Driving the Mob: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 3

  I imagine her womb pulsing and screaming to be flooded with my seed, making her body receptive and buzzing with nerves, making every inch of her hungry to be tamed and claimed.

  “Just us,” I growl, my voice husky with the throbbing need.

  “Okay.”

  She bites her lip and then releases it when she realizes what she’s doing.

  Does she have any idea how sexy she is, how perfectly curvy, how bright and naive her eyes are? Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me?

  “To your penthouse, Mr. Moran?”

  I laugh huskily. “Call me Murphy, dammit. I’ve known you your whole life.”

  I want to snatch the sentence back as soon as I say it. I don’t want to think of her as the kid in braces, as the shy girl who’d never look me in the eye, not when she’s so womanly now. When she’s turned into a sex goddess I’d tear down entire armies to spend a night with.

  My balls feel heavy, throbbing, my seed roaring at me to drag her from the car and take her someplace I can paint her with my lust.

  “I was trying to be professional for work,” she murmurs, with a little haughtiness in her tone.

  I can’t help but smirk at the fire in her voice, glad to see this part of her emerging, the flaring passion flickering across her eyes. It’s like her dedication to the job and her naivety are warring with her sassiness, and it’s a show I can’t look away from.

  Her cheeks bloom a perfect shade of crimson, screaming at me to wrap her in my arms and pull her close to me, drive myself against her so I can turn other parts of her that gorgeous shade of red.

  “Shall we get going?” she murmurs, waving me toward the open car door.

  I push away a dark chuckle, somehow resisting the urge to tease her about her spreading blush. I have to remember Henry, her dad, and all the good times we shared growing up. I have to remember how much of a betrayal this would be.

  And yet as I walk toward the car – getting so close to her I can scent her perfume and her just-Molly perfection – I find it difficult to remember anything. It’s hard enough to remember my own damn name, let alone my loyalty to my oldest friend.

  I climb into the back of the car and let my head fall back with a sigh.

  She climbs into the front and then takes out her phone, tapping a few buttons. I know what she’s doing. She’s texting the security cars which are waiting outside the parking lot and will discreetly follow us to our destination.

  Wherever I go, there are always three bulletproof cars tailing me, making sure that the Cartel or any other upstarts don’t get any overly brave ideas. I prefer to keep my security in the background because then I can at least pretend I’m a regular man with some modicum of privacy.

  But these windows are tinted, my seed roars at me. You could do anything you want to her in the privacy of the car and nobody would know.

  My blood burns in my veins, pulsing, and I have to force down a thousand whirring urges. I swallow my fiery need as she backs the car up and heads for the exit.

  My balls pulse and throb as I study her in the rearview, captivated by the way her young naive eyes flit here and there, never settling, more evidence of that inner war that’s so compelling to me.

  “How was your first day?” I ask.

  It’s a lame-ass question, but if I asked what I really wanted to know the conversation would quickly melt into shivering steaminess. It’s better – for my friendship with Henry – if I try to keep the conversation on solid ground.

  Even as my desire to take it someplace else scorches within me.

  “It was fine, Mr—Murphy,” she says, correcting herself when she almost uses my surname.

  I smirk.

  She knows how to take directions.

  That could come in very good use in the bedroom.

  “A little overwhelming at first, but I like to think I’m a quick learner.”

  Is she throwing these double meanings out there on purpose, tempting me with the idea that she can learn quickly in the bedroom the same way she can behind the wheel?

  “It must be different to racing around the rally track,” I comment, my voice trembling despite myself.

  Every time she turns the wheel – leading us out of the parking lot and joining the flow of traffic – her arm brushes against her bulging breast, a subtle movement… but one that drives me near-feral as I fight the urge to lean forward and palm what’s mine.

  A captivating smile touches her lips, her jade green eyes turning dreamy for a moment. “Yes, it’s a completely different world. Dad warned me that if I messed up I might make you angry… and he said that’d be a very bad thing to do.”

  I laugh gruffly. It’s just like Henry to be melodramatic.

  “You couldn’t make me angry, Molly,” I growl.

  Which is a damn lie, because I’m getting angry just at the thought of not being able to claim her like she deserves, dragging her up to my penthouse, and throwing her onto the silk sheets. I’d tear her clothes off quickly, getting her naked in the shortest time possible, and then drive between her legs like the hungry beast I am.

  I know she’d be sopping, slick, her slit ready to be claimed, horny and hungry.

  She bites her lip and then lets it go, causing another smirk to touch my lips. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it.

  We drive in silence for a time, but everything she does drives spears of lust inside of me.

  Even her breathing, subtle and high in pitch, sends my mind to steamy places. I imagine her panting louder, deeper, as I fall between her legs and grab onto her thick juicy thighs with possessive hands, pulling her hot hole to my mouth and licking her with strokes of ownership, stoking her need until she’s shivering and squirting out her pleasure.

  “Are you spending this evening with your father?” I ask.

  I have to keep this surface-level, and I have to keep reminding myself of Henry. Even if we’ve drifted apart over the years – since he’s been living in England and I’ve been busy with my businesses – I still consider him my closest friend. He’s the only person in my life who isn’t related to the mob.

