Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

“You have a good evening?” I ask as we come to a stop a few blocks down from my high-rise office.

I have to keep it surface-level.

I have to never let these thoughts erupt into reality.

But even as I ask the boring-as-fuck question, my manhood throbs in my pants, pressing firmly against my zipper like it’s going to explode at any moment, a massive stiff impossible-to-ignore declaration of my need.

“It was okay. I reviewed some rally tape from England.”

I smirk, pride whelming in me.

She’s fiercer than any other woman I’ve ever met, nothing like the socialites who’ve thrown themselves at me over the years.

“What?” she murmurs.

“What?” I echo, smirking wider at her.

Her gleaming greens flit from the rearview back to the road. “Nothing,” she sighs.

My chest throbs, tightening. She thinks I’m mocking her, I realize.

“I think it’s great,” I say.

She flinches, as though she thinks this is the setup to a joke and she’s painfully awaiting the punchline. “Really?”

Rage boils through me at the fear quivering in her eyes, the sort of fear that makes me wonder if she’s been bullied in the past. I clench my fist on my thigh, bare inches away from my rock hard manhood.

This is a combination I’ve never experienced before. Lust and anger all flurry through me.

“Really,” I say passionately, wishing I could find every single bastard who’s ever said a bad word about her and make them pay. “Any time somebody is enthusiastic, obsessed about something, I admire it. But I especially admire it in you, Molly.”

This is dangerous territory and I should turn away, skirt around this issue, stop myself from delving into this quagmire which could all too easily drag me down into its complicated depths.

But the way she said really stabs at me and I can’t ignore it, as though she thought I was going to join the ranks of her bullies… bullies whose skulls I’d cave in if they were here.

Nobody has the right to make my woman feel small.

She’s going to be the mother of my children and she deserves all the respect a person can give.

I take a breath, roaring silently at myself to calm down. I’m imagining these bullies. She hasn’t said anything to make me believe there were or weren’t any but her worry is enough.

My desire to protect her is just so damn fierce.

She inches us forward when the light changes, bringing us closer and closer to the office. I pray for the next set of lights to change red, for someone to get a flat tire up ahead, anything so I can stay inclosed in the car longer with my woman, with her sweet scent and her tempting shyness.

“Thanks, by the way,” she murmurs. “About what you said… about my driving, my dream. I’m not really used to that response so I didn’t know what to say.”

I smirk. “You can say or not say whatever the hell you want. I’m not going to judge you.”

No, I’m going to fucking adore her. I’m going to worship her, and then I’m going to show her what’s required of her when I drag her into the bedroom and make her mine.

“How are things now that you’re back Stateside?” I ask. “Caught up with any old boyfriends?”

This is a clumsy way to phrase it, fine, but I don’t give a damn. Maybe this will be my way of stopping my surging need-her thoughts, and yet somehow I doubt it.

If she told me she has a boyfriend I’d be far more likely to hunt the bastard down and do something stupid and unfair.

She giggles, shaking her head.

“What’s so funny?” I growl.

“Just the idea of me having a boyfriend, I guess.”

“Why is that funny?”

“I’ve just never had one,” she murmurs, her eyes flitting nervously to me in the rearview mirror.

She bites her lip in that tempting-as-fuck way, causing my balls to swell and pulse even more.

Relief and desire war in me when she releases her lip, making me want to roar at her to bite it again, bite it like the horny sex-goddess she is… or I’ll make her once I finally make my move.

But I can’t make a move, I remind myself.

Ever.

So all I’m doing is torturing myself with thoughts of her.

“Never?” I ask.

“Nope.” She shrugs. “I guess… It doesn’t matter.”

I lean forward, passion surging in my body, pulsing hotly through me.

“It does matter,” I growl. “What were you going to say?”

She lets out a breathy moan at my intensity, making me wonder if I’ve gone too far. But the uncertainty doesn’t last long as my attention latches onto the sound of that moan instead, to the way it shivers in the air, my cock pulsing like a heartbeat with the hungry demand to be inside of her.

“Just that guys aren’t really interested in me. When I tell them about my rally racing – if it ever gets that far – they normally look at me like I’m crazy. But like I said, it rarely gets that far. I’ve never had much attention and I’m okay with that.”