Perfection by Kitty Thomas
Publication date: April 8th, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
Everyone thought I was married to the perfect man. But if Conall Walsh was perfect, I wouldn't have killed him.
I thought I got away with it until I received an anonymous note at the ballet company I dance for:
You were a very bad girl. If you don't want me to report what I know about last night, meet me at the old opera house after rehearsal. I will tell you the price of my silence when you arrive. If you speak of this or bring anyone with you... no deal.
But his price isn't money. It's me.
THIS IS A STANDALONE contemporary dark romance.
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Excerpt
"Please what?" he asks, his voice hard again. And I can feel his distance from me. He's too far away for me to touch even if I reached out. And I want to reach out. I want to beg for him. I want to crawl.
"Sir, please... please... don't stop. Please."
I'm still holding onto the barre. My arms are aching, but I can't bring myself to break the position he ordered me into. Mercifully, he takes that hand in his, and pulls me to stand. Then he leads me away somewhere. Off the stage... backstage... I don't know where we're going, but I don't protest.
When we reach the bathroom backstage, I know that's where we are. I feel the tile floor through my soft ballet shoes. I hear the water go on in the shower. A zipper. Clothing hitting the floor. Then he's stripping me. First the shoes, then the leotard and tights. But the blindfold remains in place. The glass door slides open, and he pulls me into the enveloping wet warmth with him.
I know he's seen me naked before on the screen, but realizing his closeness, feeling the hard naked length of his body pressed against mine is another thing. He's so tall and strong. So much stronger than me. Suddenly being in this confined space with water pouring down on me, naked with a stranger--with my blackmailer--jars me out of his seductive spell.
He could rape me. He could fucking drown me. He could tilt me back and hold his hand over my mouth and just let the water take me. I panic, and then tears come. I'm so isolated from the rest of the world, from anyone who could help or hear me. Suddenly being this vulnerable with this man I don't know scares me in a way I haven't been scared since the note in my locker.
"Shhhh," he says. "Shhh. You're safe." He pulls me into his arms, which should feel more confining, more terrifying, but I can feel his steady heartbeat against my skin, and he's stroking my back in the most delightfully soothing way. I shouldn't melt into him like I do. I shouldn't feel this sense of trust flow out of me and into him. Especially not after Conall. This is a dangerous man. This is not a romantic comedy. This is something dark and disturbing and wrong.
But my brain can't process that reality anymore because he's being so gentle. My arms go around him, clinging to him, my head pressed against his chest, sighing like a contented house cat as he strokes the back of my neck.
"I think that's enough for tonight," he says.
I want to say no. He can't leave me wanting. Even as he says these words, the desire comes flooding back, overriding all doubts and fears. I grip him harder, as if I can stop him from pulling away.
His mouth grazes my ear. "Do you want more?"
"Yes, Sir." I am nothing but adrenaline. Fear and desire blending together until I don't know where one thing ends and the other begins. But I need him to keep touching me.
"Turn around and put your hands on the wall." He doesn't say it in the same hard way as usual. And it doesn't come out in a growl. The command is soft, calm.
And suddenly I am soft, calm.
I do as he says, and a few moments later he's washing me, lathering my body, the relaxing scent of lavender permeating the space.
"I'm going to remove the blindfold. Stay facing the wall, and keep your eyes closed. I really don't want to punish you right now. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir." It's barely more than a whisper. But he hears me.
He removes the fabric from my eyes, which has miraculously mostly remained dry, since my face wasn't in the water. Then he releases my hair from the bun. He runs his fingers through it. He shampoos my hair and washes my body, and I stand there, obeying him--my eyes closed, turned toward the shower wall, my hands flat against the tile.
Why the hell am I doing this?
"Sir, please... please... don't stop. Please."
I'm still holding onto the barre. My arms are aching, but I can't bring myself to break the position he ordered me into. Mercifully, he takes that hand in his, and pulls me to stand. Then he leads me away somewhere. Off the stage... backstage... I don't know where we're going, but I don't protest.
When we reach the bathroom backstage, I know that's where we are. I feel the tile floor through my soft ballet shoes. I hear the water go on in the shower. A zipper. Clothing hitting the floor. Then he's stripping me. First the shoes, then the leotard and tights. But the blindfold remains in place. The glass door slides open, and he pulls me into the enveloping wet warmth with him.
I know he's seen me naked before on the screen, but realizing his closeness, feeling the hard naked length of his body pressed against mine is another thing. He's so tall and strong. So much stronger than me. Suddenly being in this confined space with water pouring down on me, naked with a stranger--with my blackmailer--jars me out of his seductive spell.
He could rape me. He could fucking drown me. He could tilt me back and hold his hand over my mouth and just let the water take me. I panic, and then tears come. I'm so isolated from the rest of the world, from anyone who could help or hear me. Suddenly being this vulnerable with this man I don't know scares me in a way I haven't been scared since the note in my locker.
"Shhhh," he says. "Shhh. You're safe." He pulls me into his arms, which should feel more confining, more terrifying, but I can feel his steady heartbeat against my skin, and he's stroking my back in the most delightfully soothing way. I shouldn't melt into him like I do. I shouldn't feel this sense of trust flow out of me and into him. Especially not after Conall. This is a dangerous man. This is not a romantic comedy. This is something dark and disturbing and wrong.
But my brain can't process that reality anymore because he's being so gentle. My arms go around him, clinging to him, my head pressed against his chest, sighing like a contented house cat as he strokes the back of my neck.
"I think that's enough for tonight," he says.
I want to say no. He can't leave me wanting. Even as he says these words, the desire comes flooding back, overriding all doubts and fears. I grip him harder, as if I can stop him from pulling away.
His mouth grazes my ear. "Do you want more?"
"Yes, Sir." I am nothing but adrenaline. Fear and desire blending together until I don't know where one thing ends and the other begins. But I need him to keep touching me.
"Turn around and put your hands on the wall." He doesn't say it in the same hard way as usual. And it doesn't come out in a growl. The command is soft, calm.
And suddenly I am soft, calm.
I do as he says, and a few moments later he's washing me, lathering my body, the relaxing scent of lavender permeating the space.
"I'm going to remove the blindfold. Stay facing the wall, and keep your eyes closed. I really don't want to punish you right now. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir." It's barely more than a whisper. But he hears me.
He removes the fabric from my eyes, which has miraculously mostly remained dry, since my face wasn't in the water. Then he releases my hair from the bun. He runs his fingers through it. He shampoos my hair and washes my body, and I stand there, obeying him--my eyes closed, turned toward the shower wall, my hands flat against the tile.
Why the hell am I doing this?
About the Author:
KITTY THOMAS writes dark stories that play with power and have unconventional HEAs. She began publishing in early 2010 with her bestselling COMFORT FOOD and is considered one of the original authors of the dark romance subgenre.
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