ROMANCE: BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: Royal's Romance (Billionaire New Adult Contemporary Romance) (Billionaire Boys Club Romance Short Stories) (5 page)

My grandparents thought I would get over the whole UFO thing by the time I was a teenager, and when that didn’t happen, they thought for sure I would be over it by the time I graduated high school.

Nope, that didn’t happen either.

When I went away to college, they were 100% positive I would be way too busy with my studies, and that eventually I would meet a nice boy and get caught up in college life and becoming an adult.

And while I did ended up meeting a few boys—none of them in the least bit nice, but they served their purpose while they were around—and I didn’t get caught up in college life. In fact, I flat out hated college life and was anxious to just get on with my adult life. Which in my junior year that was exactly what I did. I dropped out of Northern Arizona University because my website—UFOArchives.com—became a huge hit, and with the amount of money, I was generating from ad revenue as well as speaking engagements around the country, going to school was actually costing me money.

After I dropped out and moved to Sedona, AZ—The western capital of all things weird and bizarre—I went from Dawn Phillips, student, to Dawn Phillips, the foremost expert on aliens and UFO’s in the western the United States. Yeah, I had turned my obsession into a career. I mean, don’t get me wrong, not all of my money comes from the lecture circuit, my books, and my website, because I’m also one hell of a website designer with average hourly currently hovering around $300. But as you’ve probably already guessed, the bulk of my web design clients all come from the UFO and conspiracy community.

Grandma hated the fact that I dropped out of school. Of course, her generation thought of college as nothing more than a singles club where nice young women met and married the doctors and lawyers of their dreams. Grandpa didn’t mind one bit. Grandpa was a retired non-com officer, so his general belief was that all college really did was extend out childhood another 4 years before you had to go out and get a real job. Plus, well, grandpa secretly liked the alien stuff just as much as I did, and he was happy I was able to make a career out of it.

And don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I love studying and delving into the conspiracy of all types. My obsession with UFO’s has since spilled over into the JFK assignation (If you think Oswald was the lone shooter—or if you think he was the shooter at all—you’re an idiot.), the Moon Landing (We were there, but we found something that we shouldn’t have, and all of the footage that was shown to the world was all recorded on a soundstage.), the MLK assignation (The minute he went from advocating for just black Americans to all poor Americans was the worst mistake he ever made. Also, accepting the Nobel Peace Prize didn’t help him out either.), I even dabble a little in things water fluoridation. But the biggest downside to my job is that it's pretty lonely.

As you can probably imagine, the conspiracy community is mostly made up of me. But, they’re not exactly the type of men you want to take back to your hotel room—Seriously, I’m telling you this from several miserable experiences— and screw their brains out. In fact, most of the men in my chosen community aren’t even the types you want to spend extended periods of time with. No, let me rephrase that, they’re not even men you want to be in a room alone with for longer than 10 minutes. Yes, I know, these weirdos are my bread and butter, and honestly, I’m just as weird as they are, but I, at least, care about my hygiene a little bit.

So, obviously, the world I’ve created for myself is a successful one, but it’s a lonely one. A very lonely one where my only “boyfriend” for the past two years has been a 10-inch long purple “back massager”. Well, at least, it was until a couple of weeks ago when something I thought would never happen in a million years actually happened. What happened, you ask? Well, I saw a UFO, and not only did I see one, but I also watched it crash, and then I rescued its sole occupant from burning alive.

The biggest UFO event in the United States takes place—surprise, surprise!—in Roswell, New Mexico July 4-to-7. It’s absolutely enormous and the population of Roswell virtually doubles overnight as close to 15,000 UFO and conspiracy nuts from all over the world come streaming in wearing their tinfoil caps ready to spout both their baked and half-baked theories. Grandpa was the one who brought me here for the convention—Yeah, we can go ahead and blame grandpa for just about every bad habit I have—back when I was 16. At the time, the internet wasn’t as much of thing as it was now, and only a few thousand people showed up for it, and it was actually a pretty intelligent event. Sure, it more than had its fair share of crazies, but most of the presenters were Ph.D.’s and folks who had written dozens of books on the subject. They were all so logical and willing to listen to arguments even if those arguments completely attempted to deride their closely held theories. But, of course, the internet exploded, and the real crazies started pouring in.

