Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

  “Next time I’m fucking you on the bike,” he declared roughly.

  He didn’t move his mouth from mine as he carried us inside, me grinding on him impatiently. It seemed like it took him hours to get to his bedroom.

  He threw me on his bed roughly and leaned over to yank off my shorts.

  I hurried with the clasp of my top, opening it to reveal my braless chest.

  Brock let out a hiss. His eyes devoured me. “Jesus Christ, baby, you’re even better than I imagined. Your tits are fuckin’ perfect.” His eyes moved to my heels. “They’re staying on. I’ve visualized fucking you with those things on all night,” he declared.

  He covered my naked body with his, still fully clothed. I struggled to pull off his cut as he kissed me again, moving down my neck. “You need to get naked, like now,” I ordered.

  He glanced up from between my breasts, hands cupping them roughly. I moaned. “No, Sparky, first I’m going to taste both your nipples, then taste your cunt until you come. I want your orgasm on my tongue while I fuck you,” he growled.

  My aforementioned ladybits did a whirl. “As you were,” I said quietly.

  His eyes turned dark as his mouth closed around my nipple. He wasn’t gentle. Nor was he tender. But the pain was even better. I almost came from just his mouth on my nipple. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as he thrust a finger inside me. He growled. “Fuckin soppin’—that’s my girl.”

  Again his fingers weren’t gentle as they plunged into me; they were brutal and fucking amazing. When his mouth settled between my legs I struggled not so scream. With all of the pent up frustration and the fact he was seriously good with his tongue it felt like I came in less than a minute.

  I think I went temporarily blind, or at least blacked out because the next thing I knew Brock was naked and lifting me to turn my back to him. He latched my hands onto his wrought iron headboard. “Don’t move these hands, Sparky,” he ordered hoarsely.

  I vaguely nodded and he kissed me fiercely, pushing himself into me, his body plastered to my back. He was big and it had been awhile, so it was intense at first, especially at this angle. I had expected him to thrust into me hard and fast but he pushed in slowly until he filled me to the hilt. He moved his body off mine and grasped my hips roughly.

  “You ready for this, Sparky?” he asked.

  “Fuck yes,” I replied.

  He was hard, brutal, unyielding. It was magnificent. I held onto the headboard for dear life as he pounded into me. I could feel another orgasm building and he gripped my neck lightly, making me arch my back and give him more leverage to go deeper. The different angle set me over the edge and everything exploded. My orgasm didn’t cause him to pause, nor did he slow down. He kept pounding into my sensitive skin, the feeling bordering between pleasure and pain. His fingertips bit into my hips so hard I was sure they’d leave a mark. I wanted a mark. I wanted evidence of where his hands had been. Suddenly they tightened and his body went taut as he had his own climax.

  We both stayed like that, breathing heavily, coming down. He pulled my body up so I let go of the headboard, my back was to his front and I was on my knees.

  “That defied my fuckin’ expectations, baby, and knowing you, looking at you, I expected a fuck of a lot,” he murmured in my ear.

  “You weren’t so bad yourself,” I replied huskily, still floating back down to earth.

  His hands tightened around me and I felt him harden inside me.

  “Oh, we’re far from fuckin’ done, babe,” he growled.

  “I think I have literally had my brains fucked out,” I declared, lying back after about the millionth orgasm I’d had this weekend.

  Brock chuckled. “I hope I’ve at least fucked some of the sass outta you, babe. Increases my chances for a repeat performance,” he replied, tucking me into his shoulder.

  “How can you have a repeat performance in the next decade? I think we’ve emptied you,” I said.

  I just let myself relax, his strong tattooed arms surrounding me. We had pretty much had a sex marathon, not leaving his bed except to get sustenance. It was late on Sunday morning, or maybe afternoon. I wasn’t aware of time passing. I was in a sex vortex. Nothing happened outside of it.

