Page 13 of Dollhouse

"Nothing, you already know my hard limits. I danced, and they left."

"That's it?"

"That's it." They have stolen a piece of my soul with the way they looked at me, but she didn't need to know that.

"Go to work. It's Friday night, and you know how much money you can make tonight." She has a point. Weekends are the busiest, and I always make the most on weekends. Yes, the club’s still popular during the week, but weekends brought in much more money. I've worked every night so far this week, and I'm exhausted. My sleep schedule is more fucked up than usual, and I could desperately use a day off, but I could also use the money. It doesn't take me long to decide what to do. "You're right. I'll go for a couple of hours and take the weekend off.” Cassie nods, taking the remote, and switches it to Netflix to playGilmore Girls.

* * *

It'sthree in the morning, and I have been going nonstop ever since I started my shift. I've been spending my time between dancing on stage and in the VIP rooms. It seems to be guys night out because I've danced for several groups of men, something I've never done up until Monday when I danced for the three men with full face masks that looked at me like I was their next meal. Fuck. I can still feel the flutters in my stomach when I locked eyes with each of them.

I've just finished dancing for a bachelor party and am walking out of the room when Cecelia waves me down and hurriedly approaches me. "You're requested in room six. Go, and then take a break." A break. I love the sound of that. My feet ached, and I desperately needed to sit and chug at least a gallon of water.

As usual, Bobby was standing outside of VIP room six and greeted me with a smile and a quick "How are you doing tonight?" to which I returned the smile and said, "Good." Before entering the room, I adjust my mask to ensure it covers part of my face and ruffle my bangs.

The music blasted when I walked inside of the dim room. Each room had controls on the end table near the couch to allow clients to play whatever song they wanted and control the room's lights. The room could be as bright or as dark as each client wished.

This room has been darker than most of the rooms I've had tonight. The stage glows red, and right in front of the stage, I find my client sitting in a chair with his back toward me. But instantly I recognize the hairstyle. Tonight, his dirty blond hair looks something like a low man bun, and I know it’s him before I even step on the stage and face him.

The most intense hazel eyes I've ever seen stare back at me, his face covered by the white mask, same as it was on Monday. My eyes do a quick scan of the room, only to find that we are alone. His friends aren’t here this time.

He’s close, too close, yet it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. The last time he was here, he sat across the room on the couch beside his friends. Now he's alone and in my personal space—sitting right in front of the stage.

I grab the pole and wrap myself around it, our eyes locking with each other like magnets being drawn together.

Elbows resting on his knees, I take in his appearance just as his hazel eyes dance in mischief. He isn’t wearing the suit that he'd worn last time. Tonight, he's dressed in all black. His jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket, and boots. All black. The only thing that stands out is his white mask that nearly glows in the dim room.

I dance while he watches me closely, his eyes never once straying from me. I've never wanted to remove a client's mask more than I do right now. I want to see the man behind the mask that has awakened my soul, whose eyes have taken control over my dreams all week long.

How is it that I feel this way about a stranger? I don't know him from Adam, yet I'm drawn to him more than I've ever been drawn to anyone before. I tell myself it's the mystery about him. His aura screams danger, and that both excites and terrifies me all the same.

God, what's wrong with me? He's a stranger. He could be utterly unattractive under that mask, but I have a feeling that's not the case with him. Something tells me that he'll be as good-looking as I imagine.

Hazel Eyes doesn't say anything, nor does he move. Not at first anyway. He sits there simply watching me, but each time I steal glances at him, I see the way his hungry gaze is following me around the stage.

I drop to all fours, giving him the perfect view of my ass that is covered only by the fishnet tights that go all the way up underneath my breasts. The black thong I'm wearing is irrelevant, and when I spread my knees further apart, I know he can see me. See all of me.

With a low smirk, I look over my shoulder at him, gasping when I see his position. He's leaned back in the chair with his knees spread wide and his massive cock in his hand.

What. The. Fuck. His cock is in his hand. I repeat, his cock is in his hand! He’s busy cupping his balls with one hand while the other is thrusting up and down his shaft, and I'm entirely aware that I'm drooling and eyeing it like it's a science experiment.

Good god, that thing is huge.

My eyes have adjusted well enough to the dimness of the room that I can see every vein in his angry-looking cock. My mouth salivates at the delicious sight. His grip looks painfully tight as he pumps the massive piece of meat from thick root to tip, my lips parting involuntarily when a piece of metal in the tip of his cock catches my eye. This fucker has his dick pierced! Looks painful, but very fucking sexy. I wonder what it would feel like to have that metal bar dragging along the soft tissues of my insides or how it would feel hitting the back of my throat.

Slowly, I crawl to the edge of the stage, lean back on my elbows, and spread my legs wide to give him a pleasant view. I can feel my panties shift, and I know that he can see my bare pussy. This is not something I'd normally ever do, but I have a whole new level of confidence around him.

His eyes rake over my body, feeding the already burning flame within my core. His breathing is heavy and ragged as he jerks himself quicker. My tongue darts out to lick my lips, his hazel eyes following the movement. I am so fucking turned on right now and can already feel my wetness dampening my thin panties, knowing he'd likely be able to see my exposed parts glisten, but I don't care. For one night only, I'm stepping out of my comfort zone.

His masculine groans are feeding my hunger. His left hand squeezes his balls, his right using the beads of cum as lubricant to wet his shaft. I bet he'd taste like salt and silk underneath my tongue.

With a loud groan, he shoots thick cum out of his engorged purple head; the white delicacy covers his hand. I resist the urge to lick him clean and suck him dry. My throat's aching for a taste of him. I watch transfixed as he brings a cum-coated finger to his lips and sucks it clean.

Holy, sweet mother Mary. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

He uses a dry washcloth from the bar to clean himself up, then shoves his still semi-erect cock back into his pants. He doesn't say a single word to me, even as we end up in a stare-off, neither of us blinking while I wait for him to speak, wishing to hear his voice.

I'm too afraid to blink thinking he might vanish, and none of it would've been real. And I want him to be real. This is the first time I've ever felt truly alive, and I want to hold on to this feeling for as long as possible.

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