But with that first convention, it made such a huge impression on me, that I swore I would one day return as the keynote speaker at the event. Well, it hasn’t exactly happened yet, but over the last three years, I have moderated several of the best-attended panels as well as sat on several. Yes, I’m considered an authority, but since the Roswell convention has become such a phenomena, the keynote speaker usually isn’t some stuffy academic like it was back in the old days. Now it’s typically some actor or movie producer or director who really knows nothing about UFO’s or conspiracy and is only there to sell their latest project to the assembled geeks (And I shouldn’t say all of the keynote speakers no nothing. A couple of years ago Oliver Stone was the main presenter, and he brought along a two-hour long presentation not only about JFK but MLK and the Gulf of Tonkin incident as well. Now that was a great talk!)

Anyway, I was driving back home to Arizona after three solid days of being yelled at by smelly, social misfits, and I was just plain sick of Roswell. For the first time in my short 26-year-old life, I was starting to question my career choices because I had such a rotten time at the convention. I mean, I was really down in the dumps. Here I was, an acknowledged expert in the field, and in virtually every panel I was on some untoward fat ass with the social graces of a 9-year-old would stand up and start spitting at me because I didn’t believe exactly like he believed. I was so depressed that I didn’t even bother sticking around for the keynote speaker (Which wasn’t that big of a deal because it was just the guy who played second fiddle to Patrick Stewart on Start Trek: The Next Generation.) and checked out of my hotel room and started driving.

It was 9 o’clock at night, and I knew that I probably should’ve stuck around and gotten a good nights sleep, but I just didn’t want to deal with these people anymore, especially during the morning rush to check out. So I got out of Dodge thinking that if I got too tired, I find some roadside not-tell motel to crash out in.

I was an hour or so out of Roswell, I was smoking my second cigarette of the drive (Okay, before you get all judgmental about me smoking, let me tell you that I normally only smoke a couple of butts a month, and that’s usually when I’m out with my girlfriends and I’ve had a couple of drinks. But, seriously, I was stressed out and I needed some form of relief, and I wasn’t about to pull over to the side of the road and unpack my boyfriend the “back massager” so I could relieve the tension. So I was smoking instead, so sue me.) and let me tell you, it was pitch black out on that lonely highway, and it seemed like I was the only one driving on it.

I pitched my butt and that’s when I saw it: A bright, white light seemingly floating weightlessly in the sky. And when I say it was floating, I mean it was just sitting their stock still. I thought it was a little weird, but let me tell you a little something about New Mexico—Hell, the southwest as a whole—they're a lot of strange things that go on up in the sky on a daily basis, particularly in the middle of the night. The fact is, they're all kinds of active military bases out in the desert, and most of them run 24/7. Basically, if you see a bright white light in the middle of the night sky in either New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, or Nevada, 99 times out of 100, it’s just the air force holding nighttime maneuvers or testing aircraft over American soil that they shouldn’t be testing. I know, considering what I do for a living, I know what I just said made me seem like a complete jerk. But there are so many hacks in the world who fake UFO stories just for attention that you can’t help but become a little jaded. Yes, I want to believe, but sometimes it’s so hard to.

But this light, I just couldn’t take my eyes off of it. There was a brilliance to it that I’d never experienced before. It was literally otherworldly, and there was a reason for that. Suddenly. the light bloomed with a dull orange explosion as if something had struck it, and I watched as this dazzling light began to fall from the sky. Actually, fall probably isn’t the best way to describe it. Rocketed is a far more accurate description, and from my perspective, it looked like it was rocketing right towards me. I should have been panicking, I should have stomped on the gas of my rental car and gotten the hell away from there as fast as it would take me. But it was like I was hypnotized, and I instead put the car in park, left it idling and watched as this light came at me like a comet.

It passed right over my head. It was so close that I could feel the heat radiating from it, and it hit the ground with such a roar and crash that it left my ears ringing. Now, if I was a sane person, I would have been running. I would have even forgotten my car entirely and just hoofed it out of there and I probably wouldn’t have stopped until a police officer noticed my bloody feet and sun-blistered skin and made me stop. But apparently I’m not sane. Apparently, I have zero problems with running towards an unidentified flying object that just roared over engulfed in flames. But the fact was, I felt like I was 7-years-old again. I felt like that little, lonely girl traveling the country with her grandparents and playing make belief with the stuffed alien my grandpa had bought me. This thing that had crashed before my very eyes was validation for spending a lifetime dreaming about alien worlds and flying saucers. Or maybe it was just an experimental aircraft that had malfunctioned? But I had to see for myself.

