Casey

by Claire Marta

Singular.

  Casey’s gaze met Ivan’s dark stare. His expression gave nothing away. She wished they’d met at the club. She didn’t know how secure the place was, and he still needed to tell her the details of the dinner. She presumed they’d be left alone with enough time to explain.

  A pretty brunette led them down a corridor into the inner sanctum of the spa. Designed with Asian influences, the wide hallway looked like a passage in a Far Eastern palace. Alcoves and small tables held jade carvings, Buddhist statues, and ancient, twisted bonsai trees that were worth a fortune.

  The room they were shown to was decorated with exquisite silkscreen paintings. A Japanese landscape had been masterfully created on one wall. Soothing sounds of flutes and koto strings played through hidden speakers. Two massage tables were positioned side by side with heated stones laid out next to them.

  “Please undress,” Alice told them politely. “Your therapists will be along shortly.”

  Casey didn’t speak until she was certain they were alone. “A spa?”

  Unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Da, why not? We’re a couple, after all.”

  He continued to strip while she watched, her attention dipping to the thatch of hair that his undressing revealed. Shrugging out of the garment, his muscles rippled with the action.

  It was hard to ignore his hard-packed torso. Casey’s mouth went dry at the sight.

  Why not, indeed.

  Hands moving to the belt of his trousers, they paused on the buckle. “Strip, kiska.”

  Her fingers gripped the end of her blouse before she consciously realized it, tugging it up over her head. Damn him and his Dom voice. She couldn’t resist it.

  From the smirk he was wearing, he knew it.

  Undressing quickly, she found a towel and wrapped it around her body. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going tonight?”

  “A private get-together. I hope you like Italian.”

  Ivan knotted his towel at his hip, concealing his erection. Casey had gotten an eyeful. There was nothing small about this man.

  She didn’t know what to expect when their two Swedish massage therapists stepped into the room. Beautiful and buff, Karl and Elsa looked like superheroes who’d retired from saving the world and gone into the holistic health field. Their resemblance to Captain America and the Black Widow probably increased their demand but their magic hands were worth their weight in gold.

  Karl was trained in a wide range of techniques. Casey responded best to his deep-tissue massage, going limp as a noodle until he started hitting erogenous zones that made her swollen and needy. Elsa was getting the same kind of reaction from Ivan. There was no hiding the erection that tented his towel.

  Ivan looked across to where she lay, panting slightly while Karl worked her inner thighs. “He knows internal massage,” the Russian Dom told her. “He will finish you if you wish it.”

  Casey blushed furiously. “I can’t,” she stuttered. “My job.” What he was suggesting was titillating but illegal. Being paid for services that included a sexual act was prostitution, plain and simple.

  Ivan sighed. “Then watch and see how it is done. You two! Show her what she is missing.”

  Elsa looked at Casey and offered Karl a slow, sultry smile. Giving Ivan one last squeeze, she wiped the oil off her hands and reached for the buttons of her uniform dress top, slipping them free and peeling it off, leaving her clad in a matching bra and panties.

  Karl gripped the hem of his top, pulled it over his head, and tossed it aside, revealing broad, muscled shoulders, eight-pack abs, and a shaved, sculpted chest. Silver barbells pierced his hard, brown nipples.

  Elsa unhooked her bra and slipped it off. Her nipples were furled into tight, pink buds and adorned with silver rings. Karl caught one with his fingers and tugged, eliciting a gasp and a moan. Smiling wickedly, he hooked his fingers into his scrub pants and shoved them over his hips, revealing a cock that belonged to a porn star, complete with a Jacob’s ladder that made Elsa practically drool.

  Casey closed her gaping mouth and looked at Ivan, accusation in her eyes. He had to have known that this place offered more than spa treatments.

  The Russian didn’t deny it. Instead, he gave her a molten look, flipped off his towel, and slid off the table with his cock in his hand, fisting himself and stalking over to where she lay, hot and cold at once, fully aroused but frozen by fear.

  Sensing it, predator that he was, Ivan caught her wrist and wrapped her fingers around his erection, pushing against her palm and pumping into her hand.

