Casey's Choice Page 6

  “The plug?” Max’s voice held a smile.

  “Does it hurt?” She watched the woman greet a friend, the two of them laughing. The woman’s small, tight buttocks were perfect, toned and gorgeous, and the jewel sparkled each time she turned or moved her legs. She didn’t seem to be in any kind of pain.

  “That one? I doubt it. That kind’s meant for decoration and enjoyment. They can hurt, of course, if they’re large enough or shaped differently. Most people use them for pleasure, although they can be part of an effective punishment.”

  She shuddered. Hearing just hearing the word ‘punishment’ made little shivers of arousal drive through her entire body. She imagined lying over Max’s lap, feeling his hand touch her ass, explore the forbidden entrance, and then, maybe, he’d insert a pretty jeweled plug just for her. She summoned up his voice. “You’ll wear this until I say otherwise. If you argue, I’ll spank you harder.” Pressing her thighs together, she made a little breathy noise in her throat.

  Max examined her face. “Maybe you should add that to your mental list.” He had a smirk on his face. “The plug… and the punishment.”

  “Maybe.” She met his eyes, wondering if he could see the fantasy playing out in hers. His lips looked soft and again, and she wanted to feel them on her neck in addition to feeling his fingers elsewhere on her body, confident and sure. She flushed and looked away. “Can we go over there?” She pointed to a cross in the corner.

  “Of course.”

  It was odd how natural it seemed now, after such a short time in the club, but Casey felt comfortable around these people. Perhaps the pure confidence and joy the participants exuded gave her the same confidence, or maybe it was the kinky soul in her that was only now being born, but she liked seeing this all, hearing it. Possibly it was also Max’s arm, warm beneath hers, strong with muscle like Hunter’s, although more compact. Max reminded her of a jungle cat: stealthy, smooth, and dangerous. His smile was deadly; she had a feeling his palm would be even more so.

  But she was curious to find out who Selene was, and what Hunter was doing with her, so after a few minutes, she turned to Max. “I’d like to explore a little on my own. All right?”

  “Yes, of course.” He nodded and kissed her cheek. “Find me, please, if you need anything.” He crossed his arms and watched her leave, and she tried to walk in a way that would be considered sexy and provocative.

  In the kitchen, searching for sparkling water, she discovered the woman who’d winked at her in front of Alexa. She felt that she needed to say something, so she blurted out, “Thanks for before, when you made me feel not so scared. When I did my… thing.” She twirled her finger to demonstrate. “I’m C—Sofia.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.” The other girl stuck out her hand. “I had to do it last year. Agonizing! I almost walked out. But I’m so glad I stayed.” She had blond hair in two braids that just brushed her shoulders, tied with red ribbons, and the body of an athlete, all lean muscle and gorgeous toned flesh. “I met my dom here, Michael. He’s not here tonight, though.”

  “Oh.” Casey wasn’t sure if she should ask, but Abby offered. “He’s away on business. He has to travel a lot. And my job is pretty stuck here. I’m a teacher. Preschool.”

  “Ah.” Either Abby worked at some kind of millionaire’s daycare, or she had some other pocket of wealth, Casey thought, wrinkling her nose with distaste. Surely a person with a PhD in art was as ‘cool’ and ‘club-worthy’ as a person who wiped snots and delivered apple juice? She wasn’t dissing teachers. She pretty much wiped her boss’ ass on a regular basis, as well as preparing her afternoon coffee, so it’s not like she was all high and mighty. But what set Abby apart from Casey, apart from money? She tamped down her sour jealousy to pay attention to what Abby was saying.

  “It’s nice to be able to say it and not worry that someone will babble,” Abby said. “My school is conservative, where I teach. I don’t know how they’d react if they found out that a grade-school teacher is a sex sub at a high-end BDSM club.” She shuddered. “Not that they have a right to care, you know? But sometimes… they do, anyway.”

  “I don’t know what they’d say at my job.” Casey thought to the gallery where she curated. Many people in the art world were so eclectic and liberal and unique. They’d probably think it was cool, or no big deal. In fact, she could imagine Blake and his boyfriend begging her for an invitation, and she smiled, thinking about their reaction. But what did Sofia do? She wrinkled her nose. “People can be so judgmental.”

