Claimed By The British Rockstar Page 5

  Maddox’s face twitches and something like hellfire flames in his eyes. He grips my leg a little harder, and then removes it, squeezing his hands together as though he’s afraid he’ll accidentally hurt me if he maintains the contact.

  “And then what happened?” he asks, his voice a shivering growl.

  “He said I should have a party at my place when Mom and Dad went on a weekend break for their anniversary. I’d never had a party before, and I told him I didn’t want to. But he had the picture. If I didn’t host the party, he said...he’d release it and I’d be a laughingstock. Not to mention Dad would be embarrassed, too. He’s too famous for his daughter to make mistakes like that. So I had the party…

  “And they locked me in the bathroom, barred it with a chair, and completely ransacked the place. Aaron and his jock friends were quick about it. They came in with a keg, it was empty, just for show, and then asked where the bathroom was. I showed them, feeling like crap, and then they locked me in and just got on with stealing everything they could.

  “The worst part is, they took my grandmother’s necklace, the one that had so much sentimental value to Mom, and to me after she gave it to me. I even went to their frat house the day after and demanded to have it back. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. And do you know what Aaron did? He got it out from a drawer and said I could have it, but only if I … if I did sexual favors for him. And I couldn’t even go to the police or tell my Mom what happened, because he’d release that freaking picture.”

  Maddox’s fists are clenched and his square jaw is tight. He stares off into the distance as though visualizing Aaron.

  “I bet you’re disgusted with me,” I murmur.

  “No, no,” he says quickly, struggling to get the words out past his evident rage. “You did nothing wrong, Myla. You were too good for that bastard, that’s all. None of this is your fault. It’s his. And he’s going to pay for ever treating my queen like that.”

  “What do you mean?” I whisper.

  “You said you know where this prick lives?”

  I nod. “Yeah, in this dingy frat house with a bunch of other football players. There’s like ten of them there, I think. At least there was when I was there. I know there were a lot because when we were arguing he opened the door and yelled down the stairs. Hey, fellas, who wants to see a picture of a naked whale?”

  I blink as acid-tinged tears prick my eyes and cut lines down my cheeks.

  Maddox leans forward and strokes my tears, and then moves down the couch next to me and then wraps his arm around me. He leans in and kisses the top of my head, hugging me close.

  “A better man would say to put the past behind you. Or go to the police. But I’m not that sort of man. When you get right down to it, Myla, I’m a fucking animal. So I think we should take a drive tonight. I think you should take me to this Aaron’s frat house. I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to him.”

  A note of fear spikes through me.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I whisper. “Like I said, there were loads of them there. And they’re all really strong looking, weirdly so, actually, almost like they were on steroids. Heck, maybe they all are on steroids.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Maddox says grimly. “No motherfucker is ever going to get away with treating the mother of my children like that. I’d die before I let that happen. So we’re going there, Myla. You don’t have to come. Just give me the address.”

  “No,” I say, standing up and sucking in a bolstering breath. “I want to come. But only to talk, right, Maddox? You’re not going to go wild?”

  “I can’t promise that,” he murmurs. “But I can say I won’t throw the first punch. Anything that happens, it’ll be in self-defense. Good enough?”

  I let that flow through my mind, deciding that, yes, it is good enough.

  After all, Aaron is a violent asshole and I can’t exactly tell Maddox not to defend himself.

  “Okay,” I say, not at all sure this is a good idea. “Let’s go visit the prick who ruined my life.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Maddox

  I walk up to the rundown looking house as the stars watch from the sky and Myla watches from the passenger seat of the Jaguar. It’s eerily quiet except for a few voices from inside, but it’s not the loud, boisterous scene I’d expected as we were driving over here.

  I walk up the steps, past two trash bags, one with a split down the middle, and slam the door with my fist.

  There’s a fire burning in my chest from Myla’s story, her words replaying in my head over and over, the way Aaron manipulated her kind spirit, her desire to fit in.

  I feel my body stiffen in desire, but this is a different kind of desire, a need to do serious fucking damage to this worm.

  I slam the door again, causing it to tremble on it’s frame and kick up bits of dirt from the floor.

  Finally, it swings open, revealing a crowded living room full of about fifteen frat looking young men, with backward caps and tank tops and, I see when I look closer, bloated muscles that look like they’ve been on the juice.

  The man who answers has a twice broken nose and a leer that tells me he’s ready for a fight, and I stare him down, letting my eyes sear into him.

  I might just be a rock star and a businessman, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by while my woman, the future mother of my children, is insulted and humiliated.

  She’s mine.

  And that means she has my protection.

  “Which one of you is Aaron?” I snap.

  Near the rear of the room, one of the men looks up from what I assume is a card game. He’s just like Myla described him in the car, black haired with a pointy chin and a no-neck torso, a real meathead look about him. Tonight, he’s wearing a baggy orange jersey and shorts that show off his large, swollen muscles.

  “Who’s asking?” he snaps.

  “I am,” I growl. “Come over here, kid. I need to talk to you.”

