Claimed By The British Rockstar

by Flora Ferrari

  I’m glad we have the dogs to focus on, not that I’d ever make a move on him.

  I don’t even know how to make a move.

  I never learned.

  “Look at you, brave soldier,” Maddox says, kneeling down at the end of the row of cages and looking at a patchy, frail looking Jack Russel. In places, his skin shines through, and his eyes have that haunted don’t-hit-me-look. Maddox puts his hand against the cage. “Come here, boy.”

  The dog huddles at the rear of the cage, but then after Maddox keeps coaxing him with soft, husky words, he pads across the concrete and starts nuzzling his fingers through the interlaced metal.

  He whines softly as he turns his head this way and that.

  “This one,” Maddox says. “What do you think, Myla?”

  “He’ll need extra care,” I mutter. “He looks in a really bad state.”

  “If I have to spend half a million giving this dog a good life, then I’ll do it. Look at him. The poor bugger deserves it.”

  A giggle escapes me before I can stop it.

  I clamp my hand over my mouth, shaking my head, but somebody must’ve slipped me laughing pills because another one yaps through my fingers.

  “What is it?” Maddox says, his lips twitching slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, taking a breath and forcing a calm to move over me. “It’s just when you said bugger, you sounded like the most British man I’d ever heard in my life.”

  “Hey, LA girl,” Maddox chuckles deeply, rising to his feet and drifting close to me, so close I can smell his cologne and, under that, his just Maddox smell, sweat and man and something even more primal. “Every time you open your mouth, you sound like the ditsiest Valley Girl I’ve ever met.”

  “That is not true,” I laugh, lifting my hand to mock-slap him.

  We’re interrupted when the shelter manager opens the rear door, a short red haired man with a deep red patch of sunburn spreading from cheek to cheek across his nose.

  “Any luck?” he asks.

  I drop my hand, mortified by the moment.

  I got carried away.

  I was about to slap Maddox Copper.

  “Yes,” Maddox says, gesturing down at the Jack Russel. “I’ll take this little guy.”

  Much later after building the dog a little makeshift home and introducing him to Kenneth the butler, after arranging for a dog sitter and getting him comfortable in the house, Maddox and I are heading through the wide open marble foyer of his mansion to the eight foot tall front door.

  My mind feels light and airy when I think about how Maddox and I sat on either side of the dog, stroking him and speaking calm, soothing words to make him as relaxed as possible, when I remember the way I laughed and Maddox watched approvingly when he began to run around Maddox’s large, luscious yard.

  And all the while, I’ve been waiting, a ticking clock in my mind.

  Soon, soon, it’s going to turn nasty.

  He’ll reveal his hand, the real purpose for picking me up, the butt of the joke that I most likely am.

  My hand strays to my neck in search of the phantom necklace as Maddox pauses near the door, turning to me and blocking it with his goliath’s build.

  His square jaw is tight as he gazes down at me, his hair swept across his forehead from where Tyson leapt up on him and started licking his face.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, my voice small, almost like a mouse’s squeak.

  “Wrong?” he growls, his voice large and domineering and echoing in the cavernous foyer.

  Tyson and the butler are at the far rear of the house, and in a mansion this size, it feels like we’re alone.

  Completely alone.

  “Yes,” he says, nodding slowly. “Something’s wrong, Myla. Something’s very, very fucking wrong.”

  Here we go.

  My heart gallops ahead like a stampede and sweat slides down my spine, tickling uncomfortably. I sigh and try to prepare myself for whatever sucker punch he’s going to hit me with.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Maddox

  My body feels like a bomb that’s ready to go off, every part of me thrumming and infused with an energy that’s killing me to hold back.

  I’ve tried telling myself that I need to talk to Lenard first, that I can’t betray my oldest friend like this, but seeing her in that summer dress fucking hell, the way it falls over her curvaceous landscape, it’s driving me to carnal hunger.

