Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(82)

Luckily Keltan was a distraction. He was a hilarious guy who was light-hearted and easy to be around. He was like a New Zealand version of Lucky. He got along with the guys easily, coming to a club party the previous night. I hadn’t missed the way his eyes had followed Lucy the entire night, and the fact I had seen them in a dark corner together. I was so needing the goss on that.

Gwen and Cade did end up staying at the house with him, not so I could escape the wrath of Brock for having a man in my house, but because Gwen genuinely wanted to spend as much time with her friend as possible. I could tell she loved him like a brother and had missed him like crazy.

So I hadn’t spent all of my time thinking of Brock. Only about ninety-eight percent of it.

After we had waved Keltan off Gwen and Cade had left me to it, off to have crazy animal sex, no doubt.

I was cleaning the kitchen when the rumble of a Harley made me freeze. I didn’t move as the front door opened and closed and the thump of motorcycle boots on the floor came towards me.

Brock appeared in the doorway. I raked my eyes over him. He was wearing jeans and a white tee, his cut over top. His hair was piled on top of his head in a messy bun and he had two days’ worth of stubble on his face. He gaze burned into me.

“You’re back,” I said quietly.

“Yep,” he answered.

All I wanted to do was run across the room and jump into his arms but I couldn’t. The atmosphere was strange. I was terrified he came here to dump me.

“Why did you go?” I asked him, hating how pathetic my voice sounded.

He stayed leaning against the door. “You said you needed a minute,” he told me flatly.

Thankfully pathetic, lovesick Amy was quickly replaced by pissed off, irritated Amy. “Yeah, a minute! Not two f*cking days,” I shot out, my voice rising. “I needed a second to breathe, to process all the shit that had been dumped on me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I needed two f*cking days to process,” Brock bit out.

“Two days to f*ck me out of your system?” I hissed.

Brock’s eyebrow rose and his face darkened. “You really think that’s what I was doing? Fucking whores?” he snarled.

I threw my hands up. “How am I supposed to know? You took off!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly know where I fit in with your dead ex’s best friend and his sister,” he shot at me.

I flinched. “That isn’t fair.”

Brock ran his hand through his hair, snatching it out of its band. “Yeah, I know it’s not f*cking fair. I feel like a bastard for being jealous of him, of a f*ckin’ letter. But I can’t do this. I can’t spend the rest of my f*ckin’ life competing with a dead man!” he roared.

I lost it.

“You don’t have to!” I yelled back, leaning into him. “You don’t have to compete because there is no competition!”

My hands were balled at the sides of my body and I actively had to stop myself from pounding them against his chest. “It’s you! It’s always been you. The moment you pissed me off, the moment you weren’t afraid to call me a bitch and not put me up on a pedestal was the moment you won. He loved me and I loved him. But comparing him to you is comparing a raindrop to a downpour. You consume me. And I don’t know how to deal with that. Everyone has been expecting me to be ruined for life because the love of my life is dead and buried,” I paused. “But I’ve been miserable because the love of my life has been right in front of me this entire time, breathing and alive.” My voice turned quiet. “And I feel guilty. I’m sick with it. Because I know I was it for him. But he wasn’t it for me. I was going to tell him that. The day I found out he was dead I was going to tell him.” I met Brock’s eyes, tears in mine. “I was going to tell him that I couldn’t love him enough, that I didn’t love him enough. Not like I love you.”

There was silence. I was breathing heavily and a single tear trailed down my cheek.

Brock’s face was impassive. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped his hands of me. I’d been f*cking him around for the better part of two years. I deserved it.

Suddenly he moved. He pushed himself off the doorjamb to plaster his mouth on mine. His hands were in my hair, rough and desperate. His kiss was brutal, taking no prisoners as he whirled me around, slamming me up against the wall. His hand moved to cup my breast.

“Brock,” I half moaned.

“Shut the f*ck up,” he growled, pinching my nipple.

I cried out in pleasure, feeling wetness pool between my legs. “Never again are you going to let some f*cked up shit in your head keep me away from what’s mine,” he snarled, hand plunging into my panties.

I restrained a scream as his finger pushed into me, flooding my body with pleasure. He bit my neck viciously.

“You know how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about you, f*ckin’ furious at you but desperate for your cunt at the same time?” he muttered, his mouth still at my neck. His finger inside me stopped and his eyes met mine. “Do you know how mad I am that I haven’t been able to claim you for all this time cause of that shit?” he barked.

I stared back at him, unable to process my own emotions. His words were brutal but the hand at my * was soft, rubbing me in circles.