  “Who the fuck you calling kid, old man?” Aaron snarls, standing up and swaggering over.

  All round the room, his frat friends are standing up and tensing, posturing, some of them clenching their fists and one man popping his head from side to side.

  They’re getting ready for a fight.

  Good.

  Aaron walks to the door and stands there, his shoulders squared.

  “What?” he spits out.

  “Come out here,” I tell him. “I need to talk to you in private.”

  “What you wanna do, man?” he snarls. “Suck my dick?”

  His hyenas cackle like it’s the funniest thing he could’ve said, and for a moment I see nothing but red. I imagine grabbing him by the throat and squeezing as hard as I can, just tensing my fist so that my forearm applies its massive pressure and crushes his pathetic neck.

  But then the promise I made to Myla resurfaces in my mind.

  I said I’d only act in self-defense.

  “You said I’m an old man, right?” I growl. “So what’ve you got to be scared of? Get out here. Now.”

  There must be something icy in my voice, because he steps onto the porch, and then takes a couple of ostentatious steps forward so that we’re concealed in relative privacy.

  “What?” he snaps. “Do I know you? You look real familiar.”

  “You might’ve seen me with Myla Steele,” I say, narrowing my eyes to laser points. I put my hands behind my back and grip them together, the only way to stop myself from right hooking that shit eating grin off his face. “I’m here because you have something of hers. Two things, actually. I’m going to need her necklace and that picture you made her take. All copies. Do you understand? Right fucking now.”

  For a few moments, he just stares at me.

  And then he keels over and starts to laugh in big obnoxious panting breaths, clapping his hands together.

  “Jesus Christ, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” he guffaws, standing upright and grinning at me. “One
old man comes to my house, where I live with my friends, and thinks he can tell me what to do? Are you insane, old timer? Dementia got you messed up in the head?”

  “You’re a sad little worm, Aaron,” I tell him calmly, though every instinct is roaring at me to wring his throat. “The best you can hope for tonight is to do what I tell you and never even speak Myla’s name again. You’ll never be worthy of her, you fucking scumbag. So get the necklace. And the picture… and let me tell you, if you say you’ve given me all copies, and I find out otherwise – and I will – I’ll put you in the ground.”

  His face twitches and he steps back, raising his fist.

  “Now you’ve done it, you old bastard,” he snarls. “Now you’ve gone and pissed me off.”

  I see the overhand punch coming from a mile away, but I make no move to block it or dodge.

  I stand there and let it catch me in the jaw, rolling with it and using the momentum to spin around and spring up into a fighting stance, fists raised.

  I guess that counts as self-defense.

  “Boys,” one of the frat fucks calls, waving his arms at his friends. “Looks like we got a trespasser. What’s say we teach him some manners?”

  Just like that, they all swarm me, all of them rushing for the door.

  In my mind, I see what could happen all too easily. In the band’s early days, I’d been in enough brawls to see which way these things went, and if I let these bastards rush me out in the open they’re going to swarm me and there will simply be too many of them.

  So I leap forward and grab Aaron by the neck, throwing him into the doorframe and then leaping forward in a flurry of punches, catching Aaron under the chin and then the man next to him on the side of the head.

  Like a whirlwind of violence I fly into the tight confines of the hallway, the light skidding across the ceiling as I wrench up the lamp and swing it around, catching two men in the arc.

  One man makes a hiss noise, sharp, swiping the air.

  And then I see the glint at his fist and realize the hiss was his blade.

  I duck to the side, wait for him to lunge, and then slip in the opposite direction and grab his wrist, wrenching it upward.

  “Ah,” the man cries, dropping the knife with a clatter.

  I spin backward and catch another bastard with a wild elbow, and then cover my face as four or five of them start laying into me with punches. I feel the firm muscles of my forearms tightening as I let them blow off some energy, and then I erupt, throwing my body outward and letting punches fly with wild abandon.

  Somebody catches me in the leg and I stumbled backward over the card game, chips and cards and red plastic cups flying into the air, beer swilling and slapping down onto the hardwood floor.

  I find my balance and let fly with another thunderous attack, big sweeping punches that take out two men at a time, leaving them reeling to the other side of the room, panting, retreating like the frightened cowards they really are when they can’t bully and bluster their way through life.

  Finally, I find Aaron and wrap my arm around his neck, squeezing to show him I could crush the life out of him in a moment.

  “I came here for two things,” I growl in his ear as his frat fuck friends back up, exchanging glances like they don’t want to jump back into the fray. Several have busted noses and blood dripping from cuts above their eyes. “Now, are you going to get them or are we fighting some more?”

  “Jesus,” Aaron pants. “No, man. I’ll get them. Jesus Christ. I’m sorry. Tell Myla I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to get this far. I didn’t mean it.” He coughs, trying to fight back a rising sob. “It was just meant to be a bit of … a bit of … fun …”

  He’s openly sobbing now, his body trembling.

  “Stop crying,” I growl. “Just get me what I came for. And remember what I said. All the damn copies or you’ll pay for it.”

