Claimed by the Mafia Boss

 Molly

The constraints of my conservative pencil skirt feel suffocating. I shift in my seat, acutely aware of the friction of my lace panties against sensitive flesh. My skin feels feverish. I'm finding it hard to concentrate on the proceedings.

I slip into one of the private restrooms, desperate for a splash of cool water on my face. As I enter the tiled room, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm not alone. Before I can turn, strong arms wrap around me, pinning my arms to my sides. Warm lips brush the shell of my ear.

"Hello, lovely. Did you miss me?"

My knees go weak at the sound of that deep, gravelly voice. Declan. Desire riots through me. I lean back into the solid wall of his chest. His hands splay across my stomach before drifting up to cup my breasts through the thin fabric of my blouse. I whimper, arching into his touch, shamelessly eager for more.

Declan chuckles darkly. "Look at you, so eager for my touch. Does my little lawyer ache for me?" His fingers trail down my torso to tease along the waistband of my skirt.

I gasp out a breathless "Yes!" My skin is on fire, burning for his caress.

In one smooth motion, he spins me around. My back hits the cool tile wall. Declan's hazel eyes blaze with lust and possession. He claims my mouth in a fierce kiss full of tongue and teeth. I cling to his muscular shoulders, opening eagerly to him.

When we finally break for air, I'm panting and flushed. Declan's pupils are blown wide with desire. Keeping one arm banded around my waist, he uses his other hand to slowly drag my conservative skirt up my thighs.

"These panties are soaked, my dirty girl. Is this all for me?"

Two days earlier

The courtroom is a cage, a place of cold truths and colder lies. It's not where I want to be, but promises to family are not easily broken, even if they're made to an uncle who's seen better days. I'm here for Finn, my cousin, more out of duty than affection. We've drifted apart since the days of scraped knees and stolen cigarettes. Now he's in deep, neck-deep in accusations of murder over some petty business squabble.

I lean back in my seat, a couple of rows behind the defendant's table, dressed in a tailored suit that fits like a second skin. My gaze sweeps over the gallery, my mind half on the door – calculating the odds of slipping out unnoticed. I don't have time for this circus.

Then she walks in.

Who. Is. She?

This most definitely isn’t the prosecutor I've dug up dirt on. But damn, she makes an impression. The dark suit hugs her figure in all the right places, her blond hair restrained in a ponytail that screams efficiency yet whispers secrets. She strides in with purpose, a briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other – fuel for the battle ahead.

My heart does something strange then, something it hasn't done in years – it skips a beat, then hammers against my chest like it's trying to break free. She's beautiful, no question about it with that flawless peaches and cream complexion, but it's more than that. There's an air about her that grabs me by the throat and doesn't let go.

As she sets up her materials at the prosecution's table, there's a flicker across her face – not fear exactly, but trepidation maybe. I sense she's out of her depth but determined not to drown. Then she speaks to the judge with an unexpected authority that seems at odds with the slight tremor I catch in her hands.

"Your Honor," she begins, addressing the judge with a voice clear and steady despite the nerves I can almost taste on her tongue. "My name is Molly Tate, the lead prosecutor is unfortunately delayed due to unforeseen traffic circumstances. With your permission, I will proceed with delivering our opening statements."

She’s thrown into deep waters and swimming like it’s what she was born to do.

And there I sit, captivated. It’s like my world shrinks until there’s nothing left but Molly Tate standing before judge and jury. She owns that courtroom with every word she utters, every piece of evidence she presents with unexpected grace. And me? I can barely draw breath as this fiery heat blazes through me – an inferno sparked by her mere presence.

Never before has anyone gripped me like this. Not since my wife passed have I felt anything remotely close to desire – but this isn’t just desire; it’s an awakening.

Molly Tate weaves her tale for the jury – speaking of justice and retribution – but all I hear is poetry. She talks about evidence and motive as if she’s laying out pieces of art for everyone to admire. And though every syllable is aimed at throwing Finn in prison, I can’t help but admire her.

By the time Molly finishes speaking and returns to her seat with that same controlled elegance, something within me has settled into place – a decision firm as concrete in my mind.

I need to know everything about Molly Tate.

I'm not sure what compelled her to turn and glance my way. Maybe she could sense the heat of my gaze that had been fixed on her all morning. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence. But when her brilliant green eyes locked with mine, my heart stopped as my vision narrowed to her.

In that split second, everything changed. It was like a jolt of electricity passed between us, setting my every nerve on fire. The air crackled with an energy I'd never experienced before.

Molly's eyes widened in surprise, or maybe recognition, like she too felt the intensity of our unexpected connection. Neither of us could look away—it was as if we were frozen in time, oblivious to our surroundings.

How long did that shared gaze last? A few seconds at most, though it felt like an eternity. Long enough for me to get lost in the emerald pools of her eyes. I found myself drowning in them, unable to breathe or think coherent thoughts.

Just as quickly as it began, the spell was broken. With visible effort, Molly blinked and turned back to the front of the courtroom. The prosecutor was still examining the witness, unaware of what had just transpired between Molly and me.

I tried to refocus on their exchange, but it was useless. Molly consumed my every thought now. What had just happened? Was it real or was I only imagining that jolt of electricity, that undeniable connection?

Glancing at Molly's profile, I could see a rosy flush creeping up her neck. She was flustered. Yes! I hadn't imagined it after all—she had felt something too in that charged moment. This is going to happen.

As court adjourns for lunch recess and everyone starts shuffling out like prisoners granted reprieve from their cells, my resolve hardens into steel.

Molly Tate doesn't know it yet – hell, she doesn't even know who I am beyond maybe recognizing me as Finn's kin – but she has just become the center of my universe.

And as far as futures go? Well, let’s just say that when Declan Shaughnessy sets his sights on something ... he gets it.