Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(46)

He scowled slightly. “I’ve been instructed that if you refuse I’m to tie you to my bike,” he informed me without humor.

My anger peaked. “That’s the only way you’re going to get me to go with you,” I declared, calling his bluff.

The prospect had raised an eyebrow and unearthed rope out of his cut. “You sure about that?” he asked.

Shit. The little f*cker was serious. “Cade is so getting his ear chewed when I see him next,” I snarled under my breath.

The prospect stared at me. “It wasn’t Cade that ordered you in,” he said.

I paused. Brock.





I had been pacing the floor in his filthy room for what felt like hours. Tequila had done little to quell my rage; actually, it fed it. How dare Brock force me to not only be locked in this godforsaken place, but sleep in his room? The *. We hadn’t even spoken since the whole Ian debacle, but still he thought it was appropriate to play possessive male? He would be getting a rude awakening. I had initially planned on trashing his room but it was so messy I doubt he’d notice.

In the deep recesses of my furious mind a little part of me acknowledged that maybe it was nice that he cared about me, worried about me enough to face what he knew would be my wrath to keep me safe. But unfortunately that little piece of me didn’t have control at the moment. Tequila did.

Midstride the door opened and my eyes snapped to the figure walking through it. “You!” I shouted, stomping forward to poke my finger at his chest. I didn’t register the tired and weary look on his attractive face.

“How dare you get some freakin’ kid to basically force me onto a bike with barely enough time to pack a makeup bag, let alone a sufficient variety of outfit choices?” I paused for a moment; I wasn’t sure that was what I was mad about. Turned out tequila had more control than I originally thought. I continued, “Actually, how dare you have someone drag me off at all? And then demand I sleep in this...dorm room!” I glanced around at the messy room in distaste. “I’m not yours! I do not belong to you. Hell, we don’t even sleep together anymore. You can’t lay some f*cked up claim on me!” I had moved right to his face and was breathing heavily.

Brock’s expression was blank. “Sorry this isn’t five star accommodations that you’re used to, Sparky. We’ll get the maid to leave a mint on your pillow in the morning if that helps.” His eyes searched mine. “But you are mine. No matter what shit you pull, no matter who the f*ck turns up and tries to tell you any different. You may not be my old lady but you’re mine. I know how sweet your * tastes, I know how your mouth feels around my cock, and I know that if anything f*ckin’ happened to you I’d lose my shit.” He paused and it was enough time for me to register the wetness between my legs and the fact we were so close our mouths almost touched. I could smell the tobacco on his breath.

“I’ve had a long night. I can’t be f*cked dealing with your mouth tonight unless it’s on my cock. How about I f*ck you and we pick up this argument in the morning?” he asked with a growl.

The erotic promise in his eyes, the hand that suddenly clutched my hip sending fire through my body dissipated the rage that I was feeling. Or more accurately channeled that rage into desire.

Brock must have read the silent change in my body because his hand thrust into my hair and he yanked my mouth onto his. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t loving. It was raw and it took everything from me.

He lifted me up and roughly threw me on his unmade bed. The carnal, animalistic look in his eyes excited me. It had been weeks since we had last been together and all I could think about was getting him inside me. Evidently he had the same idea, because as he leaned over me his hands went to the middle of my shirtdress and ripped it off me. I barley registered the buttons flying off and scattering everywhere. All I could think of was Brock’s mouth, which had settled on my breast and was sucking my nipple over the lace of my bra. He yanked the cup down to lightly brush his teeth over my peak, the mix of pain and pleasure nearly sending me over the edge. Rough hands plunged into my panties and I cried out as he rubbed me.

“Fuckin’ drenched,” he growled.

I whimpered as his hand rubbed in circles and his mouth worked my breast. Without warning an orgasm shattered me and Brock’s mouth was on mine, silencing my scream.

I vaguely registered him pulling his jeans off but I was in a sort of dream. My focus sharpened as he plunged into me, filling my sensitive flesh. I moaned as he settled on top of me, moving hard and fast. He gripped my neck.

Something changed in his eyes and he stopped, turning me around so he could plunge into me from behind. The new position meant he could thrust into me deeper and it was so intense it bordered on pain. I felt him lean over me, pushing into me hard and slow.

“This is us, baby,” he growled in my ear. I moaned as he flexed his hips and thrust into me. “We’re real—we’re not hearts or f*cking flowers. It’s you and me and it’s raw and magnificent.”

I whimpered as he pounded relentlessly. But I met him thrust for thrust, desperate for it.

He leaned back up, fingertips biting into my ass. “You are f*cking perfect for me, baby. All gloss on the outside but a dirty bitch who likes my cock hard from behind on the inside,” he growled, moving faster.

I felt myself build at his rough words and exquisite friction. “You’re mine,” he grunted. “Your cunt’s mine,” he added, clutching my hair and pulling it slightly.