SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “You really want to lose it?” she says. “You mean you want to finally have sex?”

  I nod my head. “It must be incredible,” I say.

  “If he’s good.”

  “And I’m sure Ryan Hudson is extremely good. But he’s just such a dick.”

  “Well it’s not like you’re going to marry him.”

  “It just didn’t feel right,” I say.

  “Well,” says Hailey. “That’s totally within your right. I mean, it’s good you’re sure of your feelings. I’d say you did the right thing.”

  “Really? I thought you were going to give me a stern talking to, telling me that I have to march back over there and let him have his way with me.”

  “No,” says Hailey, shaking her head. “Nothing like that. I think you did the right thing. Maybe this whole ‘being picked up in a bar’ thing isn’t for you.

  “I’m beginning to think it isn’t,” I say.

  “Don’t worry,” says Hailey. “The right guy will come along. Something will happen.”

  I nod my head, but I’m thinking it won’t ever happen. Why can’t I just be like Hailey, and enjoy myself for once? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Sorry,” says Hailey as her phone buzzes.

  She picks it up and a grin forms on her face as she reads the text message.

  “Something funny?” I say, thinking that if I hear it, it might cheer me up.

  She shakes her head. “It’s from Dan.”

  Dan’s one of her late night hook ups, a friends with benefits type of situation.

  Nothing could make me feel worse right now. It’s like a slap in the face, exposing my own emotional “problems” or whatever they are.

  Hailey types something on her phone, and then the phone buzzes again as she receives yet another message from Dan.

  This time she giggles and blushes.

  “Sorry,” says Hailey. “But I think I’m going to…”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “You going over to his place?”

  “Yeah,” says Hailey. “But, like, I’ll totally stay if you need someone to talk to.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s completely fine. Really.” Of course, it’s not completely fine, but it’s not like I’m going to try to screw up Hailey’s life too.

  “You’re the best,” says Hailey. “And it’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Hailey’s still dressed in the skimpy dress that she wore earlier tonight at the bar.

  She gets up, exposing quite a bit of leg, not to mention her breasts, grabs her purse somewhat sheepishly, and is out the door quicker than I could have imagined.

  Now I’m alone.

  In my room, I pull off the dress, which is somewhat wrinkled now after what it’s been through. I carefully hang it up and pull on an old t-shirt and some more normal underwear. I just have one pair of fancy underwear, and I wore that tonight—it’s not like I’m going to sleep in it.

  I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, but I know the moment my head hits the pillow I won’t be able to sleep.

  The night seems to keep replaying before my closed eyes—the luxurious bar, the type I never go to. Then Ryan’s luxury house, where even the garage was nice. Not that I saw much of the house at all, but everything was just super fancy, super expensive looking. Where I live must be like the polar opposite of his place.

  I pick up my pillow and put it over my head, letting my head rest on the bare mattress, somehow thinking that this is going to change my thought pattern, but of course it does nothing. My head is just so full of anxiety and shame right now that nothing helps, not even trying to meditate by paying careful attention to my breathing. I could never get that trick to work anyway—my mind just wanders back to what it was thinking about before. Maybe I’m not doing it right.

  And now I think about Hailey over at Dan’s house, giggling up a storm, having the time of her life on some sexy romp with no strings attached.

  I was so close to having sex with Ryan, and the weird thing is I was so turned on. I can vividly remember how he made me feel, how it felt having his body so close to mine.

  I need to distract myself. I can’t spend all night lying awake having an anxiety attack about how sexually attracted I am to my boss, and how I still couldn’t actually do it.

  There were so many reasons not to, though. I have to remind myself of this, over and over again.

  Oh, crap.

  He’s my boss.

  And yet, he doesn’t have any idea I’m one of his employees.

  That could be wrong.

  The thought that relaxes me is: he never comes to the office.

  Thank God for that, that’s for sure.

  I get up and flick on the light. I’m going to do what I do best: immerse myself in my work.

  But I don’t mean that stupid binder they gave me. If they want to tell me I have to read crap like that all day, then that’s what I’ll do. I won’t touch a compiler at work, but at home I can do what I want, right?

  Once he heard that I was really into coding, my cubicle neighbor gave me a USB drive with the code for the algorithm on it.

  “Everyone has it,” he says. “Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s top secret or anything. It’s actually open, in a sense, but not open-source, because Hudson still has to make money on it.”

  “So that means that if someone finds a problem with it, they could easily write their own algorithm that would directly compete with this one, right?” I asked him.

  “Sure,” he said, chuckling. “But no one can. No one ever has. And that’s because it’s perfect programming. Perfect logic. No one can ever beat it. Ever.”

  Well, I’d still like to take a look at it, I think to myself.

  After all, one of the first things I learned when I started diving into all this is that nothing can ever be perfect. Nothing with computers, that is. People think it’s all math, and that math is all perfect. But actually, it all relies on human logic, and as I saw tonight, human logic can often be faulty.