  “That’s why I love coming here. No judgment. Oh, and the awesome kink.” She laughed. “Do you want some wine?”

  “No, I had champagne before. I don’t want to mix. I’ll just get some water.”

  “So… anyone caught your eye?” Abby smiled.

  “You mean, a guy?”

  “Or a girl. Sure. There are lots of people who are available to play. Like me, for example.” She smiled at Sofia, a long smile, that lasted a beat longer than platonic. Casey averted her eyes and picked up a strawberry from a crystal platter, holding it in front of her.

  “Michael doesn’t mind?”

  “Mind? No. He encourages me to experiment.” Abby took a sip of her wine.

  “I don’t even know anyone yet. I mean, apart from Max and Hunter.” Casey blushed.

  “Hunter. Now he’s totally hot. I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

  “Have you ever… played… with him?” Casey kept her voice casual. She had no claim on him, seeing as it was her first night here at a club where people came to play with others. But still, she felt a surge of jealousy.

  “No, actually.” Abby shook her head. “I offered a few times, but he’s particular, I guess. No big deal. I’ve been with Max. He’s an expert with the crop and flogger and he makes me come so hard I see stars. Totally amazing. And then when we get home? Michael makes me come even harder. Seeing me with other guys is a complete turn-on for him. And when he sees the marks that Max leaves on my ass, he goes all caveman and drags me to bed and fucks me so good that I almost pass out. It’s delicious.”

  “So you’re okay with bruises?” Casey put the strawberry back onto the tray, figuring that finger germs were okay, considering what else people seemed to share. Then, just in case that was rude, she picked it up again and placed it on a napkin.

  “Oh, yeah. Not all the time, of course. But once in a while? A few welts and bruises from sex? It’s very satisfying.” Abby swallowed a mouthful of wine and smiled. “Very erotic. Max is indescribable. He reads your body like, God, like nobody else. It’s like he gets into your head.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “No, it’s not good. It’s necessary, if you’re going to be able to relax and enjoy it.” Abby nodded. “I know he’d never go too far.”

  “Does that happen, sometimes?” Casey opened a bottle of Perrier and poured it into a glass. She usually drank her seltzer straight out of the can, but that seemed too crass for this exotic space. Although the talk of bruises and welts—that was hardly elegant. She didn’t understand why the thought of a bruised ass made her heart beat faster, her arousal grow.

  Abby did a noncommittal head bobble. “It happens everywhere there’s BDSM, Sofia. Even here, rarely, so you be careful. I mean, it’s just part of the scene, and there’s no avoiding it. But you can minimize the risks by choosing partners carefully, ones who listen to you and don’t get carried away.”

  “That makes sense.” But she was thinking more about Abby having Max here, and then going home to a boyfriend who liked sharing. Was Hunter like that? Did he want to watch his woman have sex with another man, and then take her home to stake his claim on her body, rough and harsh? The idea was appealing from a fantasy standpoint, something to masturbate to, but she wasn’t sure if that could work for her in real life. She got too attached too fast; there was no way she could have casual sex with someone if she also had a bona fide relationship going on.

  “Well, Sofia, it was great to
meet you.” Abby picked up her glass. “I’m going to browse. Join me if you want. Michael and I are always looking for a fun girlfriend.” She winked, and Casey smiled and flushed. Then she pictured Abby in front of a class of rapt four-year-olds, reading a picture book. It was hard to reconcile the two images, but that was the beauty of it. People didn’t have to reconcile; they were allowed to enjoy more than one activity, be more than one thing. If Abby had crazy sex with lots of people, who was Casey to care? Abby could be an excellent teacher too, and it didn’t have to overlap at all.

  She sighed. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall, and freaked out. It was past one a.m., and she’d never called Echo. She gulped at the Perrier, then found her clutch by the front door on the swirled rack, and fished out her phone.

  She ducked through the double doors into the art-decked foyer while she called, and Echo’s worried voice rang into her ear. “Case! Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Say the secret word.”

