Marek, page 4
“You’re not trying,” he bellows, storming toward the stage where I stand, my face expressionless.
“I don’t know how much more you could possibly want me to try, I’m giving it my everything, can’t you see the damned sweat running down my face?” I shout back at him, crossing my arms, as if that would shield me from his wrath.
“I’ve seen you dance with passion, you’re not showing a single fucking ounce of that.”
“Oh, I wonder why,” I snap. “You keep me locked in a fucking cage, where I’m cramped up and stiff, you barely feed me, you treat me like a fucking animal, and you want me to show passion? I don’t know if you’ve ever felt passion in your life before, Master, but I can assure you that isn’t how it’s created.”
I expect him to roar with anger, to abuse me or torment me, but instead he nods slowly and then announces, “Very well. You’ll spend the nights before I need you to dance with me.”
My mouth drops open.
That was so far from the point I was trying to make.
“Over my dead body,” I grind out.
He grins, his mouth curling in a way that makes my skin prickle. “The choice is yours, Ellie Mae. You either stay with me, or you stay in the cage. Either way, you will dance. It’s up to you how rested you are.”
The thought of having a few nights away from that cage has my body screaming with want, but the idea of sleeping next to Marek has everything inside me terrified. I don’t think I can lie in a bed next to him and not contemplate plotting his murder.
My eyes widen.
Well, I mean ... it’s not a bad idea.
If he fell asleep, I could possibly take him out and get out of here.
“Fine,” I grind out, “but if you come anywhere near me, I’ll cut your dick off.”
His grin widens.
Fucking dick.
“Very well, now show me passion and I’ll give you a warm meal and a bed tonight.”
My stomach grumbles.
A nice meal would be good.
So, I do as he asks.
I give him passion.
I show him the pieces I keep hidden inside me.
And I know it’ll only make him want me more.
That’s the point – because then he won’t see it coming when I take him out.
4
He delivers, as promised, and when I’m presented with a bowl of spaghetti, loaded with cheese, and a soda, I could cry with happiness. As a general rule, I would never usually eat pasta like this, especially when I’m preparing for a show, but I’ve been living off dry crackers, stale sandwiches, and water for however long I’ve been here, and I’m more than ready to take this pasta down.
I eat it without saying a word, the rich sauce coating the pasta making my tastebuds dance as I devour every bite. It is, without a doubt, the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted, and I would die happy if I could eat it every day. Once I’m done, I take a sip of my soda and look up at Marek, who is watching me from his favorite position against the shelf, leaning his back against it, holding a glass of red wine that he has been drinking as he watches me.
“What? Never seen a girl with a good appetite?” I murmur, wondering if it would be rude to ask for more.
“Plenty,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his wine. “Do you want some?”
I narrow my eyes as he pushes off the furniture and walks toward the bottle of red, pouring another glass.
“For all I know, you’ve drugged it,” I say, skeptical as he turns toward me.
He lifts the glass he poured for me, and takes a long sip, and I watch as his neck muscles move. I shiver. God damn, I wish he was ugly. It would make this so much easier. Guilt eats me when I think of Marek, because I know Carter is at home, no doubt terrified and doing everything he can to find me.
It doesn’t stop the thoughts of Marek’s body on mine from creeping in.
I hate him, but I know fucking him would be out of this world.
Shaking my head slightly, I try to tell myself he has a tiny penis and probably can’t fuck to save himself, but that does nothing to ease the burning heat growing inside me.
I take the glass when he offers it, sipping the wine.
It’s strong, but I’m not going to turn away alcohol right now.
“You can tell your chef that the spaghetti was amazing,” I say, glancing around the RV and taking in just how tidy it is.
“You just told him.”
My head whips toward him. “You made that?”
A sharp nod.
“Well damn.”
“Tell me, Ellie Mae, is your fiancé going to come looking for you?”
Random change of subject.
I take another sip of wine and push away from the table, going over to the luxurious leather sofa and sitting down. It’s soft and squishy, and I could very easily sleep here. Maybe I will. Not before I get him drunk, talking, and thinking I’m not about to escape. The second his eyes close tonight, I’m going to take a knife to his throat and get the hell out of here.
My stomach twists.
Do I even have it in me to do something like that?
If it means freedom, then yes, I do.
So why does the thought of killing him have my heart stinging just a little?
It’s because I’m soft.
Right?
It’s not because I’m messed up and a weird part of me kind of likes how much he wants me and the lengths he’s willing to go to to keep me. I think there is a name for that ... Stockholm syndrome.
I’ll have a lot of work to do when I get home.
“He’ll be looking,” I answer his question. “But I’m guessing he won’t know where to start.”
“I’ve seen it on the news,” Marek informs me, and my heart sinks a little, “they’re offering a decent reward for information.”
They are?
I mean, of course they are. They do love me. They’ll also be loving the press and attention they’ll be getting over this situation. My family would do anything for me, sure, but they’d probably do more for fame and money.
“Does that make you sad?”
