Perfection - Kitty Thomas Page 0,51

of my collar to remind me that he is not Sebastian to me. He isn't even Sir anymore.

“I...” I look to Morgan as if he can save me.

“Say it,” Morgan says, a greedy voyeurism in his eyes. “I want to hear you say it.”

I turn back to Sebastian, unable to look at Morgan when I say the word, even though I know he's heard me when I thought Sebastian and I were alone. “No, Master,” I whisper.

“I'm never going to be done with you, cupcake. You're moving in. Here, with me and my brother. We're going to share you.” His tone is completely nonchalant. As if this is a normal thing to say.

I look back and forth between the two men, for the first time seeing the resemblance in their features. I saw the similarity in their build and hair color the day I met Morgan. It was why I was so sure he was my blackmailer until he spoke.

“You can't be brothers. You don't have the same last name.” I must sound like such an idiot, or like a child trying to figure out whodunit in her first Nancy Drew mystery.

“This might shock you, cupcake, but many people use aliases. A lot of people want to hide their family name when there's too much money behind it that might draw unwanted attention.”

I finally look around at my surroundings. We're in a huge modern penthouse, with giant floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The view is gorgeous, the city lights twinkling in the distance.

Morgan moves closer and presses a kiss against my throat, his hand slipping underneath the gray leotard to stroke my breast. “Be calm, little rabbit. We won't hurt you... much.” He pinches my nipple.

The arousal that fled in the face of my fears over what Sebastian might do with me has sparked back to life at this man's touch. I moan. I can't help myself. I don't want to think about what this says about me.

“He's been hogging you for too long,” Morgan says.

“Oh, shut up, you got to touch her, too.” Sebastian sounds exasperated.

“Not nearly enough,” he murmurs as he kisses a trail over my collarbone.

My body goes rigid. Morgan touched me? Does he mean outside of rehearsal? I close my eyes, thinking about all the things that have happened between me and Sebastian in the opera house. All the times he's touched me in different ways. Were some of those times Morgan?

“I fed you the cupcake,” he whispers in my ear in answer to my unspoken question. “That was my finger you sucked the frosting off of. But Bastian made it. He's always been better in the kitchen.”

I feel so aroused right now but also so betrayed. The tears come again, and I wrench free of Morgan's grasp. I back away from the two of them. I think back to all the things that happened in the theater, trying to reconfigure my memories to account for two men instead of one.

“W-which times was it you?” I ask Morgan. I can't keep my voice from shaking.

I know all the dancing was Sebastian. I know all the orders came from Sebastian's lips.

“I stroked you that first day on the mattress,” Morgan says. “Bastian and I took turns getting you off. And I waxed you that day on the stage after your punishment.”

“Who fucked me?” I blurt out.

“That was me,” Sebastian says. “Morgan hasn't had that pleasure yet.”

“Yet?!” I shriek, hysterical. “Fuck yet! You're both insane.”

They advance on me, and I back away until I'm pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I look behind me at what would be a precarious drop if we were outside. Still, the height makes me dizzy, and I have to shut my eyes for a moment to steady myself.

“I believe we had an agreement,” Sebastian says. “The small matter of the price of my silence.”

“OUR silence,” Morgan says, happy to insert himself into all my memories after the fact.

I look back and forth between the two of them. “You'd really turn me in? After everything?” I'm crying again. I just can't fucking stop crying. Sebastian just got through telling me tonight that I knew he wasn't going to report me after our first few meetings. Did I? If that's so, why are they making the threat now?

Both men just stare at me, and I have no idea what their stony expressions mean. They won't tell the police. They won't. They get off on this too much. The way they've used me, fucked with me,