Taken by the Aliens

by Anna Lewis

  “Jackson,” Shelby hissed, but her boss ignored her.

  Andre strode across the room and sidled up to Shelby, not quite challenging Jackson, but very much stepping in to his territory. Jackson lit up at Andre’s appearance.

  “Andre!” Jackson beamed. “Will we have the pleasure of your company at M. Gilles party tonight?”

  “Oh, I’ll be there,” Andre responded, his voice cool and casual, like he was being interviewed. This wasn’t the Andre that Shelby had gotten to know the night before. This was the public Andre, the safe Andre, the guarded Andre. This wasn’t someone she knew at all.

  “Sorry about the date situation,” Jackson said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But I did need to commandeer my own personal assistant to be on my arm. We might have, you know, business-y things to discuss.”

  Shelby wanted to sink through the floor. It was bad enough that Jackson had blindsided her and forced her to accompany him to the party that night, but now he was gloating and rubbing it in Andre’s face. Jackson Archer was so horribly, as the French would say, gauche.

  Andre, however, kept his good humor intact. “Nah, man,” he said, lightly. “It’s no problem, I totally get it. I’ve got a few people I can call…but I have no doubt that they’ll all pale in comparison to the lady on your arm, Mr. Archer.”

  Shelby’s face flushed.

  Andre Kennedy was the man of her dreams.

  ***

  “Who do you think he’s bringing?” Jackson asked, standing on his tiptoes and peering over the crowd at Chateau de Gilles. The room was packed with influential businesspeople from across Europe, but Jackson Archer, at six feet three inches, towered over them all. There was no sign, however, of Andre Kennedy or his mystery date.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Archer,” Shelby sighed, nursing her glass of chardonnay. The wine was excellent—of course it was, they were in France—but she was trying to pace herself. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she let herself drink away her anxiety at the thought of seeing Andre and his date.

  “He doesn’t know anyone in Paris, does he?” Jackson pressed on, oblivious to Shelby’s foul mood. “You don’t think he’d stoop to hiring an escort, do you?”

  Shelby threw caution to the wind and downed her small glass of wine, placing her empty on a tray and snatching another from a passing waiter. It seemed like only yesterday, she was wondering if she was going to have to hire an escort for her own boss, and now he was casting that same aspersion on Andre.

  Jackson Archer might be the most oblivious, self-absorbed human on the planet.

  Shelby was saved from answering Jackson’s irritating speculation by the arrival of Andre and a woman who was most definitely not a Parisian prostitute.

  The woman on Andre Kennedy’s arm was taller than he was, lean and lanky, with a chiseled face and toned physique. A pair of bright blue eyes, lined in thick black liner, surveyed the room hungrily. Shelby recognized that expression and that face, although she wasn’t used to seeing them attached to a body that was fully clothed.

  The woman on Andre’s arm was the world’s hottest supermodel, a lingerie angel known only as—

  “Svetlana,” Jackson breathed. “Oh my god, he brought fucking Svetlana.”

  Svetlana Anatolin, better known as simply “Svetlana,” was beyond famous in the U.S. and Europe. Not only was she gorgeous and glamorous, but her icy Russian personality gave her an air of mystery. Svetlana wasn’t one to step out on the arm of any movie star or athlete. She was known for only allowing herself to be wined and dined by the wealthiest men on the planet, men like Andre Kennedy. Men like Jackson Archer.

  “I cannot believe he’s here with Svetlana,” Jackson said, eyes locked on the happy couple across the crowded room.

  “Why not?” Shelby asked, not at all jealous of the stunning supermodel currently clinging to the man with whom she was rapidly becoming smitten. “He’s rich, handsome, powerful. He’s totally her type.”

  “Yeah, but so am I,” Jackson whined. “And she’s turned me down five times.”

  Shelby drained her second chardonnay. This was going to be a long night.

  The party ebbed and flowed around them and it wasn’t until about an hour later that the tide of partygoers brought Shelby and Jackson into the presence of Andre and Svetlana. Andre grinned, his bright white smile seemed genuinely happy to see them, and Svetlana simply twitched one corner of her mouth into what Shelby thought was supposed to be a smile.

