A Man Who Knows What He Wants: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  Contents

  Claimed by the Hollywood Heartthrob

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  Claimed by the Hollywood Heartthrob

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 263

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2021 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  Claimed by the Hollywood Heartthrob

  I’ve had a crush on Braden Braxten since I was in high school. He’s one of the most private movie stars in the world, his six foot five muscular body, wolfish eyes, and silver hair have made him a heartthrob all over the world.

  When I get a dream internship to work in the costume department for his latest movie, I warn myself not to let my feelings out.

  This forty-three year old alpha movie star would never want a dorky shy eighteen year old virgin like me.

  But when fate throws us together, suddenly he’s giving me signals that are difficult to ignore.

  At first, I think it’s a trick.

  I struggle to believe he hasn’t got an ulterior motive.

  Is he really interested in me?

  But then his desire takes on a whole other level entirely, as he reveals the beast inside of him.

  “You belong to me. You’ll never look at another man. You’ll never even think about another man. You’re mine. Forever.”

  But my natural shyness makes it difficult to give myself to him like I have in my dreams countless times.

  Is the Hollywood heartthrob going to get bored with my nervousness? Or is it just another reason for that possessive captivating look in his eyes?

  * Claimed By the Hollywood Heartthrob is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  Chapter One

  Bria

  Maximillia Jeffries paces up and down the large warehouse-like area. It’s a building off to the side of the movie set, a magical place filled with rows and rows and rows of clothes. They hang everywhere, stacked to the ceiling, and there are more – hats and coats and pants and accessories – lying in piles all over the room.

  Sunlight filters in through the horizontal slit windows set high up in the exposed ceiling, shafting through the rafters.

  Maximillia stops and studies the motes of dust shimmering in the light for a moment, her upper lip curling as though she finds the very presence of uncleanliness disturbing. She’s a tall, thin, sharp woman, and it’s difficult not to let my heart hammer in my chest as she slowly turns to me.

  She’s one of the most renowned costume designers in the industry. She’s worked in Hollywood for over forty years.

  And I’m…

  The eighteen year old who only got this job because of a work-for-orphans program my youth manager arranged for me. It’s a scheme to get us out of the orphanage and into the working world.

  And heck, yeah, this job really suits me.

  A steampunk movie with Victorian costumes, acting as an intern and general do-whatever-she-says person for Maximillia freaking Jeffries.

  I’ve always loved the Victorian era. And I’ve always loved dressing up.

  Plus, the star of the movie?

  My belly tingles just thinking about him, Braden Braxten, with his hulking body, gleaming silver hair, and alpha wolf eyes. He’s forty-three, richer than God, and famous all over the world.

  He’d never want me.

  Focus.

  I can’t let my mind flutter away like that, not when Maximillia is staring at me with a sour twist to her lips. She’s wearing a black business suit, stylish shiny shoes, making me feel frumpy in my chain store pants and my second-hand jacket.

  “We need six burly Steampunk Victorian style assassins to stand behind Braden as he gives his speech. All of these men need to look tough, my dear. They need to look capable. They need to look like the sort of men who have been serving under the illustrious Commander Griffiths for a long time, you see. His most seasoned men.”

  I nod, making sure she knows I’m listening, even as the size of the task looms large in my mind. There are so, so, so many clothes in here.

  Sorting through them all is going to be a mammoth effort.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  She paces across the room, her steps going clip-clip-clip. “I don’t need you to think, Bria. I need you to feel. I need you to trust your instincts. You’ve got this job because of an interest in costume, an interest in the Victorian era. But I don’t need interest. I need ability. I need talent. Can you do that for me?”

  I swallow, nerves causing me to shiver. Part of me almost tells her no, no freaking way. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is my first day onset and I expected to be shadowing her or one of the other costume designers, getting to know the job before I was given anything like this.

  But Maximillia has a reputation for being tough and uncompromising, so all I can do is nod.

  “Words, dear girl. Words.”

  “Yes, I can do it. You can count on me.”

  She steps back and claps her hands together, the sound echoing in the large ceiling. “Excellent. Then I shall leave you to it. You have until the end of the day.”