  “Watch,” he ordered, nodding to the beautiful Swedes. Karl was massaging Elsa’s breasts while she played with his cock and fondled his sac. “Put her on the table. Use your tongue and fingers to make her squirt.”

  Casey watched Karl pick up Elsa like she weighed nothing and toss her onto the end of the other massage table. Spreading her knees, he rammed a finger into her cunt, then a second, and a third, pumping furiously, relentless, his arm moving with the rhythm and strength of a piston. Casey’s breath grew as ragged as Elsa’s. She watched the woman’s body arch and stiffen, poised on the verge of release. Bending down, Karl parted her folds with his tongue and teased her clit, fastening his mouth over it and bringing her to completion.

  She came with a cry, bucking and writhing against Karl’s face.

  Ivan tsked. “She did not squirt. Use your fist and make it happen.”

  Fisting?

  Casey looked at the massage therapist’s hand and wondered how in hell he was going to fit four fingers inside Elsa, let alone his hand. Karl obeyed Ivan, slicking up his hand and his partner’s opening with oil, adding fingers, and working until he managed to wedge his hand inside her.

  Curling it into a fist, he started pumping, burying his arm to the wrist in her channel.

  Ivan tightened his fingers over Casey’s and shook his head in a silent reprimand for forgetting about his needs. He jacked his hips and fucked her fingers, matching his thrusts to Karl’s.

  Elsa’s eyes went wide and rolled back in her head. A bit of drool escaped her lips to track down her face and drip from her chin. Karl caught her nipple ring and tugged it, triggering her release. Juices shot out, drenching his forearm and wetting the paper that covered the massage table.

  Casey could feel the shift in Ivan but he didn’t come. Not yet.

  “I want you to finish in her ass,” he told Karl. “She’s been a good girl. You may use lube this time.”

  This time?

  Christ on a cracker.

  Anal was challenging enough without a long row of metal piercings adorning the underside of an erection. Elsa didn’t seem to mind. Karl slicked her crack with oil, lubed up his erection, put her ankles over his shoulders, and sank his length inside her until he was balls-deep in her warmth. “Yes,” he hissed, pulling out and slamming back into her hard enough to make her squeal.

  Ivan swore beneath his breath. Casey felt his massive erection swell in her hand. He jacked into it, breath soughing between clenched teeth, nostrils flaring. Reaching for her with one hand, he squeezed her breast hard, stopping short of leaving bruises. His rhythm broke, becoming erratic. Stiffening, he grunted his release, shooting ropes of cum onto the polished bamboo floor.

  Seeing it, Karl raced to a finish, spilling himself in Elsa’s depths. Shaking himself like a stallion, he rutted against her until every last drop was spent.

  Letting go of Ivan’s softening cock, Casey dropped her hand and collapsed back on the table. Her pussy throbbed with the need for an orgasm. Its intensity bordered on painful. She was tempted to get herself off but resisted the urge. The Russian would only get a kick out of it. This was not The Secret Garden Club. Without the safety she felt there, she wasn’t about to play outside its boundaries.

  Ivan searched her expression with an assessing stare. “Her waxing now.”

  Elsa and Karl were busy cleaning themselves up and dressing. Without a word, they once more return
ed to two smiling professionals. Bustling out of the room, they vanished from sight.

  Casey lay feeling slightly stunned. Her head was spinning with how quickly the Russian’s mood could change. Not bothering to cover himself, Ivan padded across the floor to a lounger.

  A tall, slender woman stepped into the room, pushing a stainless steel cart of supplies. “Hello. My name is Jamie, and I’m your esthetician for today.” Her voice was deep and husky.

  Casey eyed the female, noting the large breasts that threatened to spill from the top of her form-fitted shirt. Did she do extras like the other staff? Was Ivan expecting more entertainment? Her mind reeled with possibilities.

  Jamie sauntered over and positioned the cart near the foot of her table. Ivan observed them from where he sat.