  “Hello,” Jackson oozed, taking one of Svetlana’s elegant hands and brushing his lips across her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Svetlana.”

  Svetlana seemed neither pleased nor annoyed, her expression remained neutral as Jackson winked flirtatiously and launched into a diatribe about all the time he’d spent in various parts of Russia over the course of his life.

  “You look lovely tonight,” Andre whispered, leaning in toward Shelby, who flushed at the compliment.

  After pressing her into being his date, Jackson had set her loose in the city to find yet another ball gown and, with the help of the hotel’s concierge, she’d procured one of the most expensive gowns in all of Paris. Add that expense to the cost of having her hair and makeup styled and it would add up to…an enormous sum that meant nothing to someone as rich as Jackson Archer.

  “Thank you,” Shelby replied. “So do you.”

  Andre laughed, that lovely musical tone drowning out the string quartet for just one moment. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘lovely’ by a lady before, Shelby,” he said.

  “Well, you’re clearly hanging out with the wrong types of women,” she joked, then realized how harsh her words could be interpreted as being. Shelby’s eye’s flicked over to Svetlana. “Sorry, Dre, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Nah, it’s cool,” he said. “You’re right, I think I need to up my game when it comes to quality ladies.”

  “You’ve got the most beautiful woman in the world on your arm tonight, Dre,” Shelby said, looking down. “I think you’re pretty much at the top of your game with the ladies.”

  “Shelby,” Andre said, chucking one finger lightly under her chin and raising her eyes to meet his. “I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the room standing right in front of me.”

  The string quartet whipped into a waltz and the crowd shuffled and repositioned themselves to clear room on the dance floor.

  “A waltz,” Svetlana said, her voice monotone. “I love a waltz.”

  Shelby wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or genuine, but Jackson seemed to take her at face value. Of course he did, faces were pretty much the only things that Jackson Archer actually valued.

  “You won’t mind if I take your lady out for a quick spin, would you,” Jackson asked Andre. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Svetlana toward the dance floor, shooting a quick smirk back over his shoulder at Shelby and Andre.

  “Sorry,” Shelby found herself saying. “He’s been in a mood ever since you asked me to come to Paris.”

  “I could tell,” Andre replied, gently brushing a loose curl out of Shelby’s eye. “He’s got a bit of a jealous streak, huh?”

  Shelby laughed, harsh and humorless. “That’s pretty much the understatement of the year. Yeah, he’s got a jealous streak. Anything that someone else has—a company, a car, a woman—he suddenly wants. It’s…infuriating.”

  “Well, you’re a very loyal employee,” Andre said. “I’d try to steal you away from him, but…”

  Shelby furrowed her brow. “But?” she asked.

  “But my company has some very strict policies about employee fraternization.”

  “What do you…” Shelby began, then realized. “Oh. Oh.”

  Andre was still smiling down at her and she had to take a quick step back. Everything was getting to be a little too much, happening too fast.

  Shelby nodded toward Svetlana and Jackson, entwined on the dance floor and moving gracefully between other happily dancing pairs. �
��It drove him crazy, seeing you roll in here with her as your date. He’s been asking her out for months and she keeps shooting him down, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” Andre laughed. “Why do you think I brought her?”

  Realization spread over Shelby. Andre had brought Svetlana as bait, something to distract Jackson so Andre could have Shelby all to himself.

  “Well played, Mr. Kennedy,” Shelby said. “Well played, indeed.”

  Andre offered her his arm. “What do you say we slip out, while our dates are happily distracted?”

  “I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Shelby replied, hiking up the edge of her dress so they could make a fast escape from the ballroom.

  ***

  Andre’s penthouse was like nothing Shelby had ever seen, and she worked for one of the richest men in the world. Jackson Archer Jr. had expensive tastes and Shelby had been in her share of swanky hotel rooms, but Andre’s room took her breath away.

