by Madison Faye
Debt.
Not mine, but now it’s mine to shoulder. Mine to bear. I swallow, glancing back at the driver. As scary as he was on the ride over here, he’s at least a face I know, even if he didn’t speak a word and hardly even looked at me the entire way over here. This time is no different. The hulk of a man stands motionless beside the Bentley, impassive as the door I stand in front of, his shaded eyes not meeting mine.
I have no idea what to expect beyond these doors. Servitude? Prison? Torture? I shiver, my heartbeat racing and my innards turning to jelly as the weight of the reality of this hits me. Because as of right now, I belong to a monster.
I’ve never met Jagger Kovac before, but I of course know of him. Most people might not, truth be told, but in my house, the name is like the Pope. Mr. Kovac operates in the shadows. He’s the boogeyman — the man pulling the strings for most of the syndicated crime in California, if not the entire western sector of the United States, after taking over from his uncle a few years ago.
He’s not a gangster — not one of those people you hear about, or see in flashy blingy cars, or read about in the papers when they get caught.
Jagger Kovac is above all that. Filthy hands that never get dirty.
My father is one of the underlings — a low level drug pusher, not to mention a mean drunk, a gambler, and a frequent and sore loser. And that’s why I’m here — a bet. A damn gambling table bet that he was stupid enough to get into with Jagger.
With me as the prize.
No, really. My father loses a stupid poker hand, and now I belong to Jagger Kovac. Payment for a debt.
I’m shivering again at the thought when the door swings silently open in front of me. A demure, quiet older man ushers me inside the enormous foyer — the doorway inside flanked by two towering indoor palm trees. From where I stand, I can look through into the massive living room, and out beyond it, the sparkling azure of the Pacific Ocean glittering in the So-Cal sun.
“This way, Ms. Jensen.”
The butler, or servant, or whatever he is, says only those four words before he gestures with his chin, leading me through the house into the living room. The view is striking in here, and I’m practically dragging my jaw across the floor when he nods at a chair overlooking the view by the window — indicating for me to sit.
“Please wait here for Mr. Kovac.”
I nod quickly, demurely, trying to act as if this is something I do all the time. Like arriving at gorgeous, palatial houses because the mob bosses who live in them now own me is a regular thing for me. The butler doesn’t meet my eye though, merely nodding at the chair and waiting for me to take a seat before taking his leave.
The house is silent, and I can feel my heart racing all over again as I look out over the water. My hands smooth the cream-with-pink-flower-print sundress I’m wearing down over my thighs. It’s the nicest thing I own, and for whatever messed up reason, something inside of me wanted me to look nice for today.
For him.
We’ve never met, but again, I know who he is, and I certainly know his reputation. Ruthless, brutal, and dominant. Jagger Kovac runs the empire he controls with an iron fist — demanding loyalty and obedience like a king of an ancient land. And when even mean, hardened lowlifes like my father and his friends are scared of the man, you know it’s more than just rumor and reputation.
That’s the part that should terrify me. It’s knowing all that about the top man in a vast criminal empire that should have me trembling in fear, or crying, or begging for mercy. But there’s another part of Jagger Kovac, and it’s not stories I hear from my father’s drunk, drugged up friends. It’s not from reputation as a fearsome, domineering crime boss.
It’s that one time, a few years before, I saw the man that barely anyone sees, and after that, something inside of me caught fire.
It was at a wedding for the son of one of Jagger’s underbosses. How my scumbag, middle-management drug-pusher of a father got an invitation I have no idea, but he insisted on bringing me. And that’s where I’d seen him.
That’s when I’d felt wicked, heated, illicit feelings like that somewhere deep inside of me for the first time in my life.
He’d only appeared for a moment. After all, this was soon after he’d taken over the empire, and I’m sure there were more than a few people out there who wanted him dead to try and take it from him. But the man whose son was getting married had been one of Jagger’s uncle’s top men, so duty mandated he make an appearance.
And God, what an appearance.
Because for all of the scariness, and fearsome, brutal reputation surrounding him, there’s one thing I hadn’t known about my father’s boss before that night: Jagger Kovac was gorgeous.
It wasn’t in a Brad Pitt, handsome Hollywood kind of way, or one of those pretty boys cooing out wimpy love songs in music videos. No, Jagger Kovac was beautiful, and dark, and gorgeous in a very grown up way. Dark hair and even darker, haunting eyes. A jaw carved out of wood, and strong, eastern European features that highlighted his Serbian background. He’d worn his dark blue suit without a tie that night, the crisp white dress shirt open at the neck and the swirling ink of his dark black tattoos peeking through. Broad, muscled shoulders, like those of a football player or something, stretched the material of the suit. I’d watched, dry-mouthed and panting, at the way his biceps rippled and strained at the sleeves as he’d shaken hands.