  “Echo, seriously.”

  “Say it.”

  “Fine. Purple alligator fart. Okay? Are you satisfied?” She lowered her voice and glanced around the room. “I’m still here. It’s… good, actually.”

  “You didn’t get hurt or anything? Nobody is coercing you?” Echo’s voice was high.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Prove it. Send a selfie right now.”

  “God, Echo.” But she relented. She’d asked her friend to be a safety call, so the least she could do was respect the request. She lifted her phone and snapped a quick pic, careful that she was alone in the foyer. Nobody had mentioned pictures, but she was pretty sure they were forbidden.

  “There. Did you get it?”

  “Yes. Ooh la. Fancy place. Is that, like, an art museum?”

  “Pretty much, right? Not like our place, that’s for sure.”

  “Hey, don’t disrespect our place. I love the art you put up. Are you staying there?”

  “For a little bit. I’ll call again when I get home.”

  “You sound weird. Are you really okay?”

  “Yes, I really am. I swear. Thanks so much for looking out for me. I love you.”

  “You too. But next time call on time or I will notify the po-pos.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  She disconnected and held the phone in her hand for a minute. When the door opened, she was still in thought, and turned to see Hunter’s face. “Oh! It’s you. Hi. I was just, well—my friend is my safety call,” she admitted, a touch of defiance in her voice. She crossed her arms. “I had to check in.” The closer she got to the exit, the more rooted in reality she became, and the less submissive she felt.

  “Good idea.” He crossed his arms, too, and stood a few feet away from her. “Kelsie?” His eyes were sharp.

  “Um, no. She’s… in Florida. Another friend.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Florida.” He nodded, examining her.

  “So. I think maybe I’ll go home now,” Casey said, although his eyes were magnetic. “It’s been quite a night. How… do I find you, next time?”

  “We contact all of our members during the week with the new address,” Hunter said, his eyes locked onto hers.

  “I see. But I got mine from… Kelsie. So.”

  “We have your number and email.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “So you do. But just in case?”

  “It will be here again.” He smiled. “And I hope to see you. We’ll finish what we started,” he promised her. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her, but as they reached the front of the foyer, a painting caught her eye in an alcove to the left. She walked over and stopped short. “Hunter. Is this a—Picasso?” She caught her breath. “This is Le Rêve. Is this the real Le Rêve?” She grabbed his hand. “This sold in 1997 for $48.4 million dollars, Hunter! And then in 2013 for $155 million—How? Is this a replica?” Her eyebrows, she felt, must be in her hairline.

  Hunter’s face was inscrutable. “It is Le Rêve,” he said finally. “The original.”

  “But—is this yours? I know I’m not supposed to ask, but I’m asking anyway. This is incredible. This is priceless. How do you have it just here, in your house?”

  “How do you suppose this is my house?”

  “But isn’t it?” she protested. “This is your home.” And she suddenly knew, with certainty, it was.

  He bit his lip. “You like art, Sofia.” His voice was hard to read.

  “Yes, I love it.” She wasn’t even listening to what he said. “Hunter, this is another thing I’ve only seen in books and online. It’s so much more vibrant in real life. So real. Such emotion. This was his lover, you know.”

  “I know.” His voice was wry.

  “Look at her face. Her expression.”

  “It was damaged by the previous owner. I had to invest in a significant restoration.”

  “I knew it!” Her voice was triumphant. “I read that a casino owner put his arm through her arm and ripped the canvas.”

  “The original restoration was sloppily done. I had it redone.”

  She took a step back, staggered by the information. “But this is priceless. And it’s here. In your home.” She looked at the picture again. “With her breast exposed, and a penis on her head.”

  He laughed. “Not so strange, is it? Considering the company I keep?”

  “Not strange. Just—you’re out of my league, Hunter.” She shook her head, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I mean, like—significantly, way, out of the stratosphere. I can’t even afford—”

  She shook her head, not able to tell him that sometimes she and Echo bought discount veggies to save grocery money so they could afford to make a nutritious soup and still afford a night out at the club without dipping into savings. Their motto—why waste? Her salary was good, but there were college loans, retirement plans. Modest financial investments instead of frivolous trinkets. Her future was on a tight budget; self-imposed, sure, but worlds apart from how he lived.