  “Oh my God,” Myla beams back in the Jaguar, parked down the street from the frat house. Her face is bright in the interior light, a stark contrast to the darkness beyond the window. “I can’t believe you really got it back.”

  “He was keeping it to taunt you with the prick,” I growl, producing the elegant, subtle gold necklace. “Let me, Myla.”

  She tosses her golden hair up with a womanly flourish and then presents her neck, and right now she looks so damn beautifully mine, offering herself to me like this, that my body just roars at me.

  It’s been long enough.

  It’s time.

  I loop the necklace around and fasten it, and then bring my lips close to her ears.

  “Let me take you back to the room, Myla,” I growl. “No tricks, no games. Just my desire to take you how you deserve. Passionately. Hard. Tasting every sweet drop your luscious womb has to give me.”

  She leans back, grinding against me.

  “I’m ready, Maddox,” she sighs. “I’m so freaking ready I could burst.”

  “Oh, you will burst,” I whisper. “All over my rock hard cock.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Myla

  As we push through the door to the suite, Grandma’s necklace a cold essence against my throat, I spin on Maddox and throw myself at him.

  I still feel that residual nervousness, that small, mean voice telling me that I’m making a complete fool out of myself.

  But I stamp on it as best I can, shut it down and instead focus on the texture and warmth of Maddox’s lips, listening to his deep moan as he slams the door shut behind us and pushes me up against the wall.

  He wraps his muscular arms around me and lifts me off my feet. I let out a squeal and hook my legs around him, shock thudding into me when I realize he’s holding me like I weigh nothing, like I never dreamed a man would hold me.

  “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growls, breaking off the kiss for a moment and staring firmly into my eyes. “You’re burning up for me. I can feel it. Your womb. Screaming for my seed. I can feel it, Myla.”

  “So can I,” I gasp, grinding my crotch against him, feeling his manhood through the fabric of my soaked panties. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  “Never,” he whispers hoarsely. “Not with me. Not for the rest of our lives.”

  He crushes his lips against mine again, opening his mouth and swirling his tongue around mine. I squeal, muffled, and then find his tongue and stroke it eagerly.

  I feel like I’m floating on a cloud as he carries me through the penthouse suite, kicking doors open and then striding across toward the bedroom. The light is low, but Maddox finds his way like a stalking animal, and brings me into the bedroom.

  He softly lowers me onto the four poster bed and I look up at him, my man, veiled in shadow as his jaw tightens and his intense eyes gleam down at me. I feel a pulse shivering in my neck as nerves try to sabotage this moment, as a voice whispers inside my mind that I’m just a virgin, nothing more, just a freaking shy virgin.

  But it’s not a trick.

  And that means so much.

  “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you look right now?” he growls, gazing down at me with something feral and unchained in his dominator’s expression. “Come here. I need to see all of you.”

  He reaches down and tugs me up to a kneeling position, and then his hands attack my clothes, flying to them like they’ve offended him as he tears and twists them away.

  He throws them into the corner until, in what seems like no time at all, I’m kneeling there in just my panties. Then he grabs them and yanks in one motion, snapping them completely, and tossing the ruined fabric to the floor.

  “Fucking hell,” he growls, voice shaking.

  “Now it’s your turn,” I pout, salvaging some sassiness from somewhere deep inside of me.

  I feel goosebumps pricking my skin as I grab his shirt and start fiddling with the buttons, but then he just smirks and – tear – pulls on it so that the buttons pop and go flying.

  I grab at his belt and together we tear it loose, and t
hen his pants fall down and his massive manhood springs up, all eleven-some inches of it, a searing, precome-slick length that bulges with thick veins and irrepressible lust.

  I gap at it, my heart thudding at the back of my throat.

  I want to leap on him and start working it, start doing some groupie-style stuff like he maybe expects me to, but even if my lust is an inferno, I’m still a virgin.

  But the desire to please him flames within me and I reach down, grabbing it, and slide my hand up and down from the engorged tip to the thick base.

  He groans deeply and stares down at me, his mouth twisted as his whole body gets even tighter.

  Beads of sweat slide down between his bulging pectorals and his tattooed arms are solid knots of muscle, taut and ready to explode.

  “Touch your breasts for me,” he growls. “Play with your nipples. Pretend you’re coaxing milk from them, Myla.”

  A thrill runs through me and relief at the guidance, and I do as he says, pinching one nipple and then the other, and all the while he stares and his manhood gets even harder, something I thought impossible.

  “Fuck, fuck,” he snarls, grabbing my wrist. “Lie down. Lie down right now. I need to feel that pussy. I need to feel how tight and wet you are.”

  I throw myself backward, eager to do as he says, eager to please this six foot seven beast of a man.

  Vignettes of the way he fought in that house, what little I saw through the open door, return to me with punching intensity.

  It’s not that I approve of violence, but the way he charged in there and defended me, the way he reclaimed my necklace and filled my chest with joy, it just confirms that he’ll always protect me.

  He’ll always protect our family.

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze onto the muscle as he reaches down with one hand and guides his fire hot cock to my entrance, stroking the head up and down my clit.