Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

“You’re an animal,” I say. “That’s what I mean.”

“You’re right,” he snarls. “And soon I’m going to take what’s mine. I’m going to take it like the beast I am. And when I slide into your tight virgin hole, you’ll realize how badly you need it. You’ll beg for my come. Your needy womb will make you beg.”

He glares at me, his eyes brimming with possessive intensity, making me feel vitally needed in a way I’ve never felt before.

“But what if it’s not as good as your fantasies?”

His eyes glimmer knowingly. “You’ve been having fantasies a lot longer than I have. I’m ready to take you the way you are.”

“You’re better than my fantasies, Murphy,” I tell him quickly. “Way, way better. You have no idea.”

I’m gushing like an overexcited doofus, but I can’t help myself. I mean it.

“When was the last time you fantasized?” he asks.

He smirks, seeming almost boyish for a moment, and I can imagine just how he’ll look when he’s playfully teasing our children, the joy he’ll bring out in them.

Nerves flutter in my chest when I think about answering, but then I force myself to blurt it out anyway, to push past the wall of anxiety.

“By fantasized, do you mean touch myself?” I say, so glad I get the words out without stuttering or fumbling them.

He chuckles, his deep voice moving through me, telling me it’s okay to crack jokes. He won’t call me names or find a way to bully me.

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward so his fingers brush against mine. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Recently,” I muttered, reaching up and pulling my fringe over my forehead.

He reaches over and brushes it out of the way, tucking my hair behind my ear, looking into me, not just at me.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of being horny for the future father of your children, Molly. But I can’t say I don’t like that cute look you get when you’re shy.”

I bite my lip, sucking in a breath. He makes my skin burn. It doesn’t even make sense, but it happens every time his words whisper through me.

“I’m not shy,” I mutter.

“Not anymore,” he says. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I want to watch you grow, to flourish in whatever you want to do.”

He pauses, and his smirk grows wider. “I can’t wait to watch you drive into your future.”

“Our future,” I say. “And I can’t wait, either. In fact…”

What the heck am I doing?

The words I love you are trying to rise on my lips, my womb sending fiery signals through me, compelling me to say things I know will only complicate things even more.

He’s going to laugh if I say that so soon…

It feels too fast and yet like I’ve been waiting forever for this.

“What?” he urges, grabbing my hands and squeezing them tightly. “Tell me, Molly.”

I know it’s wrong.

But I feel it whirling through me anyway, whisking away all my doubts and leaving only hot certainty in its place, and I find myself getting ready to say.

I open my mouth and summon the courage.

“I…”

And then the bomb goes off.

It explodes through the apartment, tossing us backward, the stone ground coming up to meet me as the blast knocks my chair over.

Men’s voices are raised.

People are shouting, and an alarm cuts through it all, blaring as I get ready for the impact.

No—not an alarm. The bomb’s blast is ringing in my head.

Chapter Eighteen

Murphy

I become an animal, my senses honed in on the moment and nothing else, when the explosion ripples through the apartment. Molly screams and falls in her chair as she flinches away from it, causing herself to fall sideways.

She’s never been around explosions before. That was a door charge.

I have to save her.

I dart forward and grab her shoulders before she can complete her fall, upending the glass table. Luckily it bounces on the frame and rolls away, saving my woman from getting any cuts on her perfect face.

I haul her up and place her in the corner.

“Quiet, calm,” I snap.

My tone jolts something in her and her eyes widen for a moment, a note of fieriness moving into her expression.

I spin just in time for the men to reach the balcony doors, which are bulletproof glass. The doors are open just a crack, from when I slid in after opening them for Molly.

They can’t shoot through the glass.

I aim my gun at the gap and move to the side, giving me the best shot whilst hiding most of my body.

“Murphy?” Juan roars, running at the door, a shotgun raised.

He looks crazed, his eyes bloodshot and wide, sweat streaming down his face and soaking his hair. His suit is crumpled and his hands are jittery as he aims the gun. All around him men swarm, six of them, holding pistols and shotguns.