Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(26)

“You jealous. Sparky?” he asked with a glint in his eyes.

“Jealous? Yes, actually I am—she had on some kick ass heels that I was coveting. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find out where she got them from.”

I attempted to turn and walk back to the party but he grabbed my hand.

“Not that I don’t love it when you’ve got your claws out, but I think this extended form of foreplay has to stop. This is going to happen. We’re going to happen.”

I glanced at the bike that had just roared up, one Gwen was on the back of. I really didn’t want to have some scene in front of her. She’d be nervous enough about a party full of men without me adding to it by bottling her boyfriend’s best friend.

I snatched my hand away. “Sorry, you had your chance and you passed me up. I don’t wait around for anyone.”

I turned and strutted toward the party, swinging my hips a little because I knew my ass looked amazing in these shorts. I smiled when I heard the frustrated curse from behind me.

The night passed with a fair amount of drama, including me almost getting into a second catfight and I hadn’t even been there an hour. The second one was due to some other bee-atch draping herself all over Cade. The hurt in Gwen’s eyes had me ready to pass Rosie my earrings and go full skank bash on her ass. That again was foiled, this time by Gwen. I didn’t like the fact that her man had left her at a party full of bikers and then let a woman who should have been jailed for her fashion choices sidle up to him. Well, admittedly he pushed her away, but he had disappeared when he should have realized how intimidated Gwen felt by a party full of men who reminded her of the ones who attacked her. I was so giving him a piece of my mind later.

Apart from my worry for my best friend I had an amazing night, cementing the fact that Ashley, Lucy and Rosie were all seriously cool chicks. The more drinks I had the more I felt like it was a good idea to waltz up to Brock and demand he take me to bed. Who cared about the reasons why not? Him being seriously sexy and not taking his eyes off me was reason enough.

I was talking to Dwayne, trying to distract myself from the urge to go and lick a certain biker’s biceps when I felt heat at my back. A large hand gripped my hip tightly. I didn’t even have to turn to know who it was; the flames ignited from the simple touch told me.

“We’re going. Now,” a rough voice ordered in my ear.

The erotic promise in his tone plus the fact I was suffering from the female equivalent of blue balls had me nodding.

“Bye Dwayne.” I waved at him and he smirked at the nickname Gwen and I had christened him with.

“Bye babe.” His eyes cut to Brock. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered.

Brock turned me around and I almost gasped at how freaking hot he looked, all broody and turned on.

“Got your shit, babe?” he asked impatiently. I waved my Chanel at him.

“Right,” he murmured pulling me by the hand to his bike. I followed dutifully, my panties already wet with anticipation. We arrived at his bike and he turned to give me a head toe inspection. The heat from his gaze almost had me spontaneously combust on the spot.

“You need a jacket,” he said with a frown.

“I do not need a jacket,” I argued.

“Babe, it’s a twenty minute ride to my place and it’s cold on the bike once the sun goes down. You need a f*ckin’ jacket.”

I crossed my arms. “Well, let’s got to my place. It’s like two minutes away,” I suggested.

Brock gave me a look. “I intend on f*cking you for the entire weekend. I don’t want to have to worry about the neighbors hearing you scream after I make you come harder than you ever have in your entire life.”

“Okay, your place it is,” I said immediately, voice husky.

Brock shrugged off his jacket and handed it to me. I immediately put in on, inhaling his manly scent. He’d make a killing if he figured out how to bottle that shit.

“Now you’ll be cold,” I pointed out.

“Sparky, with your hot little body pressed against me it’ll be like riding through a f*ckin’ firestorm,” he declared, handing me a helmet.

Well, alrightly then.

The ride out to Brock’s was awesome. I didn’t want to advertise it, but I had never ridden on a motorcycle before. You would think during my campaign to piss my parents off in my teenage years a boy with a motorcycle would have factored in somewhere. It was the ultimate f*ck you to Upper East Side parents. But I never got the chance. I still had plenty of f*ck you moments for my parents to remember fondly. Like the time I replaced all of the catering staff at one of my mother’s charity events with strippers. That was a fun night.

I didn’t want to advertise my bike virginity to Brock so I had just done what I always did in life: fake it till ya make it. I had jumped on the bike like I’d done it a hundred times before and swallowed any anxiety. The thrill of hurtling down the road under the stars while pressed up to arguably the hottest guy I’d seen up close was beyond words. And a very special kind of foreplay. One that had me almost breathless from the vibration of the bike between my thighs. I had slipped my hands under Brock’s tee and run my nails up his rock hard abs. I had no choice in the matter.

By the time we turned up to Brock’s place it was safe to say I was sufficiently turned on. I think Brock felt the same because once he had turned the bike off instead of hopping up, he reached around and lifted me to sit on his lap. While sitting on the bike. It didn’t topple over or anything. I was impressed. He unclipped my helmet and discarded it.