps me on the shoulder.

  "Oh my God, Katy!"

  "I know, I know, shut up!" I run a hand through my hair, embarrassment showing in the color in my cheeks even as I laugh. "But really," I start again, giving Natalie a genuinely grateful smile, "I needed a night off. Thanks, Nat."

  "Just keep an eye out for him when he swings by again," she teases with a wink at me, "and get his damn number next time! Come on, I'll walk you to the cars."

  As the sounds of our heels clicking on the asphalt of the parking lot echoes through the street, my smile fades before too long.

  Even if Natalie can help me come to grips with the fact that I can't work around the clock, I can't deny the fact that I can't even look at this club of mine without feeling a pang in my stomach.

  I don't know what the feeling is. Dread? Worry over the fact that, for all Natalie's protests, I can't do this every night? The feeling that I'm trapped keeping this place running? Yeah, probably all of the above.

  Even as I watch Natalie's motorcycle pull out of the lot and I start the ignition of my own car, the vibration sending a shiver of a reminder of the night up my body, I can't help but think about how uncertain the future is. I might own a club, but this place is only scraping by month to month. The only thing keeping it up is my hard work.

  The work never runs out.

  And debts are due soon.

  Buy the rest!

  Description

  She was the girl that got away. Now she thinks I murdered her dad.

  Cherry LaBeau. More like Cherry Bomb, the way she walked back into my life, accusing me of killing her father.

  She's a fiery mystery from my past, and this time, I'm not going to let her get away.

  But first, I have to prove to her that we're lookin' for the same person. That whoever killed her dad has been screwing with my club and the people I care about most. So I'm going to find the scumbag who hurt my Cherry, and my club, and I'm going to make them pay.

  Even if I have to turn back to my former hitman ways...

  A full length Romantic Suspense novel. No Cliffhangers/Standalone. Safe.

  Cherry

  I should have worn better shoes.

  Garden State, my ass, I think bitterly to myself as I awkwardly stumble through the warehouse in the dark. This morning when I woke up in my hotel room in Newark, I sleepily opened my shiny New Yorker suitcase to peruse my wardrobe options, all of which are also distinctly New Yorker in style. That is to say, they are much better suited to a strut down Fifth Avenue than a tromp through the muddy backroads of New Jersey.

  Shoes, especially.

  I am accustomed to sharp stilettos, suede ankle boots, and fire-engine-red pumps. None of which are particularly appropriate for a day of exploring the site of my father’s death. This warehouse is dark, dank, and definitely a stark departure from my usual haunts. I mean, I am a journalist, so you might expect me to be used to running around in unusual places, sniffing out the next big story. But because my deadbeat mom was so generous and considerate as to land me with a name like Cherry LaBeau, I’ve never exactly been on the shortli
st for the Pulitzer Prize.

  In fact, I’ve been lucky to score the cushy, inconsequential, lighthearted pieces they’ve handed off to me in the past. I’ve been a fashion blogger, a who’s-who editorialist, and a celebrity gossip generator for several years, and it’s paid fairly well — which is to say not much by most standards. Well enough to keep me housed, fed, and decked out in (admittedly out-of-season) designer clothes in the very expensive city of the Big Apple all this time.

  It would almost be a dream job.

  Except that it’s the opposite of anything I’ve ever dreamed of.

  Despite the girly, tongue-in-cheek name on my birth certificate, I’d like to think there’s nothing very frivolous about me. Sure, I write the puff pieces they assign me and I wear the knock-off Carrie Bradshaw outfits they expect me to. I sign my ridiculous name with a flourish, and I dot my “i’s” with a heart. But beneath all that superficiality is a real, hard-hitting journalist, just itching to break free and finally write something of substance.

  And it’s what my father would have wanted for me.

  “People are going to judge you for your name, sweetheart,” he told me when I was eighteen and heading off to university to get my journalism degree. “But that just means you gotta work that much harder. Make them take you seriously. Be so good at what you do that they’re forced to say your name with respect.”

  Standing in my inappropriate high-heeled boots in this dripping, musty warehouse, I have to bite my lip to keep back the tears threatening to sting in my eyes. I can’t be weak. I can’t let my emotions cripple me. I’ve got to be strong like Dad was. Especially if I’m going to find out what happened to him… and who killed him.

  It’s safer to think about my shoes, something silly and non-consequential. It helps keep my mind off how much I miss my dad. The only family I have — had — left. Now it’s just me, and I swore at his funeral that I’d make him proud in the afterlife.