  I saw the way she was with Tyson, patient and loving, just like I knew the woman who’d take my seed would be.

  She’s a maternal instinct wrapped in the sinful skin of a sexy goddess, her breasts lifting the fabric of the dress, revealing tempting slices of thigh that make me want to squeeze so that her skin turns slightly red, so that her lips part and she lets out singsong moans.

  “Something’s been wrong all day,” I go on, even now having to hold my hands at my sides in tight fists to stop from running them through her cornfield hair, bright in the setting sun that filters through the window above the door. “And it’s you, Myla. And me.”

  “What?” she whispers, her lips trembling.

  I can’t hold myself back anymore, my manhood a solid rod in my pants, my body pounding and roaring at me to take her, to take her now.

  I surge forward so that I’m pressed right up against her, her breasts pushing and squashing against me.

  “I’m claiming you, Myla,” I growl, leaning down to speak right into her ear, letting my breath move through her. “When I saw you at the concert, I knew I had to have you. I’ve always known I’d recognize the woman of my dreams, and it’s you. It can only be you. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’ll die if I don’t get to taste you, to plunge deep and put my seed in your waiting womb. Do you understand me, Myla? You’re mine. And I’m done holding myself back.”

  I grab her shoulders and she makes a shivering, intoxicating whimpering sound as I guide my lips to hers.

  She sucks in a shimmering breath that I catch with a kiss, and then she lets out a muffled moan that does strange things to my insides, my manhood twitching like a snake ready to shoot its venom.

  I smooth my hands down her back and pull her closer to me, willing her body to melt hotly into mine, feeling how hard her nipples go and how her body vibrates subtly against mine, as though she too is trying to hold back an eruption.

  Our tongues clash and dance together, her greedy little mouth begging for more, opening wider as I push deeper inside of her, feeling like I can taste her womb in her mouth, in the swirling patterns she makes with her tongue.

  I break it off, holding my face so close our noses touch.

  “I’m taking you to my bedroom,” I growl. “I want to be honorable. But when it comes to you, Myla, I’m a fucking animal.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers. She slides her hands up my body and clasps my face, something almost like panic flitting across her vision. “Tell me, Maddox, tell me this isn’t a trick.”

  “A…trick?” I mutter, confusion thrumming through me. “No, Myla. I’ll never trick you. Don’t you understand? I’m claiming you. Forever. You’re mine now. You belong to me. Say it, Myla. I just know it’s going to make me rock-fucking-solid when you say it.”

  She licks her lips and then smiles slightly. “I’m yours, Maddox. Oh, God, I belong to you. Does that mean …”

  “What?” I urge, when she trails off, a note of shyness in her final syllable.

  “Does that mean you belong to me, too?” she says, letting out a breath as though the question costs her.

  “Of course,” I tell her firmly. “Forever. Now, get that perfect body upstairs. I need to taste your pussy. I need to taste how hot and wet it is. I need to tongue your pink fucking hole and taste your juices squirting all over my mouth.”

  Her eyes widen to saucers and she bites her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to just bend her over right here in the doorway, shove my face up her skirt and plunge
my tongue deep inside of her.

  And I would if it were not for Kenneth and the dog being in the house.

  “Come on,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Let’s go.”

  I lead her up the double gold railed staircase and down the wide hallway to the room at the end with the tall oak door. I push it open and guide her past the bar and the antique record player to the four-poster bed, and then run back and shut and lock the door, because I don’t want anybody interrupting us now.

  I return to the bed to find her lying on the silk sheets, still biting her lower lip, looking up at me with that same saucer wide eyes.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whimpers.

  “Well, believe it,” I growl. “Because there’s nothing that could stop me from tasting you now, Myla. Open your legs for me.”

  “Like this?” she whispers, parting her thighs so that her light fabric skirt falls down to her hips, revealing her pale blue panties.

  Jesus, they’re already spotted with wetness, and I can tell how excited she is from the way her legs writhe, from the way her mouth makes an O shape and my horny princess can’t stop biting her lip.

