Saving Brigit (22 page)

“There.” Fatima stood. “You are ready. Just hurry and put on the clothes. Then I will tie your wrists and put on your leash. The guard will be here any moment.”

Fatima tugged on the leash. Thia hated the damn leather noose and lead. She’d never again see a dog led around San Francisco without feeling some sympathy.

The room was quiet when they walked in. Fatima stopped just inside the room. Thia saw a cage in the left back corner of the room and wondered what she’d be expected to do rather than sit the evening there, out of the fray. The same large guard she seemed to see every time she turned around approached. Fatima listened to him, nodded, then glanced at Thia. The opposite side of the room lay covered in darkness. Perhaps they’d have a few minutes before having to “entertain.” The euphemism Fatima used for the pleasure rooms would amuse her back in San Francisco. Since she’d arrived at the Claw’s
pleasure palace
, she hadn’t found time or inclination to be amused.

Presently, Fatima moved to the center of the room. Turning, she slipped the noose free of Thia’s neck. It dropped to the floor. She removed the bonds from Thia’s wrists and skimmed her hands down Thia’s arms, teasing and tickling. Then she swept them back up.

What the hell is this all about?

Thia cast a look toward the back of the room. Something white broke the darkness. Material rustled. A glass landed on one of the brass trays. They weren’t alone.

Fatima turned Thia’s head and brushed her lips over Thia’s mouth. She trailed kisses along Thia’s jaw and down her neck, tickling the point where her pulse beat wildly.

“The Claw himself is here,” Fatima whispered. Panic edged her voice. “If our entertainment does not please him, he will punish us harshly.”

She pulled back, and Thia glimpsed the fear in her eyes. Beneath her natural dark skin, she paled. Her hands resting on Thia’s shoulders trembled. She didn’t want to make love with Fatima and especially not in front of the monster who ruled this place, but neither did she want to be punished—not if being thrown in with the guards for two days was any example. And she couldn’t bring that kind of thing down on Fatima when a few minutes of sex with her could spare them both. After all, when she left here, who would ever know?

Very soon, if Derek’s plan worked, she’d be able to forget everything in this shithole. On the other hand, the plan might not work.
Hell with that. There
is
no “other hand.”

Thia leaned down and kissed Fatima on the lips. She stroked the woman’s small breasts and caught Fatima’s gasp in her mouth. Fatima arched against Thia’s hands and then tentatively touched Thia’s breasts.

Her hands were soft and hesitant. Perhaps she’d never had sex with a woman before. She didn’t act as though she had.

Thia framed Fatima’s head with her hands. Angling her head, she pressed her tongue into Fatima’s mouth. Fatima sucked it lightly, and then as though giving into some impulse, greedily. Thia dug her fingers into Fatima’s hair, releasing the twist and letting the strands tumble down the younger woman’s back.

At the same time, Fatima stroked Thia’s back and buttocks. An involuntary thrill ran through her body. She deepened the kiss even more and felt Fatima melt into her arms. Thia reached down and accordion-pleated Fatima’s silky gown until she could grasp the hem. In one smooth move she pulled it up and off. Fatima’s flushed face stared up at her, her lips red and swollen, her eyes glazed.

Thia wondered what their voyeur wanted of them. Just to have them touch? Or to go all the way? Would he join them, or simply watch? If that were the case, if she and Fatima were nothing more than a rich man’s afternoon show, they might as well be a good one.

She turned Fatima to face the back of the room, ignoring the woman’s whispered demand to know what Thia was doing. Restraints dangled from the ceiling. Thia lifted one of Fatima’s arms and clicked a cuff. Fatima turned her head, looked at Thia with a questioning expression, and allowed her other wrist to be cuffed without resistance. Thia dropped to her knees before her yielding mentor. Lifting one of Fatima’s legs over her shoulder, Thia scooted forward.

All she was doing overwhelmed her mind, but then Fatima’s sweet fragrance filled her nose. She smoothed her hands over satiny thighs and nuzzled the wiry, black curls forming a tight triangle over Fatima’s mound. Gently parting her pussy lips, Thia coaxed the woman’s clit from under its hood and into her mouth. Seconds later, a burst of spicy fragrance exploded from Fatima. The captive moaned and thrashed, but Thia held her firmly.

