Chapter 14 #2
Rowan watched as fury lit a spark in Delilah’s eyes.
Her mouth twisted into a snarl, opening before Rowan roughly pulled Delilah’s pants down.
The scent of her arousal surrounded Rowan, and she became acutely aware of just how close she was now that she was knelt in front of Delilah, scrubs around her knees.
She stayed where she was, looking back up at Delilah who had lost the angry fire, replaced instead with entertainment and hunger. Delilah’s lip quirked back up into a small smile. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t.”
Rowan smirked, biting her tongue to keep from saying a smug I know, instead focusing on pulling Delilah’s underwear down next.
She did not look at Delilah’s face now, though she could imagine it well enough.
Seeing whatever half-lidded seductive expression Delilah was wearing would be too much for her to handle.
No, she wouldn’t look at Delilah’s face.
But seeing her dripping cunt inches away from Rowan’s tongue could be even worse.
It was unfair that even that was gorgeous.
It made her mouth water, made her focus waver while her resolve chipped away. A knife she reminded herself. Delilah had implied that she’d shoved a knife up there. Like the goddamned psychopath she is.
“Delilah,” Rowan said calmly, finally looking up after staring entirely too long and having seen no evidence of a weapon poking out. “If you don’t have a knife on you, I swear to god you’ll never see me again.”
Delilah’s smile didn’t waver for even a second as she shifted to spread her legs a few inches further apart. “I told you, Rowan,” she purred, “you need to feel for it.”
Rowan closed her eyes, willing the arousal seeping into her underwear to just go away.
The deep breath she took to mentally prepare was a mistake.
A big fucking mistake because now all she could smell was Delilah.
The musky arousal dripping down her inner thighs, the vanilla lotion she used. It was sweet torture.
Gentler than she should have, Rowan slid one gloved finger through Delilah’s slick heat, gathering