Mafia King's Contract Breeder
Chapter 20 Don’t Touch What’s Mine

Chapter 20: 20 Don’t Touch What’s Mine

Lara POV

Were any of the men I had better than Emmanuel fucking Sagres?

I would die before I admitted it.

Before I could answer, he dragged one finger through my soaked folds, collecting the slick that had already gathered at my entrance.

"What— what do you want to hear, sir?" I asked breathily. "The truth? Or something to stroke your ego?"

"I think the truth would stroke my ego."

His finger circled my clit once, twice, then slid lower and pushed inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust. I clenched around the intrusion with a helpless little whimper, my walls fluttering as he sank knuckle-deep.

"I think — I think your ego doesn’t need to get any bigger," I retorted.

Emmanuel chuckled, a soft sound vibrating through his chest.

"Spread your legs wider."

I let my thighs fall open wider across his lap. He added a second finger inside me, scissoring them with a wet squelch. Emmanuel’s other hand settled low on my stomach, holding me still while his fingers pumped in and out of me in lazy, shallow strokes.

He tugged the top of my dress down at the same time, letting my tits spill free.

"Do you like that?" he whispered in my ear.

His thumb found my clit again and rubbed tight, relentless circles in time with the motion of his finger.

I bit my lip hard.

That. That was the problem, I thought.

Other clients never tried that hard to make me feel good, so when they asked that, it was easy to just lie.

Better to avoid that. It would be much easier to keep a clear head if he didn’t touch me like that.

"No," I said. "It’s too much."

I shifted on his lap so that he could not rub me exactly in that spot that made my limbs go weak.

"Is it now?"

Emmanuel flipped my skirt up and lifted my legs in one swift movement, exposing my most intimate parts to the sunlit dining room.

I yelped, instinctively trying to bring my thighs together.

"Keep them open."

Mr Ricci, thankfully, had disappeared downstairs with the cleared plates. I stared at the centerpiece on the long table, trying to think of anything that would make me less turned on.

"Did you touch yourself in your room last night?" Emmanuel asked lightly.

He spread my folds with two fingers, looking down at me until I could feel the heat of his gaze making more slick gush out of me.

"No!" I said.

"Really." Emmanuel hummed.

Very deliberately, he began to stroke circles over my swollen clit again, until I was struggling to bite back breathy whimpers.

"I hear that you brought a vibrator with you, Lara," he went on in the same cold, even tone. "What for? You are not allowed to touch what belongs to me without my permission."

"W-what?" I stammered, blinking up at him.

I wasn’t allowed to touch myself without his permission?!

"That wasn’t in the contract!" I protested.

"Your body belongs to me. Your pleasure belongs to me. You will come when I say you can."

Seriously?!

My body was clearly crazy, because hearing those words made my pussy clench hard.

I was already close—too close. My thighs shook. My breath came in short, desperate pants.

"Or what?" I gasped out.

"Or what?" he echoed, eyes glittering. "Would you like to try my punishment, Lara?"

He stilled. Two fingers buried deep, barely moving, just enough pressure on my clit to keep me right on the edge.

I whimpered, hips twitching helplessly, chasing more friction.

There was a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue. But a more rational part of me deep in my mind reminded me to think of who I was dealing with.

That this was far more dangerous than a kinky game.

"No, sir," I murmured. "I’ll be good."

"You say that..." Emmanuel’s voice trailed off, not sounding convinced.

I rubbed myself back against the thick bulge in his pants and asked, "Please, sir...may I?"

He couldn’t just tease me.

I needed to crack that icy control. Needed him to lose it even a fraction as much as I was losing it.

"I have a better idea—"

One strong arm banded around my waist and he spun me, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My back hit the long dining table with a soft thud, the cool polished wood shocking against my overheated skin. My skirt was already rucked up around my hips.

Emmanuel stepped between my thighs, grabbed my knees, and spread me wide open right there on the breakfast table.

Then—

He lowered his head and licked a stripe up my soaking wet cunt.

"Oh my God!" I shouted, jerking helplessly.