  Casey kept the towel wrapped tightly around herself. What the hell was she doing? Ivan had engineered all this, she was certain of that. What was he hoping to gain? Getting her so turned on she wouldn't refuse his advances? Or was there a darker motive? He knew that she was into kink, but he was deliberately testing her boundaries. Casey didn’t like that he was set on pushing her outside her comfort zone.

  Jamie seemed to sense her mood and gave her a reassuring smile. “If you could remove the towel and lie back, please.”

  Casey obeyed. Wetting her lips, she tugged the towel free and let it drape open.

  Standing beside the massage table, the other woman paused for a moment, sweeping her eyes over Casey’s nude body. She sighed softly, clearly liking what she saw.

  “I want her skin smooth as silk,” Ivan instructed, eying her crotch.

  Her hair had barely grown out from the last time she’d shaved her pussy. Not that it mattered. Long or short, waxing was still going to rip it out by the roots.

  “You know what to do.”

  Jamie didn’t take her eyes off Casey. “Yes, sir,” she rumbled, reaching for the wax. “You heard the man. Legs apart, sweetheart. I’ll be as gentle as I can or as rough as you want me to be. If you don’t know the difference, I can demonstrate.”

  Casey had undergone the torture of waxing. Pain didn’t bother her. The whole experience had been perversely enjoyable. She’d gone straight home and raided her toy drawer to finish what her esthetician had started. Knowing Ivan, he’d probably offer to have Jamie see to her every need as well.

  Jamie covered a section of her skin with wax and pressed a cloth strip into it. Letting it harden for a minute, she ripped it off, making Casey moan with pleasure and pain.

  Ivan smiled darkly at the sound.

  More warm wax was added. This time when the strip was ripped off, Jamie blew on the stinging sensitive flesh. It brought a gasp from Casey’s throat.

  When the woman straightened, the outlines of her hard puckered nipples were visible beneath her top. The growing tell-tale bulge behind the material of her skirt was something Casey hadn’t anticipated. Staring at it in shock, she realized that Jamie was more than she seemed.

  Ivan noticed the direction of her curiosity. “Have you ever been with a she-man… she-male…?”

  “Trannie,” Jamie patiently supplied.

  Ivan nodded. “A trannie before?”

  Casey shook her head. “No.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Fuck a duck. Today was not turning out as she’d expected. Casey felt like she’d fallen down a hedonist’s version of Alice’s rabbit hole.

  Ivan grinned from his seat, his erection jutting up from the cleft of his muscled thighs. “The staff here are very good.”

  What the hell was this? Tempt Casey with every sexual fantasy imaginable? See how far he could push her until she caved? How many times had he visited this place? They seemed to know him well. Was this somewhere he came when he wasn’t playing at the club?

  “I think I’ll just stick with the waxing this time,” she told Jamie, offering a polite but patently neutral smile.

  Casey gritted her teeth and winced through the rest of the session. Her facial followed. When her spa appointments were complete, Ivan swept her away for an intimate lunch in a restaurant that was usually booked three months in advance. His taking control and pampering her appealed to her submissive side, and he knew it, dammit. It was like he was testing her, seeing how she would react to what he offered and learn what she was willing to do in turn.

  He paid for their meal and took her back to his apartment to complete her transformation. A personal buyer was waiting to dress her from the skin out in clothes that Ivan selected. A team of cosmetologists did her hair, nails, and makeup to complete the look that he wanted for her, worthy to grace the cover of a fashion magazine. She only hoped that where they were going, she could sneak in a quick trip to the ladies’ room. If she didn’t get some relief soon, she might be tempted to let Ivan scratch her itch and there was no way that she could let that happen. She was ATF. He was Bratva. Their paths might cross, but their worlds were poles apart and needed to stay that way.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ivan drove them to Garda’s, an upscale Manhattan restaurant that boasted Old World elegance and four-star Italian cuisine. Handing his keys to the valet, he placed a hand on the curve of her spine and guided her to a private banquet room in the back. The Russian Dom had been incredibly tight-lipped about tonight. Casey understood why when she stepped into the midst of what looked like a UN assembly for organized crime.

