Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“Lunch,” Brock declared, stowing our helmets.

“Lunch?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Taste the crab cakes before you judge, Sparky. They’ll change your life.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the shack.

“They’ll change my gut bacteria, more like,” I muttered.

“These are the shit!” I declared after swallowing my first mouthful.

Brock merely smirked at me. I was getting used to this fun-loving smile of his.

We were seated at a picnic table on the beach. There were only a few people scattered around, It was peaceful and beautiful.

We ate in compatible silence, enjoying the food and the tranquil sound of the waves. “This is nice,” I said, watching the waves.

“Yeah,” Brock agreed quietly. I kept watching the waves while Brock’s tattooed hand played with mine.

After our amazing lunch Brock drove us down a depleted-looking road and parked his bike in the shade of a tree. We had driven away from the ocean and now we were in a huge field, with no civilization to be seen. I pulled my helmet off, confused.

“What are we…” I started to ask, but Brock snatched my helmet and tossed it on the ground. Before I knew it Brock had pushed me back so I was half-lying on his bike.

“What are you doing?” I tried to protest again. The erotic glint in his eyes had me staying still, although I worried about the bike toppling over.

“Remember me telling you I was going to fuck you on the bike, Sparky?” he asked hoarsely, standing so he could yank off my jeans.

“Here?” I stuttered slightly, feeling immensely turned on but also hugely exposed. What if a nice young family decided to come for a Sunday picnic under this very tree and I scarred some child for life?

“It’s just you and me here, baby. You think I’d let anyone else see that beautiful pussy?” he murmured, pulling me up once he had divested me of my panties. He maneuvered me so I was straddling him, my bare core rubbing against his hard length. I moaned slightly before Brock clutched the back of my head to kiss me. I ground up against him.

“What if the bike falls?” I asked when he had released my mouth for a moment.

Brock gave me a dark look and his hand moved to stroke me between my legs. “You think I’d let you fall, babe?”

I shook my head slowly, trusting him.

His hand moved in circles as he built me up, not saying anything, not kissing me, just watching me. My breath started coming in pants, the combination of his gaze and doing something so private in the open turning me on like crazy. I moved in rhythm with his strokes, the fire from his touch overwhelming me. “I need you inside me,” I said brokenly.

Brock stared at me a beat before freeing himself from his jeans.

“Ride me, baby,” he commanded roughly, lifting me.

The cords of Brock’s neck were tight as he filled me to the hilt. I wrapped my legs around him tightly, finding my balance on the bike. Once I got it I started to move, slowly at first, then faster as my orgasm crept up on me.

“Fuck yes, Sparky,” Brock grunted as I clutched his neck and rode him relentlessly. I cried out through my climax, throwing my head back, Brock’s hand steadying me. Brock thrust into me hard as I came down, filling me with his own release. We were both breathing heavily and Brock rested his forehead against mine. “Love you, baby,” he said softly.

I stared at him for a moment. “I love you too,” I whispered.

I was curled up watching TV as Brock cooked us dinner and I felt it. Happy. Content. It wasn’t like my life before love and loss and heartbreak wasn’t good. It was. I had friends. I had money. I had a nice apartment. I had nice things. But there was a little piece of me that none of that could fill. A piece of me that in the darkest recesses of my mind I would only admit was a need for love. That was something that had been sorely lacking in my childhood. I watched my parents around each other and saw no affection, only duty. I received bouts of it from my Uncle Garrett and I treasured it. But I spent so much time desperate for attention and love from the two people who are meant to give it unconditionally that I thought that there was something wrong with me. I tried to be perfect, to look perfect, to act perfect. But that didn’t work; in fact my mother always found some kind of fault in my behavior or appearance. So I changed tactics. I acted out, I caused trouble. Broke curfew. Cursed. That didn’t warrant any more attention, not even discipline. So I decided to just be me and pretend it didn’t kill me just a little inside that I couldn’t get love from my family. Since then I vowed never to be that vulnerable little girl, changing everything about herself in order to receive love. I made it impossible to feel that rejection by picking men I would never love; hell, I hardly even liked them. I used them then threw them away.

Even when I had Ian it was a whirlwind kind of love, one that I knew couldn’t last, but it took me by surprise and I went with it. And to my horror I became that little girl, pleading for Ian’s love, for him to stay with me, for us to be together. When he broke it off, although his reasons were honorable and ultimately because he loved me, all I saw was his rejection. So then again I vowed to not let that happen again, to let that need for love turn me into a vulnerable mess. That’s what fucked up everything with Brock. Now it was fixed. Now I was taking the risk. I’d said the words, I’d jumped off that ledge. And he caught me. And here I was doing something as domestic as watching TV with him and I was happy. I wasn’t in a fancy apartment in my glossy city. I wasn’t clad in overpriced albeit beautiful clothes. But I had everything I needed.