The first long, slow drag of his tongue from my entrance all the way up to my clit made my entire body jolt. I cried out, loud and shocked, one hand flying to the edge of the table, the other scrabbling uselessly at the wood.

Emmanuel smirked, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He buried his face between my legs like a man starved, tongue hot and relentless.

He licked broad, wet stripes over my swollen cunt, then focused on my clit — quick, flicking, vibrato movements that had my thighs shaking violently around his head. Every few strokes he sealed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked, the obscene wet sound of it filling the room.

I arched hard, back bowing off the table.

That was—

That was so unfair!

How could he be so good at that?

"Oh god, oh god, I’m so close," I found myself babbling.

"Do you want something?" he asked, looking up at me from between my legs.

"Fuck—" I squeezed my eyes shut.

The sight of him like that — expensive suit still perfect, tie still knotted, while he licked his lips and stared up at me from between my thighs — short-circuited my brain.

Two thick fingers pushed into my dripping pussy without warning and started fucking me hard. The wet, filthy sound of it was loud in the quiet room.

I cried out hoarsely.

"Beg me," he ordered, voice low and rough against my inner thigh.

"Please— please let me come, sir—"

He rewarded me by curling his fingers viciously against that spot inside me while his tongue worked my clit in tight, relentless circles. The combination was brutal. My legs shook so hard I thought they might give out. I could feel it building — bigger than anything I’d ever felt, tight and hot and terrifyingly intense.

Then it hit.

A sudden, violent gush of fluid sprayed out of me, soaking his mouth, his chin, dripping down his throat. I sobbed his name as another pulse hit, then another, my cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers while I squirted helplessly all over Emmanuel Sagres’s handsome face.

Oh god, that never happened to me before. I had no idea I could do that.

Emmanuel didn’t pull away. He licked me through every aftershock, slow and thorough, drinking me down like it was the finest thing he’d ever tasted. Only when my legs stopped trembling quite so violently did he finally rise.

He straightened to his full height, looking completely unbothered except for the glistening sheen all over his lower face and the wet spot on his collar.

"A very nice meal," he said.

He picked up a white linen napkin from the table and wiped his mouth with slow, deliberate strokes, eyes never leaving mine.

I was still floating, brain fuzzy with endorphins, chest heaving. I could only stare at him, legs still spread, pussy visibly pulsing and dripping onto the table beneath me.

He stepped closer and trailed one finger through the mess between my legs, collecting my slick. When he brushed over my oversensitive clit I jerked hard, a broken little moan slipping out.

"What have you learned?" he asked softly, still stroking me, keeping me right on the edge of too much.

"I— I won’t touch myself without your permission," I managed, voice hoarse.

"Good girl."

He pulled me upright and off the table with effortless strength. My legs were jelly. He guided me into the chair I’d originally tried to sit in, and I dropped into it heavily, skirt still twisted around my hips. I could feel how wet my thighs were, how my pussy was still fluttering and leaking.

I had barely tugged my skirt down when Mr Ricci reappeared — as if he’d been waiting for some invisible signal.

He set a plate in front of me without so much as a glance at my flushed face or the faint wet spot I’d left on the table: Greek yoghurt with berries, perfectly fanned avocado toast, a tall glass of fruit smoothie.

Here was the ’balanced nutritional diet’, then.

I ran my fingers through the tangles in my hair, staring at the food in front of me with unfocused eyes.

Fingers lifted my chin.

I looked up at Emmanuel, blinking.

"Finish your food," he said. "Behave yourself."

"I will make sure Miss Brinson eats every bite," Mr Ricci promised, to which Emmanuel nodded approvingly.

I was too out of it to be offended by how condescending that was.

Didn’t I want to ask him something? I recalled vaguely, not managing to remember what exactly it was.

He lifted his wrist and checked his watch. "I will see you in the evening, Lara."

By the time my brain caught up enough to remember I’d wanted to ask for my phone back, he was already gone — leaving me wrecked, dripping, and staring down at a perfectly balanced breakfast while the aftershocks still rippled through my body.