  That means a lot.

  I’d ruin it if I made a move on his daughter.

  “No,” she says, an anxious look passing across her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, even if I know I shouldn’t.

  She stops at a red light, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Who said anything’s wrong?”

  I lean forward, clenching my fists to stop myself from reaching over and grabbing onto her shoulder. I don’t just want to claim that fuck-me body of hers. I want to squeeze her supportively, to let her know she doesn’t have to suffer any emotional turmoil alone.

  I’ve never felt this way about a woman.

  Yet I know I need to make sure nothing and nobody can ever hurt my queen, the woman who’s going to bring my children into this world.

  “It’s nothing,” she murmurs.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I snarl.

  She flinches, letting out a shocked moan that goes right to the base of my manhood.

  “Well?” I prompt.

  “It’s just… I asked Dad what he’s doing for dinner, and he said he had a few errands to run around the city. And usually when he says stuff like that—”

  “He’s gambling.” I sigh.

  She nods. “Yeah, exactly. I know you arranged for him to go to that support group, but I know what he’s like. He might not even go.”

  Rage flares within me, pulsing through my body, making my temples throb. Henry has so many redeeming qualities, but gambling is his Achilles Heel, and it’s broken parts of me to see him descend into his addiction since his wife’s passing.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I tell her.

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I’ve known him all his life. I wish I could’ve done more for him, but I have to put the wellbeing of my men first.”

  If I allowed myself to become consumed with my best friend’
s plight, I may ignore other, larger issues, issues that could lead to blood and battles and pain.

  But even when my attention should be fully focused on Juan and the Cartel, I can’t stand the thought of Henry causing my woman any more heartache.

  “Thank you, Murphy,” she whispers, as the light changes and we continue driving. “That really means a lot.”

  I want to tell her all the ways she can repay me, all the steamy things she can do for me, but somehow I push the simmering desires deep down.

  For now.

  Chapter Five

  Molly

  I grip the steering wheel way too hard as I guide us through the city, my heart hammering in my chest and my sex tingling between my legs. I squeeze my thighs in an effort to push the scorching feeling away, to force away the sizzling of my lips and the feeling of heat that whispers around my hole, but it just becomes more persistent the longer I sit in the car with Murphy.

  Each time we hit a red light, I have to force my eyes to remain on the road.

  Or I try to.

  Time and time again, without me doing it on purpose, my gaze will return to the rearview mirror and I’ll study Murphy with a mounting sense of need. There’s too much to drool over with his iron hair, and his strong jaw with a slight five o’clock shadow appearing, glinting in the setting sunlight.

  He’s removed his jacket and laid it on the chair, sitting with his blue shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing his taut forearm muscles. I wonder how it’d feel to be wrapped in those massive arms, the solidity of them around me, pulling me close to him and showing me what it means to be desired by a man.

  My heart surged when he said he’d talk to Dad for me.

  But then something fell in my chest, a dark shivering feeling.

  It’s yet another reminder of how impossible this is.

  Not only would he laugh if I voiced my desires. He’s a millionaire, maybe even a billionaire, the most handsome and rugged man I’ve ever seen. He must have all kinds of beautiful women throwing themselves at him nonstop.

  I don’t have any illusions about my own levels of attractiveness. If high school taught me anything, it’s that I’m not anybody’s first choice. I know it’s self-loathing to think like this, but fuck it, I’ve accepted it.

  Cars are so much simpler than people.

  Not only would he laugh if I told him I want… it would also create endless problems with Dad.

  Even if Dad has created endless problems for me over the years, I’ve always known his gambling addiction can be traced back to Mom’s passing, and I’ve been able to forgive him time and time again for his mistakes.

  What would be my excuse if I made a move on his best friend?

  But heck, this line of thinking is just plain torture.

  He’d never want me, and that’s the end of it.

  We continue the journey in near-silence, except for the sound of Murphy’s breathing. It’s crazy how such a quiet sound can provoke so many sizzling scenarios in my mind, my sex shivering at the thought of him breathing warmly against my lips, my clit, teasing and enticing me as he brings his tongue to my wetness.

  His apartment is uptown, in one of the most elite neighborhoods in the city. The streets are so clean and well-maintained it’s like they glisten in the sun, and the windows of the high-rise buildings do glisten, shimmering down at us as I drive toward the underground parking lot.

  I drive to the access pad, aligning it with the backseat so Murphy can reach out and swipe his card.

  I need to tame the frantic thoughts shivering around my mind because even the simple act of swiping the card has got my mind doing backflips of desire.

  It’s the way the muscles in his forearms subtly shift, the tension in his hands, the stark blueness of his eyes as he leans back and shuts the window, nodding at me to drive.

  I want to think of something to say, but he has that pissed off look on his face again like he’d bite my head off if I dared to speak.

  I wonder if it’s something at work causing this anger to take possession of his stern features, or if it’s me. Maybe he’s pissed because he has to have a heart-to-heart with Dad. Maybe he wanted me to say no when he made the offer.