  Turning away, she begins to stride toward the door.

  I take a quick step forward, panic coursing through me. I don’t want to tell her to wait. I don’t want to possibly trigger her legendary temper.

  But if I don’t ask her now and I go to her later, she’s going to get even angrier. I just know it.

  “Um, Miss Jeffries?”

  She spins toward me, a glint in her eyes. It’s like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to launch herself at me or not. “Hmm?”

  “I’ll need to kn
ow their dimensions, you know, for the clothes. If they’re seasoned men, they’ll have well-fitting clothes.”

  She bares her teeth. “Very good, dear girl. Very nicely done. That was your first test. Here you are.”

  She reaches into her jacket pocket and takes out a folded-up piece of paper, placing it on the nearest pile of clothes.

  “Have fun.”

  I take a big breath when she finally leaves me, feeling as though I need to suck extra oxygen into my lungs. Nerves are crackling all through my body.

  This is the first real job I’ve ever had.

  Before this, I delivered papers in my early teens, but this feels so grown-up, so important. I know some people would say, oh, it’s just a stupid movie about Steampunk pirates, or whatever. But this is my passion, a dream situation, and I want to get it right.

  So I better stop standing around here thinking about it. And do it.

  I step forward, picking up the piece of paper and unfolding it. Scanning my eyes over the list, and then to the insane amount of clothes, I shake my head.

  This is going to be tough.

  I spend the next few hours sifting through the clothes, climbing mountains of them to get to the upper layers. Most of it wouldn’t fit, either the person or the scenario, and so I’m left with a small pile in the corner.

  Running back and forth, I frantically match them, measure them. The summer day is LA-hot and there’s hardly any ventilation in here. Sweat coats me, sliding all down my neck, sticking my shirt to my skin. I took my jacket off ages ago.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed. I’m just so focused on the task.

  Okay, maybe every now and then my mind wanders to what’s happening elsewhere on set.

  In my mind, I see snippets of Braden Braxten standing there in his tight-fitting jacket, his hulking body pushing at the seams, with his clean shaven face pulled into that tight grimace he’s become famous for.

  Braden is a very private movie star, but every time he’s caught on camera, it’s always with this brooding and haunted look in his eyes. Or he looks furious, every feature taut, as though he’s ready to tear the cameraman to pieces for daring to capture his image.

  I haven’t seen him yet, but when I do I’m afraid I’m going to really freak out. I’ve had his photo on my wall since I was thirteen, when I first saw him in a drama about a recluse who returns to society when his mother dies. He was haunting, captivating, quiet, and gruff, and yet with an undercurrent of emotion that swam beneath his stony expression.

  I wonder if he’s like that in real life, or maybe the grimness is an act. Maybe he’s a lighthearted person.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  If I do see him, he won’t see me. He’ll never think to look twice at me.

  So I need to stop this tingling in my lips, spreading into my belly, tempting me to believe the downright impossible.

  I turn at the sound of the door opening.

  “I’m almost done, Miss Jeffries, just one more costume to go…”

  My mouth hangs open, my sentence dying as my gaze lands on the man I was just daydreaming about.

  Braden Braxten stands there in a Victorian jacket, a tear down the side, going from his armpit to his hip. He looks like a beast who tore out of his clothes. His silver hair is styled long on the top but cropped short on the sides, and his penetrating eyes staring hard into me.

  Suddenly the room feels smaller.

  “I need a new jacket,” he snaps like it’s my fault it tore. “Maximillia said the new girl needs to be tested, so here I am.”

  My throat goes dry, my lips dryer. I’ve heard that voice growling through my TV speakers so many times, and booming through the movie theater sound system on the rare occasions I’ve had enough money to go.

  He seems even bigger in real life like he could crush me any second he wanted.

  And he looks like he wants to.

  He looks like he hates me.

  Taking the jacket off – revealing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and displaying his thick muscled forearms – he tosses it to the floor.

  “Well?”

  He’s being such a douche, but then what did I expect?

  He’s the Hollywood heartthrob and I’m nobody.

  “Of course, Mr. Braxten,” I murmur. “Whatever you need.”

