“I want it,” I imagine her moaning, shifting against me. “Fuck me, Murphy. Fuck me like you own me. Fuck me like you want to make me pregnant. Fuck me as hard as you want. Fucking dominate my pussy.”
I slide my hand up and down my length, stroking precome from my pulsing tip down to my base, tugging faster and faster each moment as my fantasy of Molly spirals into a different scene.
Now she’s naked on the edge of my bed, bent over with her ass poking over the edge, her hot pink slit framed by her round tempting ass cheeks.
I imagine her ass cheeks glistening with oil or sweat or water, whatever—just glistening, highlighting how round and full they are. I imagine the scent of her wet hole filling the air, and the way it’d wink at me in the light, screaming at me to claim her.
I walk to the edge of the bed and drive inside of her, fucking her like the savage I am.
I hook my hands under her hips so I can pull her toward me – the fantasy so vivid now it feels real – and then yank her hard each time I thrust inside of her, causing her ass cheeks to sway beautifully, so full, so curvy, so mine.
I imagine the shy excited way she’d moan, her dark hair freed from its bun as it spills across her back, her emerald eyes turned to me, wide and innocent as she takes my dick like the good obedient queen I’m going to make her.
I stroke my dick harder, faster, squeezing so I can imagine it’s her tight young hole clamping down around me, lava-hot as I fuck her with more ferocity.
I couldn’t stop now even if the door burst open, even if a war started right outside my apartment building.
I turn her around in my mind, moving her to the end of the bed and sliding my cock into her cute-as-fuck mouth, groaning as she bobs her head up and down and takes more and more of my length.
I grunt as my seed burns up my shaft, erupting out of my throbbing helm, imagining its shooting into her mouth.
I picture the way her eyes would widen even more in shock, the cuteness that would shiver across her expression as she decides whether or not to pull away… and then the fiery femininity that would flood her eyes as she swallows my seed.
I open my eyes, letting out a groan.
What the fuck did I just do?
I touched myself at the thought of my best friend’s daughter.
Shit.
That wasn’t part of the plan, but I got carried away, her perfect lustful body moving through my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
I stand and walk awkwardly into the bathroom, laughing gruffly at the thought of anyone seeing me now. Walking with my pants around my knees, seed cooling on the end of my cock, I must make quite the sight.
No other woman has ever made me want to come so badly.
It wasn’t even want. It wasn’t even need.
I didn’t make a decision to do it. I just pictured her… and then it happened, like a goddamn force of nature.
I clean myself up and then strip naked, climbing into the shower and letting the hot water cascade over my body, sluicing over my chest muscles and down my back.
That was the last time, I try to promise myself.
The last fucking time.
But even as I roar it in my mind, I don’t believe it.
I can’t believe it.
Molly is just too tempting.
Later, I sit at my window and stare down at the city lit up in the night, a thousand lights glittering up at me. The sky is cloudy with no moon or stars, meaning all the lights beam from windows and cars and restaurants.
I stand with my hands behind my back as if by clasping them together I can make sure I don’t repeat the performance from earlier.
I’ve worked myself ragged in the gym, pumping until my muscles throb, pulse, and ache, in a vain attempt to try and get Molly out of my head. But it only served to make her rise with starker vividness in my mind, as though my body was telling me I was lifting weights for her, getting stronger for her, so I can protect our family once she’s brought our children into this world.
I sigh and take out my phone, navigating to Henry’s name.
I promised Molly I’d talk to him.
He answers after a half-minute, making me wonder if he was going to let it go to voicemail.
“Murph,” he says.
I smirk when I hear that. He’s the only one who calls me a shortened version of my name. I’m Mr. Moran or boss or, if they know me, Murphy to everyone else.
But never Murph.
“Henry,” I say, the crazy thought striking me that he somehow knows that I’ve been dreaming about his daughter.
But of course, he doesn’t.
I need to calm down, but Molly has set parts of me alight I didn’t even know existed, obsessive hungry parts I never dreamed a woman could ignite.
“It’s good to hear from you, man,” Henry says.
He sounds steady, without the waver in his voice that tells me he’s been gambling. But even if I’ve honed my people-reading skills to a knife’s edge over the years, it’s difficult when we’re talking over the phone and I’m not there in person.
