Page 12 of Dollhouse

They sit in silence, their eyes following my every move and never once straying. With shaky legs and sweaty palms, I walk toward the stage just as the music begins. One of them must've turned it on, and I don't bother looking back to see which one is responsible for the music choice. I inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming my nerves. I've done this plenty of times over the last few months, yet standing in the presence of these three, I feel more nervous than I've ever been. Why? They're no different than any other man I've danced for.

That's a lie, and I know it. I knew they were different the moment our eyes connected. They are nothing like the men who've come here to watch me in the past. But I'm not going to let them see how much they affect me. No man will ever intimidate me again, and it's time I remember who the fuck I am and stop acting like a cowering child.

I am Tate fucking Dawson, and no man defines me or intimidates me. I have all the control over myself and my feelings.

I give myself a mental pat on the back for the internal pep talk.

With a slow smirk spreading across my lips, I straighten my posture and step onto the stage. “Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Deadman plays loudly as I grab the pole with my right hand, wrap my leg around it, and spin myself around, throwing my head back as I swing.

My body moves perfectly with the song as I give them the show they came here to see. Sliding down the pole, I land on my knees. I lean back toward my heels and throw my head back, running my hands down my body painfully slow. I could feel their intense eyes on me, and suddenly my body ignites, and I feel like a powerful fucking goddess as they devour and undress me with hungry eyes.

Their eyes warm my skin, and I want them to watch me for much longer than their allotted time.

Something sparked within me just from looking in their eyes when I entered the room. I could feel their inner darkness; it radiated off of them.

These men are not good. They are not the type that you'd bring home to meet your parents. No, these are the type of men that your parents warned you to stay far away from. They’ll take whatever they want, whenever they want, without taking no for an answer; and they're in my room.

Of all the dancers available, they chose me. Why? That was the burning question.

I dance around the stage provocatively for song after song, losing myself in the music and losing track of time.

I feel so alive. I haven’t felt this alive in months. So, why do I feel that way now? Why do I feel free and fucking alive because of them?

I lay on my back, high on euphoria, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my eyes snapping toward the now-empty couch.

They're gone, and I'm alone in the silence of the room.

I was so lost in dancing that I didn't realize the music had stopped, and the three men had already left. They didn't say anything; they only watched for who knows how long, then they left.

They set my soul on fire, then left me alone to burn in the flames.

With a smile on my face and a rapidly beating heart, I exit the room and go on with my night.

Dance after dance, client after client, I finish my night off, happy, and with newfound confidence.

And that night, I go to sleep thinking about the three guys with beautiful eyes that lit fire to my soul.

It's Friday, and all week I've been dreaming of those three men.

I don't know what it was about them, but every night that I close my eyes, I see their eyes staring back at me, and I'm instantly reminded of the way I felt when they were in the room with me, their eyes trained solely on me. God, I'm like an obsessive teenage girl. It's ridiculous.

I'm beginning to think I need to get laid. That's got to be the reason why I can't stop thinking about them. It's my hormones that are speaking to me. Quite some time has passed since a man has touched me, so it's normal to get horny and have wet dreams... that's got to be the reason.

I'm lying on the couch, flipping through the channels aimlessly when Cassie comes in carrying a plate of what appears to be cookies, but knowing her, it's probably some vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, low-carb, low-calorie version of a cookie that will taste like dirt. She holds the plate out toward me, and I shake my head, sneaking a peek at it. "If they're sugar-free, I don't want them," I deadpan. She giggles and shoves the plate toward me again.

"Try them. I've made a new recipe." With a roll of my eyes, I hesitantly take one of the still warm cookies from the plate and bite into it. There's a warm gooey chocolate explosion in my mouth from the first bite, and I welcome it, moaning at the deliciousness. After the week I've had, now wasn't the time to cut carbs. Not that there's anything wrong with those who diet or have special restrictions, but I need to be in a sugar coma.

I take another cookie from the plate and groan in relief when the caramel and chocolate meet my tastebuds. "These are your best ones yet."

Cassie gives herself a proud pat on the back and lays down opposite of me on the couch. I shift to allow her space, putting my hands behind my head. "Are you working tonight?" she asks while setting the plate of cookies on her stomach and shoveling them into her mouth.

"I'm not sure. I should, but I also really want to stay home and be a lazy fuck."

"Translation, you want to stay home and mope around because of those hot guys you were with on Monday night." My eyes shoot toward her and my brows pull together.

"First, I'm not moping. And two, I don't know that they're hot. In case you've forgotten, everyone wears a mask."

Cassie rolls her eyes and leans up on her elbows. "I heard a few of the other dancers talking about the group of mystery giants in the white masks. They said that they requested you, so I'm guessing they're the reason for your behavior. What happened in the room?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes.

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