  I just wished he needed me.

  Chapter Two

  Braden

  Fuck.

  I need this curvy young woman more than I need oxygen, more than I need food, more than I need anything.

  My cock is so stiff, so hard, precome leaking from my engorged helm, making me glad these pants are so baggy. If Commander Griffiths – the character I’m playing – wore tighter trousers she’d be able to see my massive length swollen with lust.

  Look at her. She’s perfect.

  The voice comes from deep inside of me, from my seed, a primal growl that forces me to track her with my gaze as she walks around the crowded hot room.

  She’s wearing a pale pink shirt the fabric thin, letting me see the faint outline of her white bra beneath. Her tits are large and round, perfect for sinking my hands into, and those hips are fucking irresistible. Wide and made for grabbing, just like that ass, trapped in those tight black pants like she wants me to spank her.

  Whenever she risks a look at me – I can tell the horny young thing is intimidated – her bright eyes fill with shyness. Her hair is a dark chocolate brown and falls down past her shoulders, messily, as though it was in a ponytail before she freed it.

  I need to run my hands through her hair, grab it lightly and bring her lips to mine.

  I can almost taste her. I can almost feel her against me, her body shivering as I kiss her harder, as I let her feel all the possessiveness spreading through me.

  Put a baby in her. Now. Claim her. Now.

  I almost laugh at the voice, telling me impossible things. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, this instant compulsion, this ready-to-kill-for-her desire.

  My balls feel heavy, swollen with my seed, as she turns toward me.

  She has a jacket clutched in her hand. It quivers as her hands tremble, her eyes peeking at me around it as though she wants to hide.

  My mind brims with feral ferocity.

  I envision grabbing the jacket and making her bite down on it, bending her over and spanking that wide ass.

  Fuck, I bet that juicy voluptuous flesh would ripple when I spanked her.

  Not hard, but not soft either.

  Just enough to let her know who she belongs to.

  And then I’d bring my hungry cock to her young innocent hole and fuck it hard, possessively, fuck it until she was sore and stretched and squirting thick hot come down my base.

  Calm. Down.

  But I can’t, not as she makes a hmm noise that goes right to my base.

  “I don’t know. It could work.”

  “I haven’t got all day.”

  Being gruff is the only way I can hold myself back.

  I have to hold myself back.

  I’ve never felt something like this, so hot and bright and sudden. I can’t let myself give in to it, because then what?

  How would I know if she wants me for my money, fame, or because she feels the same need I do.

  That’s why I stay away from women.

  Maybe that makes me a cynic.

  But I don’t give a damn.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  There’s a whimper in her voice, a preview of how she’d moan when I slip all my inches inside of her tight creamy slit.

  I feel like roaring.

  I can’t take this anymore.

  Her scent swirls around me as she gets closer, perfume mixing with her sweat. I prefer the sweat, the smell of her. There’s something really primal about that.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” I say.

  She flinches as surprise races across her full captivating features, but there’s no way she’s more surprised than I am. I d
idn’t mean to tell her that.

  I have to maintain my façade of gruff demeanor.

  I have to keep her at bay, keep all women at bay.

  The ones who’ve thrown themselves at me over the years, hell, every one of them has looked at me like a goddamn meal ticket. But it isn’t just that. I’ve never felt anything like this before, a bolt of lightning hitting me right in the chest.

  Hot hunger fuels me.

  My veins bulge with primal power and my manhood leaks hot precome which scorches up my shaft.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Just put the jacket on,” I snap.

  She bites down for a second, giving me even more carnal ideas. She’s got big wide eyes which were made to grow even wider when I thrust up inside of her.

  A second later, my mind spirals, and suddenly I’m imagining what our first child will look like.

  Will they have their mother’s brown hair, or the black mine was before it turned to steel?

  I don’t understand how this is happening.

  The urge to run claims me, sensation shooting up and down my legs like a physical compulsion.

  “You want me to put it on?” she whimpers.

  That quiver in her voice, that sexy-as-fuck prey-like quiver… it’s like the innocent young thing is trying to drive me insane.

  “Yes,” I grunt, turning around and offering her my arms. “Go ahead.”