“And you,” I tell him.
I pace over to my cream leather sofa and drop down, sitting back with a sigh.
I’m lying to his damned face… well, his voice.
Or at least I’m withholding a pretty important point.
I need his daughter. I’m going to be the father of his grandkids.
What a mess.
“I wanted to check you were going to the support group,” I say. “I wanted to make sure you were doing everything you needed to do to stay on the straight and narrow.”
I’m sure I can hear him scowl over the phone, even if that’s impossible. I know how much he hates it when I lecture him like this, but what the fuck does he expect me to do?
He’s been given chance upon chance, and if it wasn’t for me he’d be a corpse right now.
I’d never phrase it like that with him. That would be disrespectful, putting him in a position where he’d either have to lie down and take it or challenge me, and I don’t want either of those to happen.
It doesn’t change the facts though.
Disrespectful? a voice mocks from within. Are you fucking joking? You just got yourself off while thinking about his daughter.
“I am,” Henry says. “I know I messed up. In England. I know I shouldn’t have borrowed that money. It’s that itch, that gambling itch… sometimes it just gets out of control and before I know it I’m sure I’ve got a certain thing. I’m sure, and then it all comes crumbling down.”
I sigh, massaging the bridge of my nose. His voice is wavering the same way it did when we were kids, the same way it did after his crush rejected him as a prom date when he didn’t get the grades he wanted to go to college.
So many memories are buried within my friend’s voice.
“I know,” I say. “It’s been tough for you since Angela.”
“Yeah.” He laughs humorlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I know you can do it this time,” I say. “You’re stronger than this, Henry. You always have been.”
“Thanks,” he says. “That means a lot, really. And thanks for the apartment, and Molly’s job. I owe you a lot.”
“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” I growl passionately. “You’d do the same if the positions were reversed.”
He pauses, saying nothing. There’s nothing he needs to say. We both know it’s the truth.
“How’s Molly doing anyway?” he asks.
I bite down, my jaw aching, my heart hammering like it could explode from my chest. I’ve never lied to Henry, even after we went different ways in life.
Whenever he’s asked me something, I’ve told him the truth, even when it comes to my business. I can’t say the same for anyone else in my life.
But what the fuck am I supposed to tell him now?
“She’s a good driver,” I say, which is true. But I still feel like a worm for dodging the real issue. “She’s going a good job
.”
“Good,” he says, letting out a relieved sigh. “Her mouth can sometimes get her into trouble.”
“She’s been very professional,” I say.
He sighs again, a noise of pure relief, and I find myself thinking deranged thoughts.
I find myself thinking what a good grandfather my best friend will make… grandfather to kids I’m going to have with his daughter. I imagine us at a family barbecue, Henry grinning at me as he cradles my son – his grandson – to his chest, all of us happier than we ever could’ve believed.
“I need to go, Henry, but we’ll catch up soon. And please…”
I don’t need to finish the sentence. He knows what I’m going to say.
Please don’t fall back into your gambling addiction. Please stay on the straight and narrow. Please don’t let us down again.
“I’m good,” he says firmly. “I mean it this time, Murph.”
We hang up and I wander back to the window, staring down at the city, my eyes moving over the innumerable glinting lights as I wonder what Molly’s doing, where she is, and if she’s thinking about me.
That’s madness, of course.
Molly would be shocked beyond belief if she knew how I was fantasizing about her.
As far as she’s concerned, I’m her dad’s best friend, nothing else.
I’ve got no idea how she’d react if I told her she belongs to me, forever, that she’s mine and always will be, and that one day she’s going to use those wide gorgeous hips to give me the family I never knew I wanted before I laid eyes on her.
I smirk, chuckling savagely.
Yeah, she’s not thinking about me.
But I can’t stop thinking about her.
Chapter Seven
Molly
I can’t stop thinking about him.
I try to settle down in bed and watch some tape from my last run on the track back in England. I’m working on taking the corners more fluidly, and I should be taking notes as I watch myself zip around the dirt track.
But everything warps and becomes Murphy, my whole reality bending to his image.
Even the growl of the engine turns into his voice, growling at me to bend over, to stick my ass out so he can claim me in the most brutal and possessive way.