I came to the wreckage expecting nothing but flame and ash so hot that I couldn’t even approach it. I expected body parts and raw, bloody carnage. But what I found instead was an almost completely intact flying saucer. I shit you not. Yes, there was a long trail of debris and fire where the UFO landed and slid to a stop. There were strange kinds of metal that I had never seen before with strange writing on it just like good old rancher Mack must have found back in 1947. I rushed to the intact part of the UFO and lying just a few feet away from it, I saw him, a gray man. But the closer I got to him, I came to realize that the enormous head and dark black eyes I was seeing were just a helmet of some kind and it was badly damaged.

I stepped over to the body and being too curious for my own good, I pulled the helmet off of the person, and I was face-to-face with perhaps the most beautiful male face I had ever seen. The face was pale blue, but it was the type of face you’d expect an angel or a movie star to have. I put my hand under its nose to see if he was breathing, and I felt a brush of air. For some reason, I had never felt so relieved in my life. He was alive! But what I didn’t expect was for his eyes to flutter open and look up at me with the most innocent and curious gaze that I’ve ever seen.

“Are you okay?” I yelled. Yeah, I honestly thought the spaceman could understand English. I’ve never been accused of being a genius, people.

He started to rise to his feet, but he was wobbling like he was going to fall face forward at a second, so I steadied him and slung his arm over my shoulder. Now remember how I  just mentioned that no one has ever accused me of being a genius? Do you also remember me saying that I’m not exactly what you would describe as sane? Yeah, well the reason I’m mentioning this again is because if I was smart and sane, I would have just stayed where I was. I would have stood in that field with the space man slung over my shoulder and waited for the expected bevy of government helicopters to come flying to the scene and rushing me and my spaceman off to God knows where. But I’m not smart and I’m not sane. I’m a complete idiot and I walked my spaceman back to my rental car and dumped him nearly unconscious into the back seat and I drove away from what was most likely a still smoldering interstellar incident.

I don’t know how long I drove or for how far, but by the time I stopped at a dirty little motel somewhere just inside the Arizona border, I was practically falling asleep behind the wheel. The entire drive from New Mexico I was running high on paranoia and adrenaline. I expected that any moment, helicopters would flood the sky and I would suddenly be surrounded by dozens of military vehicles with heavily armed soldiers streaming out of them yelling at me to step out of the vehicle. I was so hyped that I smoked nearly a half pack of cigarettes (Yeah, sue me, tight asses.) as I drove. But to my surprise, I didn’t see a single vehicle. Seriously, not even a cranked up semi-truck making up extra miles. I was completely alone, and I couldn’t help but feel a little weird out. And because of these weird, paranoid feelings, my brain kept going into these bizarre tangents. The one thing I kept cycling around to be that I was dead, and me driving around with this angelic looking alien was my oddball version of heaven.

But everything felt real enough. I was definitely breathing, smoking, and driving. And my spaceman was most definitely real because he kept mumbling in his exhaustion in some language that was completely alien (Har-har!) to my ears. So if I was dead, then death was obviously just as vivid as life.

When I checked into the motel—which, by the way, was the very definition of “sleazy motel”—I asked for the farthest room from the office. The pale, dour-faced clerk just spoke his head, took my 50 bucks and slid my key across the worn Formica counter without saying a word to me. I drove to the end of the motel, unlocked the door and did my best to ignore the mid-20th century furnishing and the obvious moldy and mildewed carpet (Eeewwww!), then grabbed my overnight bag from the trunk, and then finally, I half carried, half dragged my spaceman inside, slammed the door behind us, and then flopped him on the double bed closest to the door.

Thankfully, he’d been semi-conscious when I dragged him into the room. But, still, shouldering the bulk of his weight and then dragging him onto the bed so that he, at least, looked like he was somewhat comfortable had wiped me out. So I turned off the light, stripped down to my bra and panties, and fell almost immediately to sleep.