  “Yes,” I growl. “Exactly like that.”

  I crawl onto the bed like a stalking big cat and slide my hands up her thighs, savoring the feeling of her sweat tinged flesh, and then grip her panties and pull them away.

  She closes her legs briefly so that I can toss them to the floor, and then I part her legs.

  Her pussy makes me want to roar like a conquering Viking.

  Her pink hole is already wet, glistening, and her clit looks red and enflamed from how badly she wants the carnal release that thrums in an answering call within me.

  I bring my mouth to her pussy and open it wide, tasting her, drinking in the tanginess of her.

  I move my tongue around her hole and then up to her clit, circling it as I growl deeply, making out with her pussy, my manhood getting even harder when she starts to moan, tentative at first but then wilder, more carefree, letting her moans fly like arrows around the room.

  I slide my hands between her ass and the silk sheets and grip her cheeks, palming her round, full flesh as I lick her clit harder, faster, closing my eyes like a sommelier so I can properly appreciate the mixture of tastes her perfect pussy offers.

  I push her ass cheeks together and pull her toward me, consuming her with my mouth now, kissing, nibbling, licking so fast it must feel like a flaming whip is attacking her pussy.

  Her crying moans tell me she likes it, she wants more, more.

  “Come for me,” I growl, breaking off just for a moment. “Come all over my mouth. I want to taste you. I want to taste your womb and feel how eager and ready you are for my seed. Come for me, Myla, my perfect princess.”

  I besiege her pussy with a vengeance, her moans getting more strangled as she struggles to control herself, her scent getting deeper and more delectable, her taste getting even more beautifully tangy.

  She begins to twitch her hips in time with my tongue strokes, gasping and almost twerking against my mouth.

  Then, for a few moments, everything pauses.

  She tears at the sheets with frantic hands as her gasps become muted, as if she’s struggling for breath, as if she’s so caught up in the moment she can hardly take it.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she gushes finally, and a whole waterfall of juices cover my tongue and lips.

  I push my face closer, opening my mouth as wide as I can and gulping audibly so that I can drink down every precious drop of her sex-fueled elixir.

  We stay like that for a while, Myla gasping as she lets her head fall back and tries to suck fresh oxygen into her lungs.

  But then she sits up and wiggles down the bed, an odd hard to read look flitting across her expression.

  “Jeez, Maddox,” she whispers. “That was … amazing. But I can’t do anything else, not tonight. I’m sorry but I just can’t.”

  Uncertainty crashes into me as she slides off the bed and reaches for her underwear, pulling them on and then looking around for her shoes, which she kicked off in the midst of her pleasure.

  “What’s wrong?” I growl, standing up and facing her. “Talk to me, Myla.”

  “I’m not what you think I am,” she says. “I can’t … I can’t satisfy you the way you just satisfied me, okay? I’m not that sort of girl. I’m not skilled like that.”

  She unlocks the door and begins walking down the hallway, her arms hugged around herself, and something snaps in me, something feral, seeing her like that.

  I want to find whoever instilled that nervousness in her and smash their face into a mulchy mess.

  “Myla?” I say, following her as she walks down the gold railed staircase, as she heads for the giant door of my mansion. “You’re mine and I’m yours. I’ll never force you. I’ll never pressure you. But I want you to be honest with me.”

  “I’m a virgin,” she explodes, spinning on me and gesticulating wildly. “Just … I know, I know. This changes everything. This changes the way you see me. I get it. Jeez, maybe I shouldn’t have even let this go as far as it did. I’m sorry, Maddox. Okay? I’m sorry. But just let me go, please. You said you’d never pressure me? Just let me go and don’t follow me. I don’t want to have to disappoint you.”

  She throws the door open and walks down the driveway, the setting sun throwing soft light across the garden, her phone already in her hand, taken from a small pocket in the dress as she heads for the gate.

