“Our hands were freed, and were told to strip naked, and were photographed, front, both sides, and back. That was it, just some pictures—so they could market us to buyers, I assume. So they could pick the girls they liked best.” She swallows hard again; her voice is cold and sharp. “Once everyone was processed and photographed and dressed again, they put us in two cells. I got out my little knife, and pounded on the door. The guard came, and I pretended I had to shit.”
“Effective. They didn’t care about that, with me at, least. That awful hole in the ground is all I was offered.”
“I suppose since we were meant to be sold and had to remain in…salablecondition, they allowed us certain leeway. He went and got some napkins for me.” She pauses. “When he handed them to me, I grabbed his wrist, yanked him toward me, and cut his fucking throat.” Another pause; she pulls the card from her back pocket, opens it, looks at it. “I killed two more guards with this little knife.”
I take the knife from her and toss it on the bed, pull her into an embrace again. “I’m sorry, Corinna. I’m sorry you went through that.”
She shudders, shakes her head. “It wasawful, Apollo. I’ll never…” a choked sob. “I’ll never get those images out of my head. That poor German girl—fuck.”
“Let it all go, Rin. I’m here. I’m holding you. You’re safe. You can give it to me, now, my love.”
She’s stiff, tense, not even breathing. And then her shoulders start to shake. It’s gentle at first. Silent. And then I hear her gasp, as if finally catching a breath she’d been holding—and she’s sobbing.
Her knees give out.
I catch her, sink with her to the floor and cradle her as best I can with my one good arm. She clings to my neck and she sobs, face in my shirt, hot wet tears soaking it. She sobs so hard she curls into a ball on my lap, heaving great, wracking, wrenching sobs.
It goes on for a long, long time, and all the while I keep an ear out, listening for someone at the door.
At some point, after I time I can’t measure, the sobs subside.
14
A Brief Respite; A Mother’s Love
Ihate crying—I especially hate the ugly sobbing. It’s exhausting, leaves me feeling snotty and stuffed up, off balance and drained.
When I’ve cried myself out, I’m stiff from being immobile. Apollo has me clutched against himself on his lap, my head on his thigh, his arm hugging me to himself.
I inhale, suck in a ragged breath, and sit up. He shakes his arm out, twists and contorts to stretch his spine.
“Thank you, Apollo,” I say. “I needed that.”
He cups my face. “I wish I could take it away, Rin. Take it on myself.”
“I know.”
He stands, extends his hand to me. “Come on, up. You’re taking a shower.”
I groan at the thought. “That sounds…wonderful.”
He leads me into the bathroom, twists on the hot water. While it runs and gathers heat, he brushes my cheek with a knuckle. Leans in, nuzzles a kiss to the corner of my lips. “Let’s ease some of that stress, hmmm?”
I bite my lip as he pulls at the hem of my shirt at the small of my back; I allow him to pull the shirt off, and then my bra follows, both tossed over his shoulder onto the floor of the bedroom just outside the bathroom. Working deftly considering he only has one hand at his disposal, he helps me out of my jeans, boots, socks, and panties, leaving me standing naked while steam writhes around us; I shiver with eagerness, core clenching with anticipation, skin tightening and nipples going hard and sensitive as I prepare for his touch.
He guides me to sit on the closed toilet lid, and then sinks to his knees onto the thick mat in front of the toilet. He nudges my knees apart, one hand sliding up my thigh, hovering over the apex of my sex, and then dragging down my seam. I suck in a sharp breath, leaning back against the cold porcelain of the tank. His hair is bound back, and I tug it free of the black elastic holder to spill over his shoulders, and then I bury my fingers in his thick black locks and greedily clutch at him as he flits his tongue over my seam.
“Apollo,” I whisper. “Yes. Please. Please—make me feel good.”
He just grunts a rough affirmative, an encouragement, an assurance that he plans to do exactly that. His tongue slides over my sex, slipping between my nether lips and wriggling against my clit. I gasp as the first featherlight touches of ecstasy flow through me at his loving kisses. It’s exactly that at first, oral caresses, tonguing kisses, affectionate and slow, meant to comfort and arouse. But as heat builds inside me, as pressure mounts within, I begin to need more. I let my knees fall wide apart and slouch lower on the seat, clutching his head and his hair and pulling him closer, grinding myself on his mouth. Begging for more without words.
He rumbles a laugh at my needy eagerness and gives me what I want.
His mouth, hungrily; his tongue, nimbly; his fingers, thrillingly.
I come in record time, exploding on his tongue as it circles my clit, clamping around his fingers as they surge into me, curling against my G-spot on the withdrawal.
“Apollo, god, god—” I gasp. “So fucking good!”