                                                                                   ***

I woke up to the sun streaming painfully into my eyes and with my mouth tasting like a rat had crawled inside of it and died. My spaceman seemed completely undisturbed by all the sun, but I had to admit I wasn’t quite ready for him to be up and around (I was still questioning my obvious lack of logic by bringing him with me.) just yet. So I tip-toed around his bed and drew the heavy, musty curtains shut and were once again in complete darkness. My skin felt like it was crawling with a thousand different kinds of bugs (And from the look of the comforter I had slept on, I’m sure that I was.), and I absolutely had to take a shower. So I rummaged around inside of my overnight bag, grabbed my toothbrush and shampoo and headed for the bathroom.

I don’t know about you, but I always do my best thinking while I’m in the shower, and right now I had absolutely TONS of thinking to do. I was still in shock about what had happened last night. A lifetime of obsession, which to is blunt had to admit I was starting to doubt was even remotely true, completely validated in the blink of an eye. As I stood under the steaming hot spray of the shower, I came to realize that this was the reason why I had taken the spaceman and had not waited for the authorities to come and find us. His presence, his existence was the rock hard, solid proof that I needed to keep living the life that I lived. I needed him here with me to validate my work.

And, to be honest with you, I was more than a little curious about other aspects of him. My mind kept wondering about what was underneath his spacesuit. I kept thinking about stripping him out of while he slept to see if he looked like a Ken doll without his clothes on, or if he had … Well, you know. Okay, I’ll go ahead and admit it, like most UFO nuts, I’ve had more than my fair share of fantasies about of getting nasty with an alien. Believe it or not, there are dozens of websites—most of which I’ve designed and maintain on my servers for my clients—about having sex with aliens. Obviously, most of these sites are male oriented and there're tons of photos of porn actresses painted green and sporting a third breast. But there are a few which have female-oriented content, most of its fantasy fiction of being kidnaped by aliens and then participating in an intergalactic orgy. I’ve even written and posted a few pieces myself, and they actually get a lot of traffic.

But I knew this was all fantasy, and chances are we were being followed by dozens of federal agents or at the very least dozens of them were searching for us and hot on our trail. I was in danger, and I needed to get that through my thick skull ASAP.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in one of the yellowing towels and then I heard something out in the room. I cautiously opened the door and peaked out expect a dozen guns to be pointed at me. But what I found instead was my spaceman standing in the middle of the room stark naked—By the way, he definitely did not look like a Ken doll without any clothes on—with all of the lights turned on, the television turned up to full volume, and he had my mechanical 10 inches “boyfriend” clutched in his right hand and he was staring at it like a curious dog would at a strange noise. He had the power of my “boyfriend” turned up to 10 just like everything else in the room and the head spun furiously. If I wasn’t so shocked to see him conscious and naked, I might have been a little embarrassed. Okay, I was embarrassed, but the situation was far too weird for me to be concerned about it.

I stepped into the room and immediately shut off the TV, and my spaceman turned to me and held up my “boyfriend” and asked: “What is this?”

Okay, now I was mortified because there’s nothing more awkward in the entire universe than having a naked, blue spaceman who has more than a passing resemblance to Brad Pitt ask you about your dildo.

I rushed up to him and snatched my “boyfriend” out of his hand. My head was buzzing with a million questions that have occupied my mind since I was a little girl, but the first thing I asked him was:

“You speak English?”

“Yes,” He replied, “because of the television. My species is very adept at absorbing languages once we have heard them. But you have not answered my question, what is that?”

I was completely stymied, but I managed to sputter out: “It’s … It’s a back massager.”

“A back massager? Then why does it look like male genitals?”

I stood there, my mouth agape, dripping wet, speechless. But suddenly I was furious at him and at every man across the universe.

“I use it as a replacement for male genitals, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear!”

He looked at with confusion.

“Why do you not use real make genitals? Why do you use a false one?”

“It’s … It’s complicated, alright.”

“No, it isn’t, let me show you.”

He stepped in front of me and yanked my sodden towel off of me and began pushing his very erect—and absolutely enormous—penis against me. Now he was really pissing me off and I shoved him hard towards the bed.