  I’m up until the early hours of the morning, completely immersed in the files on the USB drive. I have to admit that Ryan Hudson’s programming is perfect. And the algorithm… well, I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it, let alone criticize it. He does things that I’ve never seen done anywhere, things I’ve never even heard of.

  It’s a strange sensation, reading the code written by the man who almost took my virginity tonight. In a way, it’s kind of like reading a book or poem he wrote. Programming, really, is a lot like writing—you have to make things consistent and precise, but they still have to all have important functions. Everything still has to do its job.

  Finally, I cut the lights. I’m more confused than when I started. I thought maybe I’d learn something about the algorithm, but I’m not even sure I found the algorithm. Maybe I’m over my head with all this programming stuff. I’m certainly over my head with casual hook ups, or sex in general.

  Ryan

  I can still taste her on my lips. I can still picture her body lying before me, the gorgeous, perfect curve of her back, her plump ass pressed against my cock… my cock grows partially hard again just remembering the image.

  I’m still sore from yesterday’s workout. I tend to push myself too hard, but that’s just part of my personality. Hell, that’s what’s gotten me as far as it has.

  It’s a weird sensation waking up alone without a “friend” in the bed next to me, ready and eager for a second or third round before I send her home.

  It’s not until my second cup of coffee that I remember what happened before I met the unobtainable virgin goddess last night. My cock swells just remembering her, but I force my thoughts back to the conversation in the bar with that app programmer.

  He was saying there’s a new algorithm out.

  A second later, I’ve got a laptop out, and I’m finding every article I can on it. The code isn’t freely available, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Even though I’m not progra
mming these days, I still have friends who might be able to help me out with that. I need to get this code as soon as possible. If these benchmark speed scores that the articles are reporting are anything close to true, then my company’s in big trouble.

  My entire company is my algorithm. I haven’t been to the office in years.

  I don’t know or care what they do there, so long as there’s an office, and they sell the algorithm to some new companies each year, for enterprise use. But the algorithm basically sells itself. It’s just a website, and people can pay for the use of it. The whole thing is free, but pirating hasn’t been much of a problem, because people find out quick enough that it’s more cost effective to use the algorithm with the proper framework around it, rather than trying to build their own, like scaffolding that keeps falling down no matter how many times you try to put it back up.

  The articles I read say the creator of the new algorithm is a guy named Simmons.

  I’m not panicking, the way some people would. Nothing makes me panic.

  But it’s certainly a serious situation.

  Time to hit the office. Time to meet with the staff, for the first time in years. Many of them I’ve never even met, and I don’t remember the names of the people who were there.

  There was one guy named Jim, or maybe it was James, who’s been programming for years. He helped me with some of the algorithm framework, back when I was getting things set up. A fresh pair of eyes is always good. Maybe he can give me some insights.

  I may be a great coder, but I do know when to ask for help. Programming is usually a collaborative project. I just happen to be good enough at it that I don’t usually need anyone’s help.

  Half an hour later, I’m on the road in my car, wearing a suit, heading towards the office.

  For a moment, I have a flash of amnesia: where’s the office again?

  But I let intuition take me there, driving down once-familiar streets.

  The office building is by itself in a small complex. Now I remember why I stopped coming here—it’s too drab. The whole place just screams: office. There’s never anything fun going on. There aren’t ever any girls. No parties, no fun. Just dull, drab work—the kind of thing I’ve spent my life avoiding at all costs. And now that I can, what’s the point of being rich if you have to come to the office all the time?

  I almost turn the car around and head back home. I’ve got enough money, anyway. I don’t really need to keep making money on the algorithm, do I?

  But more money means more fun.

  Plus, there’s a bit of pride. Something that I’ve always felt about my code. I can’t let it get beat. I just can’t.

  The interior of the office is nice, if a little dated. Nothing flashy, just a normal high class office.

  “Can I help you?” says the secretary, a woman on a swivel chair behind a huge desk.

  I wonder what she does all day.

  How does this office even function for years unattended like this?

  “I need to speak to a programmer here,” I say. “I think his name is Jim, or maybe James… or maybe Jerry. Older guy… he’s been programming for years.”

  “Oh,” she says. “We don’t get many requests like this. Are you interested in using the Sisyphus Algorithm for business applications?”

  I shake my head. “I’m Ryan Hudson.”

  “Oh!” she says, looking like she’s about to fall out of her chair in shock. Her mouth hangs open, and I can almost see the “oh” exclamation hanging comically in the air.

  “I’ll go see if I can find him myself,” I say.

  I walk past her, since she’s still not speaking. That’s not a problem. I always get what I want, regardless of anyone’s reaction. It doesn’t bother me in the least that people are going to be surprised to see me here, or that I haven’t been here in years. But I’m Ryan Hudson. I don’t owe anyone excuses, no matter what. Without me, none of these people would have the cushy jobs they have today

  Heads turn in the office as I walk past rows of cubicles.