I glare at Marek. “Is this some kind of twisted mind game? I know my family is looking for me, Marek, I’m not stupid. Can we get on with it?”
He studies me, those intense eyes raking over my face. “You don’t love him.”
Seriously?
I take another big gulp of wine.
Remember the plan, Ellie.
“I love what he can give me,” I answer, blandly.
“And it’s not a wonder you don’t know passion.”
“I know passion,” I snap. “He does fuck me, you know.”
Marek grins. “I assure you, Ellie Mae, that you have never been fucked.”
“Whatever,” I grumble because he’s probably right.
I’ve only been with two men, one before Carter who was clumsy and young. Carter is a good lover, but he’s very textbook. So, I suppose I haven’t been fucked in that sense. Taking another sip of wine, I decide to open myself up a little to Marek. It’s all part of the act, of course, but I want him to sleep soundly with me beside him and the only way he’ll do that is if he thinks he’s safe.
“Carter is the man my parents want for me,” I say, reaching for the bottle of wine and filling up another glass.
“Rich.” Marek nods slightly. “Isn’t that the dream?”
I snort. “Depends who you are. For me, no, it isn’t.”
“Then what is, Ellie Mae?”
I wish he’d stop using my name like that, it only makes it harder to remember why I hate him so much.
“Dancing,” I say, pointedly, “my way.”
“What is your way?”
“A way that no elite schools or programs like,” I huff, taking another sip. “My turn. Why don’t you treat those girls better?”
Clearly I’ve hit a nerve because he flinches. “It’s better than the dirty streets I got them from.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but only barely. You don’t think they’d do more for you if you were kinder to them.”
“Have you tried to work with addicts?”
I shake my head.
“Then you don’t know the kind of people those women are. I’m giving them a far better life than the one they had, and they’re getting drugs for free. If you asked half of them, they wouldn’t want to leave even if they were given the chance.”
“Then why keep them in cages? Can’t you at least offer them a decent living space?”
He studies me. “I suppose I could.”
Well, that has to be the first time he has actually agreed with me.
“Then maybe you should.”
He doesn’t answer that, instead, he gives me another drink and pours one for himself, also. The wine is already going to my head, and I know I need to slow down or nothing will happen tonight except me passing out.
“I’m going to sleep right here,” I say, patting the sofa.
“Have it your way,” he murmurs, his eyes roaming my face in a way that makes me nervous.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
Alcohol makes me bold.
“Because you’re spectacular.”
His words shock me and I jerk back, quite surprised at his honesty. I knew, of course, that he finds me attractive. He has told me as much. But the way he’s saying it now, feels slightly different. Pushing to my feet, unable to form words, I go to the kitchenette and pour myself a glass of water. What I’m really doing is taking note of the knives. If I know where they are, then I won’t make any noise.
Turning back towards him, I nod at the mostly empty bottle of wine. “Is there any more of that?”
We’re not quite done yet.
He needs to be a little drunker before I’m through with him.
MY PLAN, SO FAR, HAS worked.
We drank more, and when his eyes grew glassy and everything about him seemed to soften a little, I knew that he was drunk. So, I made myself a bed on the sofa and laid down, feigning sleep, which was incredibly difficult considering I truly wanted to just fall into nothingness. He took his time, showering and getting into bed. The smell of his clean, warm skin as he moved around the RV was enough to make everything inside me clench. I dared a peek and saw his lean, muscled body as he got around with no shirt. I couldn’t help but take in the perfect way each muscle flowed onto the next, or the way his skin is so perfectly marked with ink.
He's fucking delicious.
And I’m drunk.
Finally, he’s asleep.
I wait even longer, before pushing quietly to my feet and staring over at the bed. He’s laying on his back, his eyes closed, one arm tucked up behind his head. His bicep bulges and his smooth skin is so creamy and perfect against his dark hair. Biting my lip, hating that I’m about to do this, I turn and tiptoe to the kitchen. I reach the knife block and pull out the biggest one I can find, then I pause.
Do I have it in me to actually plunge this into him?
The very thought makes me sick, and my stomach twists with repulsion.
I don’t want to hurt him, even though I know it’s what I have to do to escape. I ask myself, is my freedom worth his life? Or am I willing to stay here forever, being his slave? I know I want to go home, but at the same time, something in me hesitates. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like how it makes me feel. Like an uncaged, feral animal. There is a wildness inside me that is begging to be released.
Marek brings it out, and I don’t know why.
Moving closer to the bed, I glance down at him as I carefully kneel on the soft mattress. He doesn’t move as the bed dips slightly, and I hold my breath, gripping the knife in both hands when I’m above him, praying I’m strong enough to do this. I close my eyes, and vomit rises in my throat. Come on, Ellie, it’s now or never. With trembling hands, I count down from three.
As I bring the knife down towards his chest, his hand shoots up and curls around the blade, fingers gripping the sharp knife, causing blood to immediately coat the steel. Screaming, I let the knife go, and he releases it as it falls to the bed beside us. His eyes, wild with rage, lock on mine and I know I’ve fucked up.