  We hadn’t spoken much during the sexfest apart from the obligatory ‘harder’ and ‘faster’. You know the drill. It was good. I didn’t want to keep comparing things to Ian, but he was a shadow in the corner of my mind that didn’t seem to go away. In fact, the other two dalliances I had since him I thought about Ian during sex, even tried to pretend it was him. But not with Brock. It was him the whole time. He ravaged me, mind and body, which was why I was glad he didn’t try for the heart to hearts in our little breaks. With those came feelings. I needed those like I needed to be shot in the face.

  “Can I ask you something, babe?” he asked softly, his arms still tight around me. I was running my hands across his chest, tracing the line where he had a magnificent tattoo of an old clock morphing into a skull. It was intricate and amazing, along with most of his other tattoos.

  “Mhmmm,” I muttered distractedly.

  “Who’s Otto and what the fuck is Rocket Power?” he asked.

  I paused and rested my head in my hand to meet his eyes.

  “You’re kidding me. You don’t know what Rocket Power is?” I asked, baffled.

  Brock grinned and shook his head, seeming more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

  “That’s right, you’re an old man. Color TV probably wasn’t around when you were a kid,” I teased.

  Brock continued to grin and shook his head at me.

  “It’s just some stupid cartoon show I watched when I was a kid, a freaking awesome one at that. Otto was some surfer dude who was arrogant and thought he was in charge of everyone.” I smirked “Sound familiar?”

  Brock shook his head. “Only you could pull off referencing a fucking cartoon show in the middle of an argument.” His tone was light.

  I giggled slightly, turning my gaze back down to his chest. “It seemed appropriate.”

  He stroked my back. “You don’t seem to me like you would have been the type of kid to sit around watching TV shows about surfing, babe. More like taking horseback lessons and walking around with a book on your head,” he continued.

  I snorted. “Yeah, trust me—it wasn’t for lack of my parents trying, but I excelled at disappointing them,” I informed him, not looking up.

  We were silent for a bit. I was glad he didn’t probe about my parents. I hated talking about them. Hated thinking about them. Plus, I didn’t want to sob on his tattooed chest while I told him how my mother would lock me in my room for days after I embarrassed her at some function or another. Hence my familiarity with a plethora of television shows. Once I grew old enough though she couldn’t pull that shit with me and settled for indifference and the occasional scathing insult.

  Brock ran his hand along my shoulder. “Want to put some clothes on, baby, and go and grab some grub? Maybe ride up the coast somewhere?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

  I stiffened and stopped my perusal of his colorful tattoos. “Actually I should really go,” I declared, getting up. I was thankful his arms hadn’t stopped me. He sat up in bed while I scoured the room for my clothes.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he shot softly with a hint of menace. The playful tone was long gone.

  “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve got things to do,” I replied, clasping my top on.

  I couldn’t find my panties so I slipped my shorts on commando. I didn’t miss Brock’s pointed gaze at this.

  “I don’t think we should do things like that,” I continued, not making eye contact as I scoured the room for my purse.

  Brock stood, pulling his own jeans on commando. My mouth watered slightly at the sight of him wearing jeans and no shirt. “Like what?” Brock asked briskly, interrupting my gaze by pulling on a shirt.

  “Like going out for Sunday breakfast together, going for romantic rides
along the coast,” I said flatly. “This,” I gestured between us, “is just sex. Nothing more. We shouldn’t confuse it.” The memories of my less than stellar childhood were the perfect reminder of why I should get the fuck out of here now before I became vulnerable.

  Brock’s gaze turned thunderous. “So you don’t want your precious reputation to be tarnished by being seen in public with a biker?” he clipped.

  I furrowed my brows. “No, it’s not like that,” I tried to argue. I might want to distance myself from him emotionally but I didn’t want him to think so little of me. I didn’t want him to believe I thought so little of him.

  “Shut it. I know what it’s like. You think you’re better than everyone here. You come waltzing into my town with your fancy shit, your long legs, your big tits and smart mouth and drag me around by my dick. I can’t get you off my mind. All I think about is how I’ll pull that red hair while I’m taking you from behind and how I’ll fuck that smart mouth. We fuck like rabbits for two fuckin’ days and you’re suddenly Queen Bitch again?” He shook his head. “Fuck that. Your pussy’s good, but not good enough for you to get away with acting like an entitled bitch.”