  “Sofia. Look at me.” His voice was urgent. “Do you think that matters, here? For this?”

  She shook her head. “How could it not matter, Hunter?” Maybe there was a good reason for their membership limitations. She felt like a person sober after a long, giddy night of drunken revelry. “I have to get up early tomorrow,” she said, her voice toneless. “I do need to go, now.”

  “My driver will take you. He has the address,” said Hunter. “Come back next week, Sofia.”

  But all she could manage was a weak smile as she exited past the silent doorman to the gilt elevator.

  * * *

  The driver met her at the ground floor and ushered her to a sleek black town car. “Miss Madigan,” he said with a nod. “I will be happy to drive you home.”

  “Thank you,” said Casey, distracted. She sat back in the leather seat and rested her head, watching the traffic at night, feeling like she had floated into an alternate dimension. The lights were bright, blinking red, green. Stop or go? Yes or no?

  They passed a boarded-up restaurant pasted and repasted with signs and posters for clubs, models, shows. A Victoria’s Secret Angel model waved in the breeze, only nailed down by two corners, her ripped wings making way for a band called Drops of Sun.

  “Is the heat level correct, ma’am?” asked the driver, rolling down the privacy window.

  “Yes, fine,” assured Casey, giving him a brief smile. “Thanks.” He nodded and the window went up, and Casey retreated back into Hunter’s arms, even though she’d only been there for a moment. She remembered his lips on her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, his eyes burning into hers. The scent of his body. The way he made her think he was going to spank her, then: “Stand up.” A promise for next time.

  Next time! Giddy butterflies swirled in her gut. What if—and her mind raced ahead—what if Hunter… liked her. What if he wanted to find her during the week, to talk to her before
the next meeting? But he’d look up Sofia, find Sofia. And then it would all be over. Even if he forgave her, accepted her as the real Casey, they were too different. How could they make something work?

  It was with no small amount of confusion that she gazed out the window at the driver’s announcement: “Here we are, Miss Madigan. Shall I escort you up to your apartment?” They were in front of a luxury condo that must be the real Sofia’s address, and she noticed a valet attendant driving a black Porsche into an underground lot.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing an apologetic smile. “I forgot to tell you that I’m staying with a friend, tonight. Cat-sitting. Because she’s out of town, you know? So she’s not there, but I will be. With the cat. Two cats. Three, if you count the kitten. Oh, and there’s also a hedgehog. His name is Scalawag. But you probably don’t care about that. Can you take me to Bucktown?” She rattled off her address. “I’m so sorry for the confusion.”

  The driver nodded, turned the wheel back, and slid onto the dark streets. It was a longer drive to her place, and the neighborhood, although becoming gentrified, held pockets of older, poorer brownstones, and it was in one of these that she and Echo lived.

  To her horror, Echo leaned way out of a front window and waved when the car pulled up. The driver opened his door, and Casey was about to say, “Oh, don’t get it, I can do it myself,” when Echo greeted her with exuberance. “Case!” she yelled. “Finally.”

  Mortified, Casey hopped onto the curb, waved her hand, and screamed back, “Yes, it’s me. Sofia! I’m here! I guess you haven’t left yet for your vacation to Cabo. Did you leave food for all the animals?”

  Echo’s expression faltered, but she barely missed a beat before yelling, “My plane was delayed! Let’s have a drink before I call a cab. I got the organic vegan food, you know they love that shit!”

  The driver was already out, his hand on her door to shut it. “Do you need anything else, Miss Madigan? Walk you up?”

  “No, thanks.” Casey added. “She has such funny nicknames for me, doesn’t she? Ha. Thanks so much for the ride. Um, bye?” She gave a hesitant wave, then and rushed up the steps to unlock the front door. As she closed the entry door behind her and looked back, the limo slid away, the driver’s face impassive, lit up by an orange-halogen streetlight before he disappeared around the corner.