  Members of the local Columbian cartel, Italian Mafia, Irish mob, Japanese Yakuza, and Russian Bratva were in attendance with their wives and companions, plus representatives from other East Coast crime families. She would love to bring every last one of them down, but the man who topped the list was Alexei Popov, her brother’s killer.

  Keeping her ears open, she accepted the cocktail that Ivan pressed into her hand and pretended to sip it, determined to remain unimpaired tonight. Unfortunately, most of the conversation was mundane, focused on the weather, local news, and politics.

  When the call came to take their seats, she found herself sitting between Popov and Ivan.

  “Caitlyn,” Alexei hummed. “You look well. Ve-ry well.”

  Casey shivered to feel his gaze traveling down her body and lingering on the swell of her breasts.

  Popov leaned forward and called down the table. “Ivan! You must bring Caitlyn to my birthday party. You will come,” he told Casey, not bothering to soften his tone or phrase it as a request. “I will have more art for my special collection, da?”

  “Yes,” she answered, knowing better than to deny him. If she was lucky, she would see or hear something that would help convict Popov and put him away for life.

  Ivan nodded and beamed a smile at his boss. “I will have her there,” he promised, lowering his voice to murmur in Casey’s ear. “We should book another spa day. Maybe next time, I can persuade you to take advantage of everything they offer, hmm? You can play with Jamie’s tits and suck his cock while I take you from behind. If you want to take both of us at the same time, I’m certain he-she can be persuaded to join in. Have you ever handled two men at once?”

  Casey felt color warm her cheeks and spill down to her chest. She never blushed but damn if she didn’t around Ivan. All the fucking time. She hated feeling out of control in real life, and his Dominant presence was so strong, she found herself wanting to drop to her knees. As it was, the memories he evoked of Karl and Elsa fucking had her shifting in her seat and fighting not to squirm.

  The next time she went out with Ivan, she’d know to wear a pantiliner. Hopefully, she’d avoid the wet spot that she was surely making on the back of her designer dress.

  Needing a distraction, Casey slipped her napkin free of its ring and spread it across her lap, casting discreet glances at their nearest neighbors and hoping like hell none of them had heard what Ivan said.

  Have you handled two men at once?

  Actually, she had, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. He already had ideas about doing a threesome with Jamie. Maybe he had a futanari fet
ish. She didn’t think that Ivan was bisexual. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but she’d never caught him looking appreciatively at a man the way that he looked at women.

  The way that he looked at her.

  He had dressed her like his own personal doll. Everything that she wore was something that he’d picked out. She couldn’t deny that the man had exquisite tastes, from the silk-and-lace lingerie to a dress that would take six months of paychecks to cover. She was in a rare position to be able to afford it independently of her job, but she had learned long ago that flaunting one’s wealth never boded well. She stayed quiet and her money kept growing, thanks to the financial advisor that Helena Braxton—Precious Pet—had recommended to her and Ben after their parents died.

  Now Ben’s inheritance was hers as well, although she’d give anything to have her brother back.

  Small talk during dinner was disappointing, nothing alluding to illegal business deals. Casey nibbled on her food, barely tasting anything that passed her lips. When it came time for dessert, the men prepared to adjourn from the room.

  A hand settled high on her thigh. The fingers squeezing the toned flesh lingered before slipping away. Casey froze. It hadn’t been Ivan touching her but his boss.

  When she glanced at the older man, his expression was bland.

  “See you later,” Ivan whispered in her ear, his lips caressing her jawline, distracting her.

  Keeping her features neutral, she watched the Bratva head rise and go to join the other men. Her flesh tingled from Alexei’s intrusive grope. Unsettling feelings churned in her stomach with the food that she had eaten.

  Before she could dissect what had happened, she was drawn into conversation by a few of the women. Casey focused on the chatter. Her hopes were that they’d let something slip. Anything useful, she could latch onto. They talked about children, charities, and soap operas on TV. Nothing to do with their husbands’ or partners’ businesses. No hits or kidnappings. They stayed on safer topics.

  Casey glanced across the room in the direction the men had taken, feeling restless and frustrated. God knew what plans and schemes they were plotting. What damning statements were being uttered. If only she’d thought to convince Ivan to wear a wire or hidden mic.