  My temper ignited. I stepped forward. “That is not even remotely what this is about. I couldn’t give a flying fuck that you’re a biker. I don’t think I’m better than anyone!” My voice rose to a screech at the end.

  “You’re not—the way you’re acting right now you’re no better than the club whores,” he shot cruelly. He pulled his boots on. “I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to be seen in the daylight on the back of my bike?”

  I couldn’t care less. In fact, I would love to roar around the freakin’ state pressed up against him and have the event televised. “I’d rather get my hair cut with a butter knife,” I shot back icily.

  “Suit your fuckin’ self,” he muttered. He walked out the door, slamming it as he left. I flinched as it rattled the hinges. I stood there, one shoe in my hand, not moving until I heard his bike roar off.

  “Thanks so much for this girlfriend,” I said to Rosie for the millionth time in five minutes.

  “No problem.” She glanced at me across the car. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about the reason you were stranded at Brock’s for two days after he dragged you away at the club?” she asked perceptively.

  “I’d rather not,” I answered quietly but with a small smirk. I had decided to call Rosie for the extraction mission from Brock’s for two reasons. One, because I didn’t know whether Gwen was off with her own hunky biker, despite the obvious row they had at the party. Two, I wasn’t quite ready to spill the beans about Brock. Somehow I knew if I spilled about Brock, I’d keep babbling and let loose about Ian. That couldn’t happen.

  “Just tell me one thing,” Rosie ordered as we pulled up at my place. “How was it?” she asked with a grin.

  I turned to her. “I was amazing,” I declared.

  She laughed and waited expectantly. I gave her a fake wide-eyed look. “Oh, you meant him?” I paused. “My vagina will never be the same again.”

  “I hope Gwen and Lucy haven’t crashed on the way home from getting booze,” I slurred slightly, wondering why they were taking so long. “I would be really upset to miss out on more margaritas,” I added and Lily cackled with laughter.

  After coming home and finding Gwen halfway to smashed at three in the afternoon I deduced things were not well with her and Cade. Since the Sons of Templar were pricks we decided to get drunk. Then we decided to throw a party with all of our new girlfriends. No dangerously hot men in leather cuts allowed.

  That’s how I came to be sitting on a sun lounger in my bikini, well after the sun had gone down, shooting the shit with Lily. For someone who seemed shy and prim the girl could sure drink a margarita. And swear like a sailor.

  On that note Lucy appeared from around the corner.

  “Hurray! I was getting worried about the fate of our tequila,” I shouted at her, getting up from my lounger. I was focused on staying upright so I only realized her hands were empty once she got closer. “Where’s the precious, precious alcohol?” I asked her slowly.

  She smirked and opened her mouth, but I didn’t hear what she said, considering I was focused on the hot biker I was currently furious at strutting into my backyard. He was followed by more equally hot bikers. Upon inspection I saw that Brock was carrying the liquid that was necessary for my mental health. He approached, his gaze setting me on fire head to toe. The picture of him plunging into me from behind hurtled into my addled mind. I felt desire pool in my stomach.

  Stop it, hormones!

  I was struggling on how to handle the situation since I didn’t actually want to talk to him, but I needed the booze in his hands. I needed it even more so now if I was to resist the fact he looked hot as shit with his hair loose and down, wearing all black and his cut. Even his glare was sexy. I turned around as he approached.

  “Lily,” I whisper yelled.

  Her eyes had been wide at all of the men approaching and she fixed her gaze on me. It looked like she was struggling. I didn’t blame her. It was like Magic Mike meets “Sons of Anarchy” up in here.

  “What?” she whisper yelled back.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Brock had been waylaid by a wasted Rosie. I did an internal fist pump. Rosie was the best. His dark glare met mine. I quickly turned my head back. “Come here,” I ordered quietly.

  Lucy had disappeared somewhere, her explanation lost in my drooling over Brock.

  “What?” Lily was at my side.