I bite my lip, my hand tight around my pen, trying to fight the urge to slide my hand down between my legs and fully explore my pleasure.
I try to laugh away the ridiculous thoughts buzzing around my head like an army of invading insects. I can hear Dad walking around the apartment just beyond my locked bedroom door as he gets himself a snack from the kitchen.
And here I am, watching a tape of a rally race as I let my mind take every little sound and morph it into Murphy Moran. But even as I laugh at the instinct, something deep inside of me tightens, throbs, sings at me to pounce on him the first chance I get.
I push the laptop aside and let out a groan, closing my eyes as fantasies flood my mind.
I imagine myself stopping the car in a dark parking lot and then sliding into the back seat, into his lap.
And instead of pushing me away and snapping at me to remember I’m his employee as well as his best friend’s daughter, the muscular-as-a-god mob boss pulls me close to him and starts shifting his hips, driving his throbbing manhood against me, smoothing his hands up my hips and then to my breasts.
“I need to suck these needy fucking nipples,” I imagine him growling, as I slide my hand down my body, toward my aching sex, my lips screaming at me to rub them hard and fast until I’m simmering with the release.
I imagine him tearing open my shirt and burying his face in my breasts, growling with pleasure as he sucks one nipple and then the other…
My hand pauses on my belly when Dad knocks on the door.
“Yes?” I call out, voice wavering.
“Do you want any hot cocoa?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
I sigh and roll over, forcing my hand away from my sex and grabbing onto the sheets in big handfuls instead.
I slow my breathing down, trying to push away the vignettes that won’t stop surging into my mind.
Over and over, they attack me, as if that deep inside part of me is aiming them at me. For a crazy second, I think it’s my womb, a primal piece of me singing out with lust, with atavistic desire, as though we’ve gone back thousands of years and if I don’t get pregnant by this hulking man the predators might come for me in the dark.
I laugh again, but it’s forced. I don’t truly find it as ridiculous as I probably should.
I pick up my laptop and try to focus on the rally tape, but my vision keeps wavering, my concentration slipping as I try to impose some sort of control on myself.
My clit feels ultra sensitive, hot with friction every time I move even an inch, grinding hotly against my panties and making my hole tingle with the need for a release.
But I can’t let myself grind my hand up against my sex like I want to like I need to, because any second Dad might knock on the door again.
Already the deranged thought is lancing into my mind that Dad somehow knows how I feel about his best friend, that he’s just waiting for the right moment to roar at me for my dirty thoughts.
“What’s the matter with you?” I imagine him yelling. “Do you really think a man like Murphy would ever want you? You’re not his type, you silly stupid girl. You’re not the right shape. You’re too young. You’re experienced enough.”
I force this mind-made version of my Dad away. He’s never spoken to me so cruelly in real life, but it doesn’t seem to matter as my mind tosses up insult upon insult.
I grab the edge of the laptop and stare at the car, wishing I was on the track, surging around with only thoughts of the next turn in my mind. There’s nothing like racing to blot out all my other thoughts, to make it so I don’t have to think about how self-conscious and inadequate I am.
Because if I don’t focus when I’m on the track, I could slip on the dirt and go tipping end-over-end into oblivion, ruining everything.
I grimace when I realize that’s exactly the situation I’m in now with Murphy. If I don’t focus – if I don’t remind myself every moment that he’d never want me – I could crash and destroy my relationship with my dad, not to mention his relationship with his oldest friend in the worst possible way.
Chapter Eight
Murphy
I sit in the back of the car, my whole body feeling like it could ignite at any second.
It’s just the two of us again – I’m meeting Cillian at the office – and all I can think about is how badly I need her. Even after talking with her father last night, even after I promised myself I wouldn’t let my thoughts stray there, I can’t stop.
Her driver’s uniform may be stuffy, but it’s still easy to envision her curvy body beneath, the way her skin will tinge red when I grab her when I possessively place her in the positions I desire.
Her cheeks are dappled crimson and a few strands of her dark hair have come loose from her bun, spiraling from beneath her cap, making me want to tear the bun loose and free that wavy gorgeous hair.
“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.”
Driving the Mob: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 4