“Hey!” I yelled, my face and body turning bright red. “It’s not as simple as that! You just can’t stick your … genitals … into somebody! You have to do a little extra work first.” Actually, at that particular moment, he wouldn’t have had to work all that hard. Not at all.

“Very well,” He said, motioning with his hand towards the bed, “then show me.”

“Uh …” It was one of those completely unexpected moments in life that you occasionally run into. One of those moments where you either dive in head first or you regret it for the rest of your life. Of course, the last 12 hours of my life had been nothing but one of those moments. So I figured, why stop now? “Okay. Okay, sure, I’ll show you.”

I went and laid down on the edge of the worn double bed I slept on the night before and spread my legs. For the first time in my entire life, I felt completely unafraid and unself-conscious of my body. I won’t say I’m ashamed of my body, I’m a little chunky—Come on, I work in front of a computer 7 hours-a-day—and I have a bit of a muffin top. But I do work out 4 days a week, so my legs and butt are firm and muscular. Plus, I have certain other… assets … That drive man wild. And if you haven’t figured it out already, I meant my boobs when I said assets. My boobs are absolutely huge and extremely sensitive.

My spaceman stood over me, his cock dive board stiff. If I was in less control of myself, I would have grabbed him and stuffed him inside me, but how often does a woman have the chance to completely train someone on how to pleasure them? Yeah, so I was taking full advantage of the situation.

“Okay,” I said as my breath began to quicken. “Get down on your knees in front of me.”

He obediently complied and his face was now inches away from my labia. The boy was I glad I showered. I then spread myself apart with my fingers and pointed to my clitoris.

“I want you to lick that part. I want you to lick the whole thing, but really concentrate on that part. But only lick, no biting!”

He spread my legs wider with his hands and went to town. I couldn’t believe how natural his tongue movements were and within minutes I could feel my orgasm building.

“Okay … Okay, now take your fingers,” I moved his left hand from my thigh, folded his middle and pinky fingers into a fist, and guided his extended index and middle finger inside of me. “Now push those fingers in-and-out of me. That’s right … Just like that … Now a little faster.”

I writhed on the bed, my hips gently bucking and thrusting with his fingers and tongue. I was so close, I just needed a little extra something to get there. I took his right hand from my thigh and folded all of his fingers except for his index finger.

“Now take this and lick it,” I said, panting. “Get it really wet. Really wet and put it inside here.” I guided his finger to the rosebud of my ass and had him push it inside of me. “Now … Oh, God… Now move it just like you are with the other fingers.”

So this may sound a little taboo, but I actually really like anal sex—Yeah, for all of you who’ve never tried it, pick your jaw up off the floor and loosen up a little—the whole problem is most men just don’t know how to do it properly. Most guys, all they want to do is ram it in there like they’ve seen every male porn performer so their entire lives. What guys don’t get is that the women who are getting their behinds jackhammered are trained professionals. They know they’re going to have anal sex days or weeks in advance and they’ve prepared themselves. But with most women who enjoy anal sex, it’s usually a spur of the moment thing. So you have to have the guy you're with really work it. He’s got to finger it and lick it. He’s got to pamper your butt until you’re worked up enough to have him slide it into you painlessly. And once he’s inside of you, he’s got to be gentle at first, nothing but small movements and thrusts until you’re used to his size.

I didn’t think my spaceman would be getting any of that today but having his slick finger buried in their was really getting me hot and bothered.

My orgasm came in a sudden rush and I gripped his yellow hair and buried his face in my crotch as it exploded in his mouth and I rubbed myself up and down across his entire face, turning it slick and wet. Once I calmed down a bit, it was time for the main event.

“Okay,” I said breathlessly. “Put my legs on your shoulders… I’ll put you inside.”

Oh, my God, he was huge! He was the same length as my electronic boyfriend, but his girth took my breath away. I took it in my hands and guided him inside of me. He pushed himself inside of me up the hilt and I screamed with the shock of having it inside of me all at once. He stared down at me with worry and concern.

“No! No, I’m fine … I’m fine. Now take yourself and move it in and out of me just like you did with your fingers. That’s right … That’s right.”

He found his rhythm right away, but within a couple of minutes, I felt him explode inside of me and he slowed his pace. Luckily, he was eager enough to learn that he was able to keep going a couple of more hours.

My biggest concern was if my pill was effective against alien pregnancy?