Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

“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.