Little Lamb

11 ❦ helpless dumb lamb

༺❦༻

When I finally stood before him, Sylvester reached out, his hand gripping my waist. Without a word, he guided me down onto his lap, his touch making my skin crawl. I perched stiffly on the edge of his knee, desperate to create any distance between us. But he wasn't going to let me have that.

"Relax," Sylvester said smoothly. His other hand rested lightly on my thigh, his fingers brushing idly against the fabric of my pants. "You're too tense, Lola. I'm not going to hurt you unless you give me a reason to."

I forced myself to speak. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he replied, his fingers beginning to trace slow patterns on my leg.

Sylvester leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You see, Lola, I don't need to use force to make people listen to me. Sometimes, all it takes is a little charm and an understanding of what they truly want."

I didn't answer, my lips pressing into a tight line as I stared at the table in front of us.

"What do you think your stepfather would do. If he knew you were here, sitting on my lap like this? So compliant, so obedient."

The words dug into me, sharp and humiliating. Anger bubbled under my skin, but I swallowed it down, refusing to give him the reaction he clearly wanted.

He chuckled, as if he could feel my restraint cracking. "You're stronger than I thought. But strength alone won't save you here, my dear. Do you know what will?"

I turned my head slightly. "What?"

"Adaptability," he said simply, his lips curving into a smirk. "The ability to play the game, to bend without breaking. That's what keeps people alive in this world."

"I'm not playing any games with you," I snapped, the sharpness in my voice surprising even me.

Sylvester's smirk deepened, as if my resistance only entertained him further. "Oh, but you are, sweetheart. You've been playing since the moment you walked into this room. The question is whether you're playing to win or just survive."

My frown deepened, disgusted by his smug tone and the control he wielded so effortlessly. This wasn't what I wanted. It felt wrong. Every part of me screamed to run, to escape his hold, but there was nowhere to go. Fear gripped me like a vice, yet despite myself, I felt my body betray me, my skin reacting to his warmth, his hand on my waist, a sickening conflict between instinct and terror.

I tried to speak calmly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moss. I don't want this. Please let go of me."

Sylvester's smile faded, hisis grip on me tightened, his fingers digging into my waist. "Sweetheart. Have you forgotten where you are? Just be quiet. Do as I say, or things will take a turn."

"I don't care. Let go of me!" I exclaimed squirming in his grasp, trying to pull away.

Sylvester grabbed me by the arms and pushed me back onto his lap, pinning me tightly against his chest. His breath was hot against my ear as he spoke. "You're a slow learner, Lola. But don't worry. I'm patient."

My heart pounded as I fought against the rising panic. "Stop this!"

Sylvester laughed, the sound low and cruel. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" Sylvester's mouth twitched in amusement. Relax, sweetheart. It's just you and me."

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from my lungs. A tear slid down my cheek, hot and unbidden. No one would save me. I was alone, a captive. I was nothing. I had to obey.