“Did you think I am so stupid that I would actually sleep?” he grinds out, not releasing my wrist.
I should have known he would never just let me sleep, unchained, where I could get away or worse, try to kill him. I’m such an idiot, thinking I could outsmart him. Panting, I stare down at him, my mind spinning with emotions I can’t get control of.
“You want to kill me, Ellie Mae? Think you’ve got it in you?”
He reaches down, picking up the knife and he puts it in my free hand, his blood coats my skin and I know he’s been cut deep, but he’s seemingly unbothered, as if he simply can’t feel any pain. With the heavy steel in my hand, and him offering me the chance, I know I should take it. I know I should, yet I find myself unable to move, my hand trembling, my body panting with something I don’t quite understand.
“Do it,” he growls, his voice low and husky, “drive that knife into me.”
I can’t, and he knows I can’t.
An angry growl escapes my lips as I toss the knife onto the bed.
Why can’t I do it?
Why am I hesitating?
“You won’t do it because a small part of you likes it here, a dark and twisted part, is wondering what this life could offer.”
No, he’s wrong.
He’s wrong.
I jerk my wrist, but it’s a pathetic attempt at best.
“If you wanted me to release you, you’d fight. I’ve seen your fight. No, Ellie Mae, you don’t really want to get off this bed, instead, you’re wondering how it would feel if I pulled you down and fucked you until you forgot every single person in your past.”
His words, like rich velvet slipping off his tongue, pierced me right in the heart. I fight with everything I have inside, trying to convince myself he’s wrong, but the problem is no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get myself to pull away. He’s vile, and monster, and yet I am so incredibly drawn to him, I should be checking myself in for immediate help because there is clearly something wrong with the wiring in my brain.
The very thought of him should make me want to vomit, yet the only thing his words do, is spark a fire in my soul.
I open my mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a ragged breath.
A wanting breath.
An answer to a question he didn’t even ask.
“Show me your darkness, Ellie Mae, and together, we can be incredible.”
No.
No.
He locks girls in cages.
He’s a monster.
I could never live with that.
Never.
And still, the idea of going home, to my boring routine, to the people who won’t let me express myself or make my own choices, has my heart clenching.
“Do you want me to fuck you? To show you what a real man feels like...”
God damn, why is his voice so thick and delicious.
No.
Just say no.
It’s simple, not hard at all.
“Tell me no, Ellie Mae,” he breathes, releasing my wrist and letting it fall to my side, “I might be a monster but I’m not a rapist.”
Just say it.
No.
Go to hell.
Get fucked.
Don’t come near me.
Why is my brain not working?
His hand moves, sliding up my leg and over my thigh. I’m still kneeling beside him and I’m in the perfect position for him to slip that hand between my legs. I’m wearing clothes they gave me on the second or third day here – a pair of old cotton shorts and a tank top. I didn’t question where those clothes came from, but they were a heck of a lot comfier than the tight dress he captured me in.
His fingers glide up my inner thigh, making my skin prickle in a way it has never done before. My pussy clenches with a need I’m not certain I can control. I shouldn’t want this, yet the idea of being fucked by him makes my body spark to life, a dark, desperate need I’m not even going to try and pick apart.
“One word,” he murmurs, stopping at my panties. “No.”
So simple, yet my mouth refuses to speak it.
I’m panting now, deep desperate breaths making my entire body rise and fall as I try to get control of my mind once more. Come on, Ellie, you’re stronger than this. It doesn’t matter how much I tell myself that, I’m overcome with the harsh reality that I want it. I know I want it. He knows I want it. And it doesn’t matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, my brain is going to win this war.
“Last chance,” he growls, his accent thick and divine.
I don’t speak.
His fingers keep sliding up until they run over my damp panties. A satisfied growl leaves his lips as he hooks a finger in the soft fabric and pulls them aside, exposing my pussy. Our eyes lock as he glides his finger through, coating his finger in slick arousal. I gasp, pleasure already pressing against the surface, a need I am struggling to hold back. When that finger glides over my clit, I jerk and all my control is lost.
He traces small, light circles around my clit, forcing an ache that has me on edge. I push my hips towards him, silently begging for more, and more he delivers. One finger slides inside me while his thumb continues to rub over me, round and round, until I can’t fight the orgasm that boldly rushes to the surface. Gasping, my body jerks and I fall down onto my hands, gyrating my hips and fucking his hand with not a single ounce of shame.
“Filthy girl,” he growls, turning his face so we’re only inches apart.
I want to kiss him, but I will never let myself go to that level.
Kissing, that’s a whole other ball game.
I can justify fucking, I cannot justify putting my lips against his and experiencing him in that way.
It’s too much.
He’s too much.
Once I have fucked his hand to the point I’ve dragged two orgasms from my body, do I let him pull away. The bed is coated in slick blood, and I know we should deal with his hand, but he’s not thinking of that right now, and when he pushes up, like a predator rising from the ashes, I forget all about it. His muscled body tenses and moves as he sits in front of me, his cock standing on high alert in his pants.