I’d never before felt the wicked, teasing feeling I’d felt inside the instant I’d laid eyes on him back then, but I knew one thing.
I liked it.
I liked the way looking at this dangerous, brutal, ferociously sexy man made me feel — dirty, tingly, excited, and scared, all at the same time.
But that was years ago. And besides, even if he’d seen me back then — and I’m sure he didn’t — all he’d have seen would’ve been a gawky, silly little girl staring at him like a weirdo. So, as much as my dirty, inappropriate fantasies want to pretend that that was why I’m here, I know it isn’t. No, I’m here, in this gorgeous, glass castle of a house, because my scumbag father went on a bender, then went on a losing streak, and then decided to stake me on one last hand.
And lost.
I’m not here because Jagger Kovac wants me, like my teasing little fantasies want to pretend. I’m here because I’m his now, and all because of a bad draw in a game of cards. If my father weren’t the cruel, spiteful human being he is, Jagger might just have another stack of poker chips, or keys to a car, or maybe even an IOU in his possession right now.
Instead, he has me. I shiver, smoothing down my sundress again as I let my gaze drift over the beautiful, serene view of the ocean.
I feel his presence before I hear his footsteps, and as my heart jumps into my throat, I start to stand.
“No.”
The voice is like that of a Viking’s — strong, powerful, commanding, and menacing all at once. And yet, there’s a touch of something heated there too — a tinge of something fiercely protective.
I freeze at the command, breath coming fast, and my skin tingles as I hear him move towards me from behind.
“Sit.”
I nod quickly, smoothing my sundress down as I do as he says. The silly, girly fantasies and daydreams vanish, replaced by the cold fear and the brutal reality that I’m now in the possession of this fearsome man.
He moves right behind my chair, and I shiver at the feel of the heat from his body. I can smell the scent of his aftershave — something woodsy and manly. Something that smells expensive, and powerful, and clean. For a second, I have a funny thought that a man with this sort of reputation should smell like smoke and sulfur — like the devil I’ve been told he is. And yet instead, he smells, well…
Good.
Really, really good.
His hands find my bare shoulders, and I tremble at the contact. I’m not sure if I want to jump out of the chair and run or melt into him. The warmth of those hands seep into my tensed muscles, the strong, powerfu
l fingers brushing across my skin and leaving tingly, teasing trails as they trace the straps of my sundress.
I very suddenly know I don’t want to run. I want to melt.
“You’re here now.”
His voice is a smooth, steely baritone, rough and yet warm, with the hint of accent from his background.
I nod.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“And do you know why you’re here?” he purrs, this time the voice lower and closer to my ear. I tremble again, my eyes half closing as those powerful hands stroke my skin and that dark, deep, dominant voice melts through my ears.
I nod again, panting.
“Good,” Jagger growls lowly.
“Because you’re mine now.”
Find the full book here!
The Innocence Claimed books can be read in any order.
They are all standalone stories.
Professor
She’s supposed to be untouchable. But I’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit, and now I just want more...
She’s the girl from my freshman lecture - my perfect, straight-A pupil and the one I shouldn’t even be looking at much less having these kind of thoughts about. No woman has ever made me feel this way, like I’m going out of my mind with raw need for her. I know the rules, and I know she’s half my age, but I don’t give a f*ck.
Because I’m going claim her. I’m gonna be her first, and I’m going to take her until everyone knows she’s MINE.
Copyright © 2016 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
Editing: Sennah Tate
Cover: White Rabbit Creative
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
1
Liam
I’m a bad man.
Well, no, I’m a good man, but I’m about to do something bad. Because I’m staring down at this perfect little picture of innocence and temptation sprawled out beneath me, and I know I’m never going to be able to resist her.
She’s perfect; strawberry blonde hair cascading around her angelic face with those deep blue eyes looking up at me. Her cheeks flushed pink; pink like the soft pink nipples peaking her heavenly tits. Fuck me, I could bury my face for days in the soft, creamy skin of those breasts and the way they defy fucking gravity sitting so high and perky on her chest despite being so big.
And she’s so fucking wet for me that I can see it glistening in the low light of her dorm room. I can see how ready and willing that tight little pussy is, ready for me as I hover above her about to plunge my cock balls deep into that impossibly tight channel.
Jesus, her dorm room.
Yeah, this girl is perfect, but she’s also so fucking wrong. She’s legal, but she’s a student; my student for God’s sake. She’s my perfect, straight-A student that sits front and center in my freshman English literature class at Hardham College. The one I lose my damn words over when I get sucked into watching her. The one I lose my place in my readings over when I watch her chewing on the end of her pen, her eyes lost in the book in front of her. Or when she crosses and uncrosses her legs. She’s not trying to be sexy, but that’s exactly what gets me hard as a fucking rock for her.