  She’s already arranging an Uber, I guess, a car to take her from my life.

  She’s a virgin.

  She’s right.

  This changes so much.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Myla

  The next morning, Saturday, I get up and go into the yard, spending some time weeding and tending to the garden, letting the sun prick at my skin and cause sweat to slide all over my body.

  Mom and Dad are inside, Dad blaring music from the bathroom as he takes a shower and Mom preparing a large, Saturday morning breakfast in the kitchen. She calls it a full english, sausage, bacon, eggs, hash browns, black pudding, beans, and fried toast, it’s Dad’s favorite. And, I have to admit, it is pretty freaking tasty.

  It’s good to be out in the sun, to let it wash over me and spark me into wakefulness. Last night, no matter how hard I closed my eyes or how many times I tossed and turned, sleep wouldn’t come.

  Instead, phantom sensations rose on my skin as I relived what Maddox and I did, and in the really early hours of this morning, when the sky turned pink and looked eerie, I struggled to believe it had happened.

  I remembered the way his tongue had felt on my sex, making patterns against my most intimate place in ways I had never experienced before, the orgasm erupting from inside of me like a bright white flare, blinding me to everything else except that moment, that feeling.

  But then, maybe inevitably, I came crashing back down to reality and the truth of what we’d done smacked into me like a punch to the gut.

  I knew that Maddox would now want more, groupie style stuff, for me to take the reins and become some nymphomaniac who knew how to work him expertly.

  And my heart just started to thud like it was going to break my ribcage when I thought about how disappointed he’d look, his face twisted as I fumbled and awkwardly made my way through the sex, and maybe I’d get so freaking nervous that I’d just clam up, just lock up like a human chastity belt.

  I grab a particularly stubborn weed and pull with a huff, part of me wishing I could turn back time and return to that moment, that I could leap at him and grind my body against his, feel how hard he was, maybe even sink to my knees and suck my fresh juices from his engorged manhood.

  I sigh and turn my face up to the sun, eyes closed.

  I let out a squeal when something leaps at my back and causes me to almost fall face first in the dirt.

  “Tyson,” a voice cuts across our large garden, reaching me all the way at the rear.

>   I open my eyes and spin to find the lively Jack Russel all licking tongue and big eyes as he leaps around, full of energy in a way I could hardly have dreamed of yesterday.

  His tail wags a million miles a minute as Maddox comes striding over, his body an impressive bulk in his dark shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his body tapered into a V-shape as his shirt tucks into the tight muscled waist of his steel colored pants.

  I stroke Tyson behind the ears, looking up at Maddox, finding it hard to meet his gaze as his eyes sear into me.

  Judging, judging.

  I just know he’s picking me apart with vicious thoughts, regretting the moment he ever said he was claiming me, because he thought he was claiming something completely different, not the shy girl who’s never even been with anybody before.

  I feel dirt clinging to my hands and spattering my body as I rise to my feet in my shorts and baggy t-shirt.

  I’m not wearing a bra, and I feel my nipples pricking and poking through the fabric, Maddox’s eyes flitting to them with something like hunger in his expression.

  Is it possible?

  Does he still want me?

  “Hello, Myla,” he says, as Tyson begins to run a circuit of the garden, sniffing everything.

  “Um, hey,” I mutter, looking past him at the house, but the shower is still blaring music and Mom is still frying up a tasty storm in the kitchen. “What’re you doing here?”

  He smirks. “What do you think? I’m here to see you. I need to tell you something.”

  Here it comes. Sucker Punch Central.

  He moves closer, but keeps a sizzling distance between us as he pauses and lets his eyes roam over me.

  “I wanted to respect your desire to give you space, but you need to know this, Myla. I’m so goddamn happy that you’re a virgin. The idea that I get to claim you, truly claim you, as mine for the very first time has been driving me insane all damn night. I hardly slept thinking about how incredible it will be, plunging my seed into your virgin womb.”