  “That’s him,” someone whispers.

  “Who?”

  “Ryan Hudson.”

  “Ryan Hudson!” come the whispered exclamations of surprise.

  There’s a manager here for sure, someone with an office who keeps all these cubicle dwellers in check. I can’t remember their names, or their faces. I’m not interested in speaking with some managerial person now, though. I need a programmer.

  Ah, there he is.

  I can spot his rumpled shirt and slouched back all the way down the row of cubicles. No doubt he’s still got the coffee stains on his shirt. I wonder if it’s the same shirt that he wore when I last saw him.

  My strides long, I cover the distance in no time, ignoring the spinning heads and whispers.

  “Jim?” I say, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  He spins around, and his face drops when he sees me.

  “Ryan!” he says.

  “We need to talk.”

  He regains his composure. “Back in the office, eh?” he says, chuckling. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk, Jim?”

  “It’s Jerry, actually.”

  “Let’s head to the conference room, Jerry,” I say.

  He gets up stiffly, holding onto his desk for support.

  “Gained a bit of weight over the years, eh?” I say.

  “Cubicle life,” he says. “Not all of us get to spend our time on luxury cruises.”

  I chuckle. “Same old Jerry.”

  We head into the conference room and I close the door behind me.

  I pull my laptop out of my briefcase, open it up with the articles already open, and place it in front of Jerry.

  “What do you think?” I say, only giving him a minute to read all of it.

  “Hmmph,” he says, frowning.

  “Hmmph?” I say. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Well, you know what they say about programming?” he says. “Nothing ever stays at the top. If there’s a better way to do something, someone’s going to find it.”

  “That’s not going to be good enough. This is the Sisyphus Algorithm we’re talking about, my algorithm. You helped me with some of it, with the framework. Either this guy’s lying, or there’s a major problem with my code that I didn’t spot.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and before I can tell whoever it is to go away, the door opens.

  “We’re busy in here,” I say, not looking up.

  “Oh,” says Jerry. “This is Lily, our newest programmer. She’s been wanting to start coding. Maybe now she’ll have something to do.”

  “Hello,” says a familiar voice… too familiar.

  I look up, and get a huge surprise.

  It’s none other than the hot virgin from last night, the one who didn’t want my cock inside her just yet, the one who fled back to her apartment.

  I look at her, and she looks back at me.

  Her hair is hanging down around her face, covering part of it, making her look mysterious and beautiful at the same time.

  My gaze finds its way down to her breasts, and to her hips and her long legs.

  She’s wearing a professional outfit that can’t do much to hide her curves. It can’t hide the body that makes my cock start to swell, and draws me to her.

  But I’m not the type to fall for women.

  “Lily, this is Ryan Hudson, the…”

  “We’ve met,” says Lily.

  “Oh, really? How did you two meet?”

  “We’ve had romantic entanglements,” I say.

  I can almost hear Lily gulping in embarrassment.

  Jerry is silent for a moment, but the awkwardness doesn’t affect me.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Lily,” I say. “We’ve got to get back to this. We’re going to be working on some coding…”

  “Well, Lily’s a great coder,” says Jerry, apparently unaware that this might put the two o
f us in a situation we don’t want to be in… typical coder behavior, unaware of many social norms—everything that isn’t written in code.

  “I’m new,” says Lily. “I wouldn’t know how to help.”

  But I know she’s lying. I can hear the eagerness in her voice. She’s excited about being near me. I can see it in her eyes and in the way her body moves, subtly shifting.

  But… she’s excited about the code, too?

  “Nonsense,” says James. “From what you were telling me yesterday, you really know your stuff. And you were saying you were anxious to get into coding. Hey, it beats reading that office manual, doesn’t it?” Then he remembers I’m in the room. “No offense, Ryan.”

  I shrug. “An office manual sounds boring as shit,” I say. “Is that what they have you doing here instead of coding?”

  Lily nods shyly.

  “All right,” I say, opening up two more laptops from my briefcase, and pulling up the right programs and code before handing them out one by one to Jerry and Lily. “Let’s get to work then.”

  “We’re going to be coding?” says Lily.

  “If you can help,” I say. “Then, yeah.”

  Jerry is already tapping away at the keys, his eyes sinking into the code. “Wow,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “This is incredible.”

  “I managed to get the source code that Simmons is running,” I say. “An old contact owed me a favor.”

  “So we’re breaking industry rules?” says Lily, sounding worried.

  I chuckle, putting my feet up on the table, pushing my chair back away from the conference table. “There are no industry rules,” I say. “If it’s too rich for you, back out now.”

  “No,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her. “I want to work on the project. I just have to go get my own laptop.”

  “There’s a laptop right here,” I say.

  “I like coding on my own machine,” she says.

  “Ah,” I say sarcastically. “We’ve got a real coder here.”

  She turns away without saying anything, and I watch her delicious ass moving back and forth as she walks.