Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

He pushes his rock hard manhood against my ass cheeks, grinding against me, pushing against my already-sensitive hole so that even more orgiastic tingles grab ahold of me, everything whirring until I’m sure another orgasm is going to shatter me.

“You’ve got me all types of fucked up, Molly,” he growls. “You say you can’t, and then moan like the horniest naive young thing in the world when I do this.”

He’s right.

I can’t stop moaning as he drags his bulging cock up and down my sex, rocking back and forth, every part of me hot, alight, burning so all I want to do is pull down my pants and sit back on his cock, let him slide inside of me.

But at that thought terror writhes through me, twisting, taunting.

You’ll disappoint him. You know you will.

He slips his hands around my hips, sliding toward my button again.

I want to let him tear it away and strip my pants down, revealing my ass and then guiding me over to the desk. I want to turn and face him all sassy, eyebrows quirked, telling him I’m ready for whatever he has to give.

I want to be the sort of woman who can do things like that and not feel self-conscious.

But I’m not. I can’t.

At least not yet.

Maybe not ever.

It takes everything I have to step away with a shivering breath, my body screaming at me to turn back to him this instant and get back into position.

“What is it?” he snarls, as I slip my belt into the loops.

“It’s… I’m not what you think I am.”

“I think you’re a talented and sexy-as-fuck woman,” he growls. “How could I possibly be mistaken in that regard?”

“You think I’m some wild thing who’ll screw you in your office,” I say, anger flaring in my voice.

The anger is aimed at myself, a surging wave of it, but I have to turn it somewhere and it comes out at Murphy. He watches me calmly, as though he knows the true source of my rage and he’s waiting for me to get to the point.

“But I’m not.” I tighten my belt, pulling it too hard. “I’m not what you think – what you maybe wish – I am. I’m…”

I sigh and pace over to the desk, idly reaching forward and touching the globe that rests on it, sitting within a golden bracket. I spin it around and around, scanning the locations and wishing I was there, anywhere but here.

So I didn’t have to tell him the truth.

“You want it. I want it.” He walks up behind me with loud dominating footsteps. “So you need to tell me what the fuck is going on here.”

He grabs my shoulders and spins me toward him, staring firmly down at me, his jaw tight.

“Can we get some light in here?” I murmur.

It’s a question with a plea nestled within it.

In this atmospheric electric light, I feel too tempted to lurch forward and taste his lips again, to grab his wrist and guide his hand down to my sex, to moan at him to rub me and never stop.

I need daylight to push away those absurd desires, to remind me that I’m not the sort of woman who does things like that.

Because if I did what I wanted, if I acted on these desires, we’d get to the most important moment and I’d falter.

I’d push him away from me in a flurrying moment of anxiety.

I’d make this even worse.

“Sure,” he says. “Lights—on. Windows—light.”

Suddenly the room transforms, flooding us with daylight, making what we just did seem like a dream.

“Okay,” he says, voice firm. “Now you’ve got no excuse. Tell me, Molly. Whatever it is, we can make it work.”

I dare to hope when he says this, as though we’re in a relationship and not just… whatever the heck this is.

I take a deep breath, trying to force the words up from the anxious place in my chest.

“I can’t,” I whisper when the words won’t come when it’s like an invisible hand is tightening around my throat.

He takes my shoulders and brings his face close to mine, our noses tickling each other, his eyes staring firmly into me.

His perceptive sky-blues see everything, as though he can peer through my eyes and into my mind, cataloging my swirling thoughts.

“You can,” he says. “Together, we can do any damn thing we want. I won’t judge you. It won’t change anything. I promise.”

I take another breath, bolstering myself, hoping I can believe him, hoping this really isn’t some kind of a trick.

And then I tell him.

Chapter Twelve

Murphy

“I’m a virgin,” she whimpers, staring up at me.

I stare at her for a long time, my whole body rioting with her closeness, my balls feeling so heavy they could drag me to the floor. When I was standing behind her, grinding my throbbing helm against her ass cheeks, I thought my cock was going to explode from my pants and grind into her sex right there, slide slickly into her hot tempting hole.