17: I told you to stay

Marek patted his thigh again, taunting, baiting. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing.

“I’m fine here,” I said quickly, my voice small. I clutched the hem of his oversized shirt like a shield.

His smile was venomous. “That wasn’t a request.”

I shook my head, refusing.

“Well,” he said, his eyes sharpening, “maybe we should drop pizza and go see Wiktor instead?”

My breath caught. He noticed - he always did. A slow smirk curling his lips.

Wiktor. The man who’d do anything to hurt Santiago. Even hurt me. Especially hurt me.

Terrified, I swallowed hard before forcing my legs to move, carrying me forward one step at a time.

Right in front of him, I hesitated - a second too long. He leaned forward, catching my wrist with his bandaged hand, tugging me closer with ease. I stumbled and lost my balance, landing sideways across his lap. A gasp tore from my lips as his other arm locked around my waist, anchoring me in place.

“Better,” he murmured, hot breath against my hair. His bandaged hand slid down my thigh, stopping just above my knee, squeezing lightly – teasing me.

I twisted slightly, palms pressing against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, calm, like he was perfectly at home, while mine was thundering out of control.

“Marek, let me up.”

He chuckled, low and rough – the sound vibrating under my palms. “You’ll sit right here, little lamb. Where I can keep you safe and warm.”

My face burned as his eyes dropped, lingering on my bare thighs, the shirt riding dangerously high.

“Kurva… one look at you and I might just lose myself.”

“Then stop looking,” I shot back, defiance trembling in my voice.

That earned me a sharp laugh, shaking through his chest. His palm pressed firmer against my thigh, a warning. “Keep that mouth, and you’ll learn what happens to bad girls.”

His grip on my thigh loosened, his thumb tracing idle circles instead – each movement sending sparks of heat racing through me. I wanted to shove him away, to run – but my body betrayed me, reacting to his touch, the heat of his palms. I was trapped between fear … and something darker.

I glanced at him, finding his glacial eyes already on me – not devouring, but searching. Searching for something deeper. Without meaning to, I leaned in, my body answering for me.

Then, a sharp knock rattled the door.

“Pizza!” a muffled voice called through the door.

Marek sighed, muttering something in Polish under his breath, finally loosening his hold – though not letting me stand. He raised his voice toward the door: “Moment!” Then his lips brushed the shell of my ear, his whisper hot and damp against my skin.

“Don’t move, little lamb – I’ll be back.”

Only then did he push me off his lap, rising in one smooth motion to answer the door.

The mouthwatering smell of cheese and bread filled the room before he even came back, balancing two steaming boxes effortlessly in one hand. He dropped them onto the coffee table with a thud. He glanced at me - desperately tugging his shirt, trying to shield my bare thighs from his prying gaze – and sighed in defeat. “Stay,” he commanded before disappearing into another room. I rose, quickly, without thinking, instincts taking over. This might be my last chance. But my mind caught up to my body. I was wearing practically nothing. I was too exposed. Besides, where would I go? My keys and belongings were still back at the hotel, in the staff room. And even if I had them, I couldn’t go back to my apartment. Marek knew where I lived – and if he could find me so easily, so could Wiktor. Or Santi –

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Marek clicked his tongue scoldingly, the sound sliding over my skin like a blade.

I gasped, heart leaping into my throat – I hadn’t even heard him come back.

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking viciously, one hand holding a grey, worn duvet that looked like it had seen better days. His glacial eyes glittered, sharp, merciless, as they swept over me.

“Disobeying already?” he drawled. “I told you to stay, little lamb.”

“I-I wasn’t – I mean, I just –” My excuse died on my tongue. His gaze cut straight through me, stripping me bare. He pushed off the frame, stepping closer, patient like a predator – every movement deliberate. The duvet dragged across the floor, his boots heavy against the wood. He tossed the duvet over the couch carelessly, his attention fixed entirely on me.

“I told you – bad girls,” his voice low, almost a whisper, like a secret, “get punished.”