She dipped her tongue into Fatima’s pussy where the cream ran freely past her lips. Spasms rippled over Thia’s tongue. She dug deeper, pushing Fatima’s legs apart and pressing her head closer.

When she came up gasping for air, her own juices had begun to flow. She couldn’t distinguish her scent from Fatima’s. Both were driving her insane with need.

Pushing to her feet, she kissed her way over the young woman’s stomach. If she unloosed Fatima’s hands, would she give relief to Thia? She stretched to release the handcuffs when someone’s hand landed on her shoulder. The Claw! Was he planning to take part, or had they displeased him in some way?

She swiveled and stared into Derek’s blue eyes. The door in the back of the room opened, and a man exited. When she turned yet again, Derek had released Fatima and was handing her off to the guard. “Take this one. I only want the American.”

When he faced Thia, his eyes held fire. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Thia’s heart sank.
All the while, Derek was watching me play the slut like a puppet at the end of the Claw’s strings.
What must he think of me?

“You saw?” she asked.

“Everything.” He shucked his robe. His erection pressed against his briefs like an animal fighting to be released from a fabric cage. “And I’m hot as a stallion in heat.”

He pushed his briefs down his legs and stepped out of them. “Suck my dick.”

Thia reeled at his tone and didn’t move.

She’d never heard him like this. A large part of her wanted to tell him to go to hell, but a small part liked his demands and that she had turned him on, no matter what she’d gone through to do it.

Two steps took her to him. She fell to her knees. He drove his hands through her hair, knocking hairpins to the floor. He knew what she liked. Fisting his hands in her loose strands, he pulled her roughly to his cock. Stubbornly, she kept her lips pressed together.

“Open,” he said.

Thia shook her head.

“Open,” he roared. As soon as she did, he thrust home.

He held her head and pumped her mouth. His breath became shallow and raspy. Thia stroked her tongue along his length and fought to keep her mouth wide enough to accommodate his thickness and size. His scent set her on fire. Her clit ached to be caressed and rubbed, and she knew an itch deep in her core that cried to be scratched.

“That’s it,” he grunted out. “Like that, right.” Then, “Enough!”

He pulled out and stepped back, focusing a smoldering gaze on her. Stripping off her gown, she dropped to all fours, waggling her ass and rouged pussy lips at him. A moan tore from him. He dropped behind her, situating himself against her butt. One of the servants rushed up and coated her ass with a cool lotion. With less fervor than he’d used her mouth, he eased into her backdoor, pushing in farther with each withdrawal and thrust.

“Baby, yeah, baby,” he murmured close to her ear.

She ducked her head under her arm. “Are you mad?”

“Hell yes,” he whispered. “With that prick.”

Relief rushed through her. “Did I shock you?”

“Later,” he ground out. He pushed harder, faster. Reaching under, he took her clit between his fingers and rubbed. She cried out and pushed onto him. He poked her pussy, swirling his finger in her juices and then carrying the moisture to her clit.

Thia sucked in a sharp breath.
Yes, yes, do it again.

He did, over and over. Familiar tension built up inside, tension and more heat than a furnace. She wondered if he’d noticed her red nipples and pussy lips and if they turned him on as Fatima claimed. Another push and she didn’t wonder anything. Clenching her eyes shut, she gave into the blinding sensations ricocheting through her. Then Derek was exploding, filling her ass with cum while continuing to stroke her clit.

He dropped his head on her shoulder, breathing deeply and roughly. “God, you feel good,” he said shortly. Then he stood and helped her up, too.

“I have something for you.” She looked around at the guard. “Don’t worry,” he assured her quickly. “It’s approved.” Derek held the comb up for the guard to see and then showed Thia. Stepping forward, he arranged it in her hair. It fell to the floor.

“Let me,” she said. She examined it and Derek did also, standing close.

“Tomorrow or the day after,” he whispered. “This,” he said, tapping the comb, “will lead me to you. Make sure Brigit stays close. We’ll get as many of the girls out as we can, but you be concerned only with Brigit. We won’t have long to get out.”

Thia nodded. “It’s very pretty,” she said loud enough for the guard to hear.

“I want you to wear it all the time so whenever I see you, your hair will look good.”

