Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

We came up together, meeting around the time Henry decided to step away from this life. We both saw right away there was a problem with the way things were done, and we fought like jackals to fix it, never giving up, using whatever means were necessary.

“I can’t stand the thought of it,” he says quietly. “My wife, my kids, living in a city ruled by the Cartel. It makes me sick.”

I nod somberly. I’ve always understood that Cillian loves his family, but I never felt it, not with the necessary impact.

I do now.

It slams into my chest like a meteor, the contact spreading through my chest.

He’s threatening Cillian’s current family and my future one.

I stare at the screen, my Molly’s wide attentive eyes, at all the love and warmth and sassy need for pleasure flurrying through her.

Soon, I whisper in my mind, wishing she was here, in my arms, and my lips were pressed close to her hot skin.

Soon.

I ride the elevator up with a pounding in my chest.

I clasp my hands in front of me to stop the volcanic need from making me shake, like any second I’m just going to explode. The door opens and I walk down the marble floor, my footsteps loud then quiet as I go from floor to rug.

I walk into the open-plan living room and glance at the couch, but there’s just a Kindle and a crumpled blanket.

Then I hear it.

“Ah,” she cries, and my blood flares hotly. “Ah, ah, ah.”

My men were guarding the damn building, the elevator.

How is somebody else up here? Who’s hurting her?

“Ah, ah.”

I stride toward the noise, rounding the corner, silently reaching into my jacket and taking my gun out. I keep it aimed at a forty-five degree angle, ready to snap up and execute the bastard who’s dared to force his way in here.

“Ah, ah, ah.”

The crazed thought strikes me there’s another man in there with her, and the noises aren’t of pain.

They’re of pleasure.

But then I have to bite down on savage laughter.

No fucking way.

Molly and I are committed to each other.

For life.

I move forward, heart pounding heavier now, but willing myself to be ice-cold. I’ll have to do this quick and clean, take him out at the first chance I get.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah.”

The door to the gym is half-open, and I lift the gun and use the barrel to nudge it the rest of the way.

Molly turns to me with boxing gloves on her hands, her hair all messy and sexy around her face. Her bun has come loose and strands stream over her shoulders, wisps dancing around her face. Her cheeks have a gorgeous red color.

The punching bag rocks back and forth from her most recent punch.

She grins, and then her eyes flit down to the gun.

“What’s happening?” she says, her voice dropping.

I shake my head, holstering my gun quickly, laughing in relief.

“Nothing,” I grunt. “I just—”

I break off, laughing again.

“What?” She walks over to me, lifting her boxing gloves with a heart-stopping smile, her sweaty workout scent drifting over to me, tempting to smell and taste other parts of her. “You better tell me, tough guy, or there’s going to be a problem.”

I smirk. “Oh really?” I hold my hands up, shifting from side to side. “Give it your best shot.”

She giggles. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Go for it.”

“I’ll hurt you.” She hesitates. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

I laugh again, and it feels so good, so perfect to be laughing with my woman instead of going to war with sadists. I’ll always remember my responsibility, but I can’t feel guilty about sinking into the welcoming contentment of mine and Molly’s private world.

“You really won’t hurt me, Molly. I promise.”

She shrugs and throws a half-hearted jab, and I slide around her and loop my arms around her hips, placing my hands on her thighs and squeezing, pulling her right up against me.

She gasps as she shifts her ass against me, lust taking over banter, her body primed for desire.

I wedge one hand up between her thighs and pull back with the other, gripping her hip so I can guide her body into the right positions, my rock hard manhood pressing against my pants, pushing against her ass cheeks.

They feel like heaven wrapped around my shaft, even with our pants separating us. My engorged helm throbs against the zipper, straining hungrily to slip inside of her and explode into her needy womb right now.

“Who said you could come in here?” I smirk, grinding against her.

“I was bored.” She moans as I slide my hand up her back and bend her forward, gazing down in fascinated obsession at her round juicy ass cheeks. “Oh, God… Murphy. I can’t—not here, in the gym.”

“You can’t come in a gym?” I chuckle deeply. “I think I can prove you wrong there.”