Owned By My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter 6

Elena's POV

"Don't try to plead with me," he said coldly. "No one gets to change my decision. If you can't accept it, then get the hell out of the family."

He paused, his voice dropping lower, tinged with threat. "I wouldn't mind putting a bullet through your stupid head and heart."

My stomach dropped. A cold fear wrapped around my heart like a frozen hand, tightening until I couldn't breathe. The warm air form the AC was blowing on my knees but it did nothing to blow away the terror gripping me.

He ended the call. When his eyes landed on me, I instinctively clutched the suit jacket in my hands tighter.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

I forced myself to answer. "You killed two people last night. Today, you bought me from my father. And just now, you threatened to shoot someone... So yeah. I am afraid of you."

In my dream, I wasn't afraid. In my dream, I wanted him.

But this wasn't a dream.

His eyes didn't flinch. Instead, he reached out, wrapped his fingers around my arm, and with terrifying ease, lifted me like I weighed nothing and settled me onto his lap.

My breath hitched as I landed against him, his thigh warm and solid beneath me, his body heat bleeding through my clothes.

I tensed, every part of me locked with nerves, my heartbeat wild. His scent, mixing with coffee, mint, leather, something deeper wrapped around me, dragged me back to that wet dream. His warmth, his mouth..

He leaned in, his voice low and almost gentle. "I don't want a pet who's scared of me," he whispered, his breath brushing my ear. "But if you please me, my little pet... I'll consider sometimes setting you free."

Please him?

My mind froze. What did he mean by that? Did he mean... that kind of thing he did in my dream?

Heat flooded my face. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. My chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. I'd never... I mean, not even close. Jack never touched me like that. He never even tried.

And yet here I was, straddling the lap of a mafia boss who could break me in half without flinching.

Was this the price of freedom?

I wanted to speak, to demand my dignity back, to scream that I wasn't some object to be owned or used, but the words tangled behind my teeth.

He moved before I could react in any way. My instincts screamed to run,but I couldn't move. His hand slid to my lower back, fingers slow, tracing the curve of my spine.

I'd never felt so trapped. And yet, a tiny part of me... a part I hated... wasn't just afraid. It was expectant.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breath catching.

His fingers moved with infuriating patience, drifting over the slope of my back and curving over my waist. Each motion was deliberate and possessive, like he was learning the shape of me, sending something electric crawling beneath my skin.

I tried to control my breathing, but each inhale came shaky and shallow, betraying the tremble that started deep inside me.

His hand slid lower, palm broad and sure, tracing the outside of my thigh, then back up again, following the curve of my hip. The air between us thickened with every second. I felt like a string stretched taut, unsure how much more tension I could take before I snapped.

Then his hand slid lower, under the hem of my shirt.

I jolted.

The heat of his palm against my bare skin was shocking. It felt like an intimate kind of invasion that stole the breath from my lungs. My body froze, but my heart didn't. It thundered inside my chest, so loud I was sure he could hear it.

He said nothing. Just kept touching and searching like what he did in the dream.

This mafia boss wasn't rough. But he wasn't gentle either. His hands were efficient, firm and sliding along my ribcage, brushing the underside of my bra. I stole a glance at him, noticing he didn't look at me, didn't smirk or tease. His expression remained focused.

And when his hand grazed the inside of my thigh, I couldn't stop the sharp gasp that escaped me. Not because I was afraid. Because I felt some sort of liquid was running out from between my legs.

Then his touch stilled.

I dared to glance up. He was staring at me. Those piercing blue eyes locked on mine through the golden edge of his mask.

"You've never been touched like this before," he said quietly. It was not a question but a statement.

My cheeks burned with shame. He was right... I was actually going to sleep with him, if I hadn't gotten too drunk and watched him murder someone. And worse, I remembered wanting him in that dream. Wanting this.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe evenly. There was a driver in front. I couldn't moan.

His gaze lingered on my face for one long... then he pulled his hand away.

Just like that. The heat vanished. The pressure lifted. My body, still trembling, suddenly felt empty.

He leaned back slightly, pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his damp fingers, expressionless, like a surgeon who had just finished an operation. I didn't dare look at his face. My cheeks were already burning.

"You're not ready," he murmured.

The words shouldn't have stung. But they did.

I blinked, stunned by the hollow ache left in his wake..

Why did I feel disappointed? Why did I want him to keep going? Why did I feel... unwanted when he stopped?

I looked away quickly, ashamed of the ache curling low in my belly.

Mr. N didn't say another word. Neither did I. But I stayed on Mr. N's lap and he didn't push me off. I felt his warmth seeping into me through the thin layers of fabric. His palm rested on my hip, heavy, commanding, but no longer exploring. The air inside the car was thick and suffocating.

Then I felt it hard. Pressed right against the inside of my thigh.

My breath caught. Heat rushed to my face as realization struck me like lightning.

He was aroused because of me.

And worse, I was still wet.

A slow, traitorous ache bloomed deep inside me, and I clenched my thighs together, trying to ignore the throbbing between them. I bit my lip, struggling to stay still on his lap, though every movement made it worse, made me more aware of his length beneath me, of how much my own body wanted him despite everything.

This stranger in the gold mask was danger incarnate. Every inch of him radiated power, control, ruthlessness. He could crush me if he wanted. Destroy me without a second thought.

But he didn't.

Instead, he let the silence stretch. Let the tension build until it crackled like fire under my skin.

I could feel the heat of his breath at the side of my face. I could smell him,clean, sharp, with a hint of male.

God, what was wrong with me?

How could I be terrified of him and drawn to him in the same breath?

When the car finally began to slow, I realized I hadn't moved. I was still on his lap, my body humming with frustrated heat, my core aching for something I didn't dare name.

But just as I shifted slightly, hoping, praying, for more...he lifted me effortlessly and set me beside him.

The loss of his warmth hit me instantly, like falling into cold air after stepping out of a hot bath. My body still tingled where he'd touched me.

He didn't look at me right away. Instead, he spoke to the driver in a calm, commanding tone.

"Take us to the mall."

The driver gave a sharp nod and started the car.

I turned toward him, confused, my lips parting to ask why-but then he glanced at me, and his gaze lingered.

His eyes dropped briefly to my rumpled blouse and the crumpled skirt bunched around my thighs.

"My pet needs something clean to wear," he said simply.

My face burned instantly. He definitely knew I was wet.