Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

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.