I stick my earbuds in and play the song I’ve chosen on my phone as I stretch, imagining one of the routines I came up with in New York. It was a crowd favorite. Not one of my most technical, but definitely one of my most sensual.
When I’m the last person left in the changing room, I slip on the mask and check myself in the mirror. The outfit is doing its job. My cleavage is spilling out of the tightly bound crisscross top, my ass exposed in the backless black Sorte shorts. I’ve pinned my hair into a tight bun and the light pink wig hides it, brushing my shoulders. With the mask covering my cheeks and bright red lips, there’s no way Killian will recognize me.
This is my onstage persona Freya. I chose the stage name after the Norse Goddess associated with love and freedom and she moves, walks and talks much differently than Dr. Sam. I close my eyes and get into character.
When the soldier returns to get me, he does a double take, his eyes falling to my now-exposed body. A low whistle comes from him as he stares at my tits. “Last but not least, sweetheart.” He holds his hand out to indicate I should exit. “I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you’re going to need it. Just head to the elevator, main deck.”
I step past him, careful not to slip on his drool, pull my shoulders back and get in the elevator. While climbing the steps to the stage, I add a seductive sway to my hips, then I lock eyes with Killian.
He and Sully are sitting on a black leather sofa in front of the stage, paperwork strewn between them. Killian has his elbow perched on the arm of the sofa, his cheek resting on his fist. He looks bored. But when he sees me, he sits up slowly.
So far so good. I have his attention.
I smile as the song starts playing, the beat hitting my body like adrenaline, and I press my backside against the pole, pushing my chest out and wrapping my right hand around the pole above my head. Then I arch my back like a cat, spin and give him a nice view of my bare ass before I kick my leg high in a twirling spin and slide to the floor in a split.
I gracefully roll onto my stomach, perform a few undulating floor moves to the beat before I rise to my knees. Sliding to the edge of the stage, I make eye contact with Killian. Sully is leaning into him, talking, but Killian’s eyes are glued to me, taking in everything my body is doing. That gives me an idea. But for now, I do a few head circles, bite my lip and seductively make my way back to the pole.
On beat, I pull myself up into a high kick and then spread my legs in a scissor sit. Slowly, with perfect control, I begin to spin. Matching the music’s pace, my flow is impeccable. I mix in sharp staccato accents as I hold the trick poses and showcase the beauty of the shape before spinning into one pose after another. Thank God for muscle memory. I’m breathless and I feel like I’m flying. My arms are trembling a bit from nerves and lack of practice but the adrenaline and high of dancing is keeping me going.
When the chorus hits, I tilt my hips back and invert, hanging upside down in a Spider Man. Then slowing to hold a Bow and Arrow, I smile before my legs flip around and I’m spinning into Pegasus. I forgot how much fun this is.
The only thing I can feel is the burn of my muscles and the euphoria of my body moving with the music. It’s an escape. A reprieve. But I know I only have about a minute left. I need to make my final move, so I transition back to the ground.
Kicking my legs over the edge of the stage, I slide down slowly as the beat pauses, until I’m on my knees in front of the two men. I lean back on my palms, arching my back, spreading my knees to give them a peek at the tiny scrap of material barely covering my waxed center. Then I flip forward and begin to crawl, my hips swaying, my tits hanging heavy and my eyes locked on Killian.
“Holy fuck,” Sully barks.
I ignore him and continue until I’m in front of Killian. He’s got one forearm stretched across the back of the couch, the other draped over the couch arm. The pose is casual, but the predatory look in his eyes, and the large bulge in the front of his slacks is not.
My lips stretch in a slow, seductive smile as I rest a palm on each of his knees and slide my body between his legs. I push forward, my mouth skimming the material of his pants straining against his erection so closely, I know he can feel my hot breath.
And this is when I make my mistake. When I raise my head our eyes meet, and he sees me. Really sees me. The recognition flares in his gaze. His jaw locks.
“Sully, feck off,” he growls.
Sully grunts as he pushes himself up. “Just make sure you hire this one after you’ve had your fun.” He chuckles as he gives me one more appreciative glance.
I keep my gaze locked on Killian as I sit back until my bare ass hits my heels. My palms rest on my thighs. My chest is rising and falling rapidly from the exertion and now the fear of what he’ll do. I blew it. But I keep my chin up and my back straight.
His full mouth tips up at the corners, but his eyes are a bright green furious fire. “Take off the mask.”
As much as I want to look away, I don’t as I remove the mask and toss it to the side.
His gaze flicks over my face, his fists clenching. “Now the wig.”
My stomach drops and I feel the heat crawling up my neck. He’s stripping me bare of my onstage persona, and it’s more unsettling than being physically naked in front of him. I close my eyes and remove the wig, the vulnerability threatening to break me. I manage to swallow the urge to flee and open my eyes to meet his once again. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s still sitting in the same position, still sporting a hard on.
His nostrils flare briefly, and his voice is an unmistakable gruff command. “Take your hair down.”
I could refuse. I could walk out. And I probably should, but I need this too much. This time I hold eye contact as I release my hair from the tight bun and let it tumble past my shoulders. A tiny spark of anger ignites in my chest. I promised myself I’d never let another man control me. Yet here I am, obeying this asshole’s every command. I hold onto the anger for courage. It’s more powerful than the humiliation.
His gaze roams over me and he still doesn’t move, but something flares in his eyes as he whispers, “Now continue.”
“What?” The word leaves me on a breath.
One eyebrow rises. “You went through a lot of trouble to sneak into this audition today. So, I’m givin’ you the chance to continue.”
“My song is over,” I say lamely.