  I turned to her, realizing Brock had disengaged from Rosie and was pointing his motorcycle boots in our direction. He was joined by some younger kid I didn’t know whose eyes were locked on Lily.

  “I need you to get the booze off Brock,” I ordered quickly.

  Her eyes bulged. “I’ve never even spoken to him—he kind of scares me. Why can’t you do it?” she asked, looking terrified.

  “It’s a long story. It involves a sex marathon and his stupid man bun,” I explained incoherently. “Will you do this for me? Please?” I gave her a little push toward him; she stumbled forward, shooting me a panicked look before striding in Brock’s direction. I should have felt bad about sending a shy, drunk, twenty-year-old girl over to a biker to get booze off him, but I just didn’t have it in me at the moment.

  I sank back into my lounger, watching her chatter nervously to him. The younger guy, the one with dark hair, was eating her up with his eyes. He looked about my age and surprisingly didn’t have any visible tattoos. Not surprisingly he was muscled and hot. After shamelessly pushing her into the company of gruff bikers my conscience made its appearance. I felt slightly protective over the shy, beautiful girl who worked in the store. Well, I’d fucked that up. It was like sending a mouse into a viper’s nest. I so shouldn’t have children if this was any indication of maternal instinct.

  I turned my attention back to her exchange with Brock. It seemed to be all going well until she gestured to the bottles he was holding and then to me. All eyes turned in my direction.

  “Shit, don’t point at me,” I groaned under my breath, looking for something to hide behind.

  Brock shook his head, said something to Lily then started his way over. She looked like she was going to make her own escape when the remaining biker lightly grasped her elbow. I was worried for a second, but Lily’s blush and tiny smile quelled my fears. I had my own shit to worry about as I noticed Brock had almost reached me.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. I tried to quickly scramble up from my seat so I could run away. I didn’t know where to, Serbia possibly, but it seemed a lot harder than it had been two seconds ago. I somehow got my foot tangled in the feet of the chair and stumbled. I was about to eat shit on the concrete when a strong arm caught me.

  “Easy, Sparky,” Brock said, pulling me upright.

  I yanked my arm away from his touch, refusing to believe it turned me on. I had only had sex with the man this morning. My bod
y should be sick of him by now.

  Brock took in my bikini with a scowl. “It’s nine o’clock at fuckin’ night. Want to put some fuckin’ clothes on?” he growled.

  I raised my eyebrow and cocked my hip. The pissed off woman stance didn’t work as well after countless cocktails and I wobbled slightly. “This is my freaking house. And it is my freaking party. There is no way in hell you can come in uninvited and have comments on my attire no matter how sexy your man bun is.”

  Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that last bit. The asshole had the audacity to smirk.

  I snatched the bottles out of his hand. “These are mine. You can go now,” I declared, turning my back on him and storming into the house. Thanks to tequila I wasn’t articulate enough to have a verbal sparring match with him so I deduced escape was my only option.

  I got into the kitchen and started slamming bottles down, my blurry eyes looking for the right ones to go in the blender. At this point I didn’t care; I poured various liquids in, thinking of names for my concoction.

  “Amy Juice.” I tried it out loud. No, that wasn’t right. “Abramtini!” I declared, feeling like a genius.

  Hands at my hips interrupted my train of thought. I jumped as they whirled me around, bringing me face to face with Brock’s hungry gaze. His mouth was on mine before I knew what was happening.

  “Fuck, it should be illegal for you to wear that little red bikini,” he growled, his hand palming my breast roughly.

  “I’m still mad at you,” I panted in between kisses.

  “So am I,” he said, pushing me towards the bathroom. “Doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you though,” he declared.

  “I think sex is the best cure for a hangover,” I announced after Brock had returned to the room after getting rid of the condom.

  He joined me in bed and pulled me to him. “Babe. Sex with you could cure fuckin’ cancer.”

  I laughed. “Oh yes, scientists should study my magical vagina,” I joked.

  We were silent for a while and I didn’t like how comfortable and right it felt lying in bed with Brock, cuddling and joking. “About last night—” Brock began.