“My hair looks fine all the time.” She fingered the mother-of-pearl and then combed a hank of hair back. “Besides, when are you coming again?”

“I don’t know. Soon. Be ready for me,” he said on a growl.

“Huh.” She bent to pick up her robe when Derek grabbed her arm and spun her around. He took her mouth in a crushing kiss. “Be ready,” he said again when he finally broke the away.

For Derek? She always would be.

The next morning, Thia dressed for her walk around the courtyard and bath. She hoped she could take a long, leisurely time in the warm water. Was there an hour since she’d arrived that she hadn’t been tired or sore? She couldn’t wait to get home, but she hoped the leaving could wait until after the bath.

“Where did you get the comb?” Fatima examined the piece while Thia dressed.

“The American gave it to me. He was there last night with the Claw.”

“But, how was he allowed to give you a gift?”

Thia looked around the room. Fatima didn’t have a single personal item displayed. Suddenly, she felt guilty that she hadn’t hidden the comb, though where or how she didn’t know. If only she felt sure enough of the woman to share why Derek had given her the comb.

“I don’t know. But I like it, so I’ll wear it all the time.” Fatima handed it over a bit reluctantly, and Thia secured it in her hair.

Minutes later, at the end of the dreaded leash, Thia looked up and saw Brigit approaching them from across the courtyard. The young woman’s face held amazement. Thia opened her mouth to call out, but Fatima reminded her she should maintain silence with a flick of her wrist on the leather lead.

“Thia,” Brigit said on a note of enthusiasm, “it
is
you.”

“There is no speaking with a novice,” Fatima remonstrated.

“Of course,” Brigit said, lowering her voice. “Do you know what this means, Fatima? It wasn’t a trick or a test. This really is
Thia
. The man I met came with her after all.”

Horrified, Thia shook her head at Brigit.

“Fatima can be trusted,” Brigit said, looking at Fatima as though it was she Brigit addressed. “At first I was happy you’d come, and then I was torn up, thinking you were trapped here like me. Then I was afraid the whole thing was a story made up to test me or trick me. I didn’t know which. The bastards would do that, you know.” She stopped for a deep breath, then continued. “I wasn’t sure who to trust or what to do. But now I know—”

“Stop!” Thia let the harsh whisper appear to be spoken to Fatima. Brigit stood quietly. “Just stay close to me when we’re in the baths or exercising, Brigit. We can’t speak, but I’d like to know you’re close by.”

“All right, if I can.”

Fatima cleared her throat, alerting them to a guard passing near. “I have one thing to ask of you,” she said in a low voice.

Thia and Brigit gave her their attention.

“Take me with you.” With that, she began to stroll, pulling Thia along at the end of her tether.

“Enter!” The Claw sprawled on the velvet-covered chaise, his arm thrown over his eyes. The last couple of days had proven stressful, all because of that damn American and his information about the missile launchers. The deal with the Iranians had been touch and go itself, with the haggling over price and authenticity of the merchandise taking much more time and finesse than the Claw had wanted.

That was why the American, Lowry, had been held at bay. Why sell something so precious to a country hated by all of his fellow Muslims when he could benefit the enemy of his enemy? Money was only worth so much. But he couldn’t sell the Iranians a defective product—that would cause no end of trouble, as well as danger, to the whole operation. The Iranians might be “fellow Muslims,” but like all of their kind, they had long memories and were willing to exact the most effective revenge when time suited them. The Claw would risk their anger over changing his mind about the sale rather than payback for a bad sale.

He wanted to scream in frustration and would have but for the ball bearings bouncing around in his skull. No amount of research had proven or disproven the American’s claim regarding the missile launchers. The thief who had sold him the defective, stolen merchandise was even now answering questions about that, and not in a pleasant way. The Claw sighed. He might be forced to go through with the sale to Lowry after all.

The knock sounded again. “Enter!” Yelling increased the throbbing in his head. By God, he’d flog whoever it was. He’d ordered that he not be disturbed. With his pinky, he rubbed his brow, trying in vain to relieve the pain and stress. Twenty million dollars American in his Swiss account would go some distance toward soothing all, however.

He dropped his arm to see Marel, his head guard and most trusted friend standing just inside the door. If Marel saw fit to interrupt his rest time, there was reason.