  Every wall was made of picture windows, so they had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city of Paris. The Eiffel Tower twinkled brightly in the distance, Sacre Coeur shone from the top of its hillside, rows and rows of windows glowed on the city streets. As Shelby pressed herself to the glass to take in the view, Andre sidled up behind her, running his warm palms down the sides of her biceps.

  He kissed her softly, at the tender juncture of neck and shoulder.

  “Stay with me tonight, Shelby,” Andre whispered into the soft pink shell of her ear, and she trembled as his breath ghosted over her skin.

  “Of course,” she replied, turning away from the view of Paris to the view of something even better. “Of course, I’ll stay with you, Dre.”

  Shelby reached up and stroked his cheek, enjoying the way the pale skin of her hand stood out in contrast to the dark, rich brown of his handsome face. Andre had the beginning of a five o’clock shadow, and the stubble scratched her fingers.

  The electricity that she’d felt earlier, yesterday in Paris when they’d almost kissed, built up again, stronger and more desperate. There was a crackle of current, something rich and intoxicating making the sliver of air between them glimmer with anticipation and longing.

  Andre closed his eyes as Shelby stroked his face, exploring the square angles of his jawline, the softness of his full lips. His eyelids flickered as she traced her fingernail over the edge of his mouth.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered, keeping his eyes closed.

  Shelby did, giving in to an urge that she’d been denying for days. Andre’s mouth was warm and soft against hers, returning the force of her own kiss without pushing too hard and fast, letting Shelby set the pace.

  She pressed in, lining the front of her body against his, enjoying the way the firmness of his toned chest and abdomen felt against her full breasts, her taut stomach.

  Shelby slipped one foot between Andre’s feet, slotting her thigh between his, and pressed her hips forward, reveling in the hardness that pressed back against her.

  “Oh, god, Shelby,” Andre hissed, his eyes still tightly closed.

  She took one hand and led him to the sofa, pushing him back into the thick, plush golden cushions. Andre made to move, to sit up, but Shelby pushed him back and straddled him, returning her mouth to his.

  Andre moaned, the urgent vibrations of his cry sending quivers across Shelby’s skin. She shucked off his jacket and slid him out of it, then turned her focus to removing his crisp white dress shirt, all without removing her mouth from Andre’s.

  “Shelby,” he moaned into her mouth, and then repeated it, her name becoming a prayer against the urgency of the kiss. “Shelby!”

  She busied herself with his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and then finally got his tuxedo trousers loose enough to yank them down his thighs.

  The removal of his pants seemed to break Andre out of his reverie, and he sprang into action, sliding his hands up her thighs, cupping her ass as she straddled him. She ground down against him, the hardness of his cock rubbing deliciously against her delicate silk panties.

  “Not like this,” Andre breathed.

  “What?” Shelby asked, finally freeing her mouth and looking down at him, green eyes dark with want and desire.

  “Come here,” Andre whispered. Then, with one strong pull, he yanked Shelby up until she was supported by her legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

  Stumbling, he carried her through the penthouse, avoiding walls and plush furniture, until they reached the bedroom. Andre tossed Shelby down onto the surface of the enormous white-linen bed and then paused, staring down at her.

  Shelby knew she must look a mess—hair disheveled, make-up smeared, expensive dress rucked up around her thighs—but she didn’t care. Andre loomed over her, dark skin rippling over his firm, toned body. He kicked his tuxedo pants to the side and now he was completely naked except for his tight black boxer briefs, which teased Shelby with the outline of the thick cock contained within them.

  “Is this okay?” Andre asked, gazing down at Shelby’s splayed form with a mixture of desire and reverence.

  “This is beyond okay,” Shelby assured him.

  That seemed to be all the permission that Andre needed. He pushed her dress up around her waist and snatched her delicate, black silk panties off with one deft tug. They made a slight ripping sound as they tore away, but Shelby didn’t care. She’d bought them with Jackson Archer’s credit card, they meant nothing to her.

  Andre collapsed on top of her, the bulk of his toned body heavy and reassuring as he slid his hand between her thighs and slid one finger into the wetness there.