  Answering anger flares awake inside of me, fueled by the lust, as though the two are lovers and they are egging each other on.

  I want to snap at him for being angry about an offer he made, but then I remember I’m making this all up in my head.

  I don’t ask about parking this time, remembering the embarrassment from earlier today as I drive through the underground parking lot toward the very end, where an executive spot sits, separate from the rest of the spaces and with a gleaming silver placard marking it as Murphy’s place.

  I pull into the spot and move to climb out, so I can walk around to Murphy’s door and open it for him.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he says softly.

  I sit back, clasping my hands in my lap, gripping them together with no idea what to do or say. I hate the feeling of uncertainty, of powerlessness, and usually, I’d resort to a sarcastic comment to mask it.

  But I can’t exactly do that at work.

  He doesn’t get out right away, instead, he leans back with a rumbling sigh that goes straight to my center, making me want to cause him to groan deeper, with different implications.

  I remember the way he looked in my fantasies, dozens of them, maybe hundreds of them over the years.

  He’s so much more handsome in real life, his eyes so much sharper, brighter, like he’s staring through my clothes and enjoying it.

  But of course, he’s not doing that. I’m letting my desire sprint ahead of my reason.

  He stares at me in the rearview, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed. A tendon pulses in his neck and his forearms bulge even more, as though he can barely contain the fury that pumps through his body, urging him to roar at me for whatever the heck he thinks I’ve done.

  Maybe he’s going to give me my first employee-employer talking to.

  “Molly,” he growls, my name sounding scary and enticing coming from his lips, a combination that should be impossible.

  “Yeah?” I whimper, unable to stop the breathy sigh that escapes me.

  He stares hard at me, clenching his hand into a fist.

  “See you soon,” he grunts, and then quickly climbs from the car, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on as he strides toward the elevator.

  I watch him go, my entire body alight, certain he was going to say something else.

  But what?

  I want you, I imagine him snarling. I want every single part of you. I want you to be a good fucking girl and come and sit on my lap, and grind that hot pussy against my cock. Show me you want me as badly as I need you, Molly.

  It’s craziness, impossible craziness, and I remind myself to try and stay levelheaded as I back the car out and drive toward the exit.

  Chapter Six

  Murphy

  I ride the elevator up to my penthouse, my body pulsing as my manhood stiffens. I’ve never felt tension like this before, my cock so hard it’s like my seed is going to erupt out of my engorged helm at any second.

  I almost told her right then how I feel, who she belongs to, what I need from her.

  I was this close to growling that she’s mine and she always will be, that her curvy body was made for my hands and my lips and most importantly my cock.

  She was made for me to fuck ruthlessly, gripping onto her tempting childbearing hips and ramming into her over and over as she gasps for relief, as she cries out in pleasure, rivers of her thick creamy come squirting down my throbbing dick.

  Fuck, I need to calm down.

  But I can’t stop thinking about her on her back, her shirt pulled open to reveal the curvaceous luxuriousness of her breasts, my hands buried in her rose-red flesh as I drive into her deeper and harder. I can hear the moaning noises she would make, singing in the air, an amplification of the little sighs she made during the drive over.

>   I was sure I could scent her womb in the car, crying out for me, begging for my seed to shoot inside of her so she can start our family.

  The elevator door opens, revealing my large open-plan apartment, my floor to ceiling windows looking out over the city.

  Usually, I’d head straight to the gym and work my body into an exhausted stupor, grinding my muscles until I’m tired enough to try and sleep.

  But this evening I find myself walking across the marble floor – past the modern art on the walls with my footsteps echoing around me in the high ceiling – and to my bedroom. I walk over to my silk-sheeted bed, my heart hammering in my chest, a small voice inside of me roaring that this is wrong.

  I can’t stop myself, even as the voice gets louder, more persistent. It’s the voice of the boy I was when I first met Henry. When I was a nervous little kid and he became my best friend.

  He was the bigger one when we were kids. I didn’t sprout in height until I was a man. For those first early years, it was Henry who came to my defense when bullies decided to act tough. When they decided to pick on me because I was smaller and weaker and hadn’t learned to fight yet.

  Loyalty means everything in my life. It can mean the difference between life and death. I’ve never forgotten how Henry looked out for me, even after I started training in martial arts and grew to be twice his size.

  And yet here I am, sitting on my bed with images of his daughter flurrying around my mind, unable to stop them from surging up and taking possession of my fantasies, roaring at me to claim her, to claim her right now.

  I could call her back and invent some work-related issues to get her up here, and then, once the door shut, I’d shove her up against the wall and drive my groin against her ass.

  Fuck.

  I lie back without giving myself a chance to think, reaching down and taking out my massive throbbing dick. I yank my pants down, shoving them under my throbbing balls, and lift my shirt so my thick throbbing length lies against my abs.

  I close my eyes and hold the image of Molly in my mind, pushed forcefully up against the wall as I command her to stick her ass out, to moan for me as I grind my cock against her ass cheeks.