Perfection - Kitty Thomas Page 0,53

this lie. Now the fantasies have two men. My body betrays me over and over as I stroke myself to orgasm, my moan filling the darkened room.

15

For four nights, Sebastian and I dance the Firebird. Each night when he rips off the blindfold, revealing himself to me, it feels just as shocking as the first time. Each time, I flinch at his intense expression, that scar. Each time I run from him and leap across the stage. And each time he recaptures me.

The audience is addicted to us. We are a drug to them. Each night, the applause is more thunderous. On Sunday night, when Sebastian ripped the blindfold off, in the quick beat of silence after the orchestral crescendo, I heard an audible gasp in the audience. This is how transfixed they are.

I'm dancing with a man I used to stupidly fantasize about when I first became a professional dancer. Even though he didn't dance at the same company, it didn't stop my stubborn willful wishing mind. I half-believe every candle and wishing star had a second wish enfolded inside the first, that I attached Sebastian to that childish magic, and somehow he appeared. Somehow the magic worked.

Only now I don't know if I can take him. I thought he was larger-than-life before I knew him, but now even that vision seems so small.

He goes out with us after the performances, sitting beside me, holding my hand, confirming that yes, in fact we are seeing each other. The gossip about Conall fleeing the country has finally filtered down through the company.

The other principals say they didn't like him anyway. I'm suddenly ashamed that some part of them knew Conall was hurting me. Can they similarly detect the nature of my relationship with Sebastian?

In my dreams, I'm the firebird. Always trying to fly away, always being captured again by the impossible-to-escape Prince Ivan. In the dream, we are on stage, dancing while Morgan watches. Then we are fucking on the stage while Morgan watches.

I wake from this dream Monday morning, my heart thundering wildly in my chest, an undeniably strong arousal flaring to life between my legs. Even though I've seen Sebastian every night for our show, it's different in the daytime. Alien.

We are in Studio A, running one of the pas de deuxs while Morgan offers his opinion on how Sebastian could hold me differently in the lift for better lines. Sebastian agrees with this and tries again.

A few steps are changed, and we both like the tweaks to the choreography.

Other dancers are at the far end of the room practicing other parts, but I can feel their eyes on me. Do they notice the strange tension with me, Sebastian, and Morgan? Can they tell Sebastian and Morgan are related?

Both men keep a professional distance in rehearsal, neither of them touching me too long or with too much familiarity. But after lunch, Morgan pulls me into an alcove in the hallway, kissing and pawing at me. One of the dancers in the corps catches us, but Morgan doesn't pull away. The man has not an ounce of shame. I bury my head in his chest, wanting to disappear.

Great. Everyone in the company will hear about this. They think I'm dating Sebastian. They won't accept them both. In their minds, I'll be a cheater. A whore. The deeper truth that I'm the captive firebird of both men would be too far out of their experience to comprehend or accept. And maybe that's for the best because if my blackmailers go down, I go down with them.

I'm exhausted by the time I get home—physically and mentally. I just want to lie down and catch up on so much of the sleep I've lost over the past few nights. But when I go to my room, the sheets are stripped off my bed. All my personal belongings are gone.

I run to the closet to find nothing but empty hangers. There’s a crisp white envelope on the bed. I pull out the paper and unfold it to read the note in what I assume is either Sebastian or Morgan's handwriting.

My dearest firebird, your things have been moved to your newly appointed cage. Sleep on the bare mattress if you must, but Wednesday you are ours. Nine p.m. And this time, we won't be letting you go at midnight. You'll find your key on the kitchen counter.

Below the note is the address to their penthouse. There’s a challenge in these words. They want me