  Shelby didn’t realize how wet she’d gotten, but the slick glide of Andre’s finger in and out of her was a testament to how turned on she was.

  “Andre!” she shouted, not caring if she was overheard. “Andre!”

  Taking his cue from her cries, Andre slipped a second finger inside of her, then a third. Shelby was panting and crying, fucking herself down onto his hand. “Please, Andre, please,” she whined. “I need you now, I need all of you.”

  Andre didn’t wait for her to ask twice. He pulled his boxer briefs down and his cock sprang forth, happily free of the confines of underwear. Shelby sat up for a moment, panting, and propped herself up on her elbows so she could properly admire the naked beauty of Andre’s cock.

  She bit her lip in appreciation, allowing the subconscious gesture to be seen for once. Andre’s abs were like a washboard, a firm plane dipping into the V of his hips, which tapered down to his cock, standing firm and erect, emerging from a patch of thick black curls at its base.

  Andre fell forward again, catching his weight on one propped elbow as he lined the head of his cock between Shelby’s legs, tip pressing urgently at her dripping slit.

  “Andre,” Shelby pleaded, and then he was in her, pressing the full length of his erect cock into her with one quick thrust.

  Shelby pushed her hips up to meet him, urging Andre on as he pushed into her again, and again, and again.

  Time was a thing of the past now. Shelby had no idea how long Andre thrust into her. It could have been hours or it could have been seconds. At some point, he flipped her over, pulling her on top of him until her legs straddled his strong thighs as she rode him, chasing her pleasure at the base of his cock.

  Andre thrust up once more into her and Shelby threw her head back, curls tumbling down over her shoulders. She glanced out one of the picture windows and saw a pink glow burning on the horizon.

  I think the sun is rising over Paris, she thought and then everything faded into the waves of pleasure that coursed over her body as Andre fucked up into her, driving her orgasm through her slight frame as morning dawned in the City of Lights.

  ***

  Andre was gone when Shelby woke up the next morning, but there was a hastily scrawled note left on her bedside table.

  Early morning meeting w/investors. See you tonight?

  Shelby smiled at the note. Oh, Andre would definit
ely see her tonight.

  She ordered a platter of pastries and coffee up to the room. Shelby was halfway through the carafe of coffee and a second croissant when she finally decided to check her phone.

  Thirty-three missed text messages from Jackson Archer.

  Oh, no.

  Shelby quickly scrolled through them, but nothing seemed to be an emergency or anything life-threatening. It was just a series of drunk texts, each one getting progressively drunker, checking where she was, bragging about Svetlana, and then checking on her whereabouts again.

  All the texts were from last night, except one. And that is the one that had Shelby worried.

  From Jackson Archer: I need to talk to you. 911.

  Shelby froze, a bite of croissant hanging out of her mouth. This wasn’t Jackson’s usual texting style. He was normally so casual, his texts were always full of emojis and abbreviations, but this one was different. Terse, cold, straight to the point. Something was wrong.

  Shelby threw on her dress and glittery shoes, not caring that she’d have to do a walk of shame through Paris in an expensive designer dress, and sprinted out of Andre’s penthouse and into a waiting cab.

  As the driver sped across town to Jackson’s Parisian flat—he owned real estate in almost every major city in the world—Shelby took a moment to text Andre and Jackson.

  To Andre Kennedy: Thanks for last night. I’ll text you soon?

  To Jackson Archer: On my way. Don’t do anything until I get there.

  The taxi screeched to a halt in front of Jackson’s building and Shelby lurched out, throwing a handful of bills—way too much money—to the driver, and dashed inside.

  When she arrived upstairs, Jackson was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest and staring blankly ahead. Shelby had never seen him like this. She’d seen Jackson drunk, she’d seen him angry, she’d seen him hung-over. But she’d never seen her boss looking so…defeated.

  “Mr. Archer?” Shelby asked, hovering nervously in the doorway. “Are you all right?”

  Jackson didn’t answer, just shook his head.