18: Clever little lamb

The words made me shiver; my breath caught in my throat. Before I could retreat, his hand slid dangerously low across my back, pulling me forward. I stumbled, gasping at the sudden touch, catching myself against his chest. The corner of his mouth curved, satisfaction radiating from him.

“Marek… please…” My voice cracked.

“Please?” He tilted his head, pretending to consider. His bandaged hand lifted, brushing my jaw with surprising gentleness – before his grip hardened, forcing my chin upward, exposing my throat. His lips hovered dangerously close, his breath a mix of smoke and fire. “Please – what? Please stop? Or please don’t?”

I froze. My body trembled with the truth I couldn’t voice. I couldn’t even say it to myself. Shame flooded me. He chuckled low, dark. “That’s what I thought.”

With a sudden movement, Marek sat down, leaning against the couch, one arm sprawled lazily along the backrest, the other tapping his bandaged fingers against his knee. His eyes glittered, cold and playful all at once.

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you, little lamb?”

My throat tightened. My eyes flicked to his lap, bracing myself.

Marek chuckled at my reaction, tilting his head like he could read every thought running through me.

“Relax. I’m not going to spank you,” his voice deceptively calm, almost kind. Then he smirked, his scar tugging, dropping his voice to a low whisper, rough against the air. “Well… not yet.”

I stiffened, my breath hitching.

Before I could reply, he shifted forward, catching me by the wrist, holding me firmly, making sure I couldn’t escape. “Now - sit.” He gestured to his lap.

“Marek, please – “

“No. You don’t get to plead, to talk your way out of this.” His brow arched, eyes glinting with amusement. “Unless you’d prefer a spanking?” He tugged at my wrist, closer, toward his lap, testing.

“No – wait,” I gasped, panic surging. I pulled my wrist back, and he let me retreat.

He smirked, satisfied, leaning back, waiting patiently.

I swallowed hard before slowly lowering myself, awkwardly straddling him. My hands braced against his tattooed arms, steadying myself.

“There,” he murmured, his hand sliding to my hip, holding me steady, while the other tracing slow, deliberate patterns up my bare thigh. “Now you’re where you belong.”

“You’re a monster,” my voice barely a whisper.

“I am,” he chuckled low, his icy eyes locking me in place. “But I’m the sweeter monster compared to Wiktor, the serpent… or your lion.” Your lion. The way he said it made heat and fear coil inside me. “He…” I swallowed hard. “He is not my lion.” The words felt like a lie, even though I told myself that it was the truth. I had never truly given myself to Santiago, never promised him anything. Like Marek, he just forced me.

“Oh?” Marek sounded surprised, raising bot brows. “Is that so?” He gripped my hips with both hands, hard, pulling me tighter, the friction underneath me sending heat waves through me.

“Maybe we should call him, let him know – save him from burning down half the city.”

Was Santiago … was he looking for me? How did Marek know? Or was he just guessing? For a moment I let my mask slip, a flicker of fear – or was it longing? – showing in my face. And I could see Marek noticed, his eyes darkening, a hint of jealousy. Sh*t! I couldn’t let him lose interest – I didn’t want to find out what Wiktor would do – or why Marek referred to him as “the serpent”.

I forced a sly smile. “Go ahead – if all thugs share numbers, I’d be happy to tell him.”

Marek burst into laughter, letting his head fall back. “Thug? I thought I was a monster?”

“You are,” I tried to hide a smile, tugging at the corner of my mouth. “A thug monster.”

Silence stretched, filling the room for a few seconds, before he burst into another, rougher and louder laughter, the sound vibrating against my palms, between my thighs.

“Sure – all us thug monsters keep each other on speed dial.”

Then he shifted, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine, his eyes glittering with hunger, and something primal. “I can be your f*ck monster.” Both his hands slid further back my hips, following the curves of my ass, cupping me firmly. The touch and warmth from his rough hands made me jolt, my breath catching. My body arched, betraying me, leaning into his touch. Surprising me just as much as him.

“Well,” his voice dripping with hunger. “If we’re done talking about the kitty cat – let’s get back to your punishment.”

“W-what punishment?” My voice shook, but the question slipped out anyway.

His grin sharpened. “Move.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Silence hung heavy, as I stayed frozen.

Then he lifted his hand, a slap landing across my ass – sharp, stinging – the sound loud in the silent apartment, startling a gasp from my lips.

“I said – move.” His command was playful, yet finale.

I shifted hesitantly against him, my body obeying.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low, coaxing. “Good girl.” His other hand found my waist, guiding me gently, steadying me when my movements faltered. “Not so hard, is it?”

The rhythm took over, jolting sparks of heat from the friction, catching fire inside me. His thigh was solid under me, his jeans rough against the thin fabric of my panties. My breath came short, ragged.

“Mmm,” he growled, satisfied, vibrating beneath me, “you look like a f*cking goddess!”

Something in me splintered. My traitorous body moving against him not because I had to – but because part of me wanted to. His teasing smirk softened, just slightly, into something dangerous in an entirely different way.

“Kurva…” his breath broke. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually wanted me.”

This was my chance to seduce him – my only weapon – and I took it.

“Marek,” I moaned, surrender spilling from me, “I want you.” My hand found its way to his dark-blond hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling teasingly.

His piercing eyes caught mine, unguarded for a rare heartbeat. I could feel him slipping control, just slightly. Then his guard came back up, plastering a sinister smile. “Clever little lamb, seducing the big bad wolf.” Dammit!