I don't know what to say to this. I don't know what to feel. So I just stare at him.
“You belong to both of us now,” Sebastian says. “Morgan's initials will be added to your collar, and you will call us both Master from now on. You will obey both of us. That’s the price of our silence.”
“How long?” I ask, an echo of that first night. But I know before he says it. Still... some perverse part of me needs to hear their intention spoken aloud.
“Forever,” Sebastian says.
I look to Morgan, whose bright green eyes are so intense I have to look away again. I look back to Sebastian, and then back to Morgan, unsure which man is more dangerous, which is more safe. Who should I appeal to?
“Please...” I don't know why I'm begging. I don't know what I'm begging for, but suddenly I’m one hundred percent sure that it doesn't matter what my body wants right now... I can't do this.
I can't be their slave. They can't take everything from me and expect me to smile pretty and take their cocks like a good girl. I crumple to the ground, my legs no longer willing to support me.
I kneel on the hardwood floor, sobbing. “Please... please please...” I beg. “Please just let me go.” Another part of me is screaming no I want to stay. But what difference do my conflicting desires make if I don't want them to send me to prison?
Someone is sitting on the ground beside me, pulling me into his arms.
“Shhh, little rabbit,” Morgan says. He's petting my hair. “I think we should give her some space to process things. Let her go home... just for a few nights.”
I look up, my vision blurred from my tears, to see Sebastian is considering this. They know I'm not going to report them. They have more power. They have the better card to play. The justice system won't absolve me because of their blackmail. Their crimes aren't as high as premeditated murder, and they have enough money and power to buy their freedom from anything anyway.
“Very well,” Sebastian finally says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I'll take you home. You can have a few more nights in your own bed. Are you going to be able to dance tomorrow or do we need to use the understudy?”
Oh yeah. I'm dancing with him. How can I dance with him? But I nod my head quickly. “Don't call the understudy. Please, I can dance.” I just got this role; I can't lose it now.
“We'll see,” Sebastian says, skeptical.
I pull out of Morgan's arms and crawl the few feet over to Sebastian. “Please, Master, I want to dance.” He absently strokes my hair.
“Get up, I'll take you home.”
I struggle to stand, and Sebastian leads me out of the penthouse, to the service elevator, back to his car. We are silent on the drive. When he pulls up in the circular driveway in front of my house, he finally speaks.
“You belong to us. We won't be moved. Neither of us. So don't think you can play us against one another. Take this time to make peace with your fate.”
I only nod, willing the tears not to start up again. I take my ballet bag and get out of the car without a backward glance.
Once safely locked inside my house, I slide to the floor and sob. By the time I finally drag myself to bed, I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. I masturbate five times, because it's what I do when I have insomnia.
I try not to think about anything in particular. It's just for comfort. But even I don't believe 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.
Fifteen
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.