I doubt the University would be happy to know about my lusting over a student, but I know they’d be more than pissed if they could see me now, with the head of my cock brushing against her silken, pouty pussy.
Her fingernails drag up my back, her hips undulating as if begging me with her body to plunge into her. I’m all too willing to oblige.
She whimpers when I enter her, sliding my thick tool deep inside of her and practically choking on my breath at how impossibly tight and wet she is.
Of course she is, she’s only done this once before.
Once before, with me, when I popped her cherry and took her innocence. When I had her writhing on my cock, bucking against me and coming like a damn train going off the rails. When she begged me to fill her, and when I finally let go and pumped every drop of cum deep inside her young, unprotected pussy.
It’s barely been twenty-four hours since, but I can’t even believe I’ve lasted this long without another taste. That honey between her legs is like my Goddamn drug, and I know I’m hopelessly addicted to it.
She rocks her hips up off the bed, moaning as the extra leverage grinds my cock even deeper inside of her; so deep that there’s no way I could possible fill her small body any further. It’s almost obscene the way her pink pussy lips stretch around my thick shaft, or how small and delicate she looks under my much older, muscled body.
Obscene like a man my age fucking a girl her age. Obscene like taking a college freshman’s cherry on top of my desk in the English department building. Obscene like how wrong it is on every level for me to be looking at this girl, much less plunging my cock in and out of her clenching, willing pussy.
I’d had the door locked and the shade drawn yesterday, when I tasted that young body for the first time and when I pushed through her innocence and claimed her as mine. We’re in her dorm room now, though, and the door’s not locked. Her damn roommate could walk in at any time and see us like this, and God knows what sort of shit would hit the fan then.
Fuck, I can hear other students partying down the hall - other students I probably teach, come to think of it. And none of them can possibly know that I’m balls deep in one of their peers right now. None of them would guess in a million years that the goody-two-shoes teacher’s pet that sits at the front of the class and aces every test, and does every extra-credit assignment with flying colors is moaning under me and clawing at my back while her pussy milks me for all that I’m worth.
None of them would ever guess that the girl with the black-rimmed glasses, and the hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the normally conservative dress for a college girl her age is now spread-eagle under her professor without a stitch of clothing save a pair of knee-high socks; the glasses to the side, and the normally contained hair wild and free across the sheets beneath her.
She’s so fucking tight and so wet, like a silken glove around my bare cock.
Oh, right, as if this needed anything else to be more obscene. Not only am I fucking a student half my age, but I’m bare and totally unprotected inside of her. And just like yesterday, I don’t give a fuck. Just like yesterday, I have a single, primal urge to fill this girl with my seed and make her mine.
Mine, more than she already is.
She’s moaning and whimpering beneath me, making these little cooing sounds that have my cock surging inside of her. She wraps her legs around me, pumping up to meet my thrusts as I start to fuck her harder and deeper, as if urging me on. And any fear I have of hurting her, or breaking her somehow - as small as she is and as big as my cock is inside of her - goes right out the window. Because I know she wants as much as I can give her, and damn am I going to give it to her.
She gasps as I grab her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck as I bite at the skin there. “You want me to fill you up again, don’t you,” I growl, sliding my cock deep and feeling my heavy balls slap against her tight little ass. “You want to feel my come inside this tight li
ttle pussy, don’t you?”
“Oh, God! Yes!” She moans. “Yes, Professor Martin, I want it!”
I groan, hearing her say my professional name like that again, like she did yesterday. It makes the whole thing even dirtier, and even more lewd to hear her call me “professor” like that, and I can feel the cum start boil inside my balls.
She’s whimpering and moaning, her hands clawing at my back and her hips urging me on as I feel her near-virginal pussy start to clench around me. I know she’s close, and I want to make her come harder than she’s ever come before. I know no other man, and no other boy has ever touched her - a thought that gets me harder than steel. But I want to make her come like she’s never even conceived of coming before. I want to sear the memory of my cock buried so deep inside of her, and my voice in her ear, and my cum filling her up until it dribbles down her legs so vividly across her mind that she never forgets this moment.
I start to roll my hips, rocking my cock in and out of her as I reach down and start to roll her clit in circles. She goes into overdrive beneath me, her breath coming in gasping hitches and her tits rocking back and forth like soft, perfect tear-drops as I fuck her hard and deep. I can feel her start to clench around me, her impossibly tight pussy starting to milk me as I feel myself start to lose all sense of control.
“I want you to come for me, Ellie,” I growl in her ear. “I want to feel that pussy come all over my big cock and I want to feel your juices run down my balls as they empty every fucking drop inside of you.”
“Please, fill me up!” She whimpers, gasping in short staccato breaths. “Please fill me with your cum, professor!”
“Then you better milk it right out of me, baby. You better use that pussy to milk every drop of my cum out until it fills that tiny little pussy so much that it spills out.”