Page 7 of Claimed By The Russian

Suddenly I feel Kirill’s hand cloak mine and he maneuvers us around her.

“She seemed interested in wishing you a good morning.”

“She’s just jealous.”

“Of what.”

His eyes move from straight ahead, turning quickly to meet mine. “You.”

The rest of the way the casino floor parts like the Red Sea as we move swiftly to the employee room.

“Everybody out,” he calls out the moment we enter, and people scurry.

“Now,” he says, exhaling hard. “Let’s find you a uniform.”

He takes a step back and his eyes rake over me from head to toe, sending a chill up my spine and goosebumps across my skin. He looks at me the way I’d look at my favorite cupcake with sprinkles. It’s like he wants to take all of me and ram me into his mouth, swallow me whole in one gulp. But on the flip side there’s something in his eyes that also says he wants to savor me, like something unique, rare, and delicate.

I don’t know what to make of this entire situation, and decide to just write it off as him doing a favor for my dad. He probably feels sorry for me anyway.

“Here,” he says, pulling a maid outfit from the shelf, and then pulling it out of the plastic. “Try this one. It’s brand new.” He pauses. “Just knock when you’re done and I’ll come back in.”

“I can step outside.”

“I don’t want anyone else seeing you.”

I purse my lips and try not to look agitated. Great, I don’t fit the mold of his five foot nine one hundred and fifteen pound casino hostesses that look like they stepped out of a Playboy club.

He shows himself out and I look around for cameras. Surely a casino like this has them everywhere right? And surely I won’t be able to see them.

I shrug my shoulders and say, “What the heck,” under my breath. It’s not like there’s going to be a high demand for shots of me in my underwear on any corner of the Internet anytime soon.

I slide out of the clothes he loaned me and do my best to squeeze into the maid outfit.

It’s clearly bigger than the cocktail hostess outfits, or any of the maid outfits that I saw on the girls we passed walking through the casino.

I move to the mirror and pull the tag out. Size sixteen! No wonder I can’t breathe.

I need an eighteen, and an American eighteen at that.

Stepping back from the mirror I can see that every curve is clearly outlined, my tits are about ready to pop out of the top, and my ass looks huge. I’m sure every girl probably thinks that when she tries on almost any form fitting clothes, but this is real. I’m seriously struggling here.

I move to the shelf and sort through what’s there. “Go figure,” I mumble. This is easily the biggest uniform left.

I’m not in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I move to the door and prepare to knock on it three times. But the second my hand makes the first tap, he’s yanking it open, staring me down on the other side.

If his eyes were raking across my body before then he’s really giving me the once over now…make that twice…and then three times.

“You look…” he says, shaking his head as he rolls his lips like he’s preparing to eat.

“Fat in this uniform. That’s how I look.”

“Fucking amazing is how you look. Now change back into your clothes and let’s get out of here.”

“Change back? You know how hard it was to squeeze into this?”

“You are not walking across the casino floor, for all to see, in that outfit.”

“Oh, sorry,” I say more than sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your amazing casino’s brand image, or god forbid your reputation.”

He eyes me curiously, his head cocking to the side.

“Is that what you think?”

“What I think? Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I can’t put two and two together and get four?”

“You think because of those other women that—”

“That you don’t want to be seen with someone like me. Yes! That’s exactly what I think. Scratch that. It’s not what I think, it’s what I know.”

His arms shoot out, grabbing the sides of my upper arms firmly, yet not enough to totally scare me.

I am afraid and nervous of what’s going to come next. And surprisingly…turned on.

His dominance scares and excites me at the same time, and I feel my panties moisten as he just stares at me, preparing to say something of importance.

“Those women out there are nothing more than pawns. They choose to dress that way because they receive bigger tips from the men here.” He pauses. “They can wear whatever they want, but they choose to wear that particular outfit. They all order from the same place. All I ask is that they’re more or less uniform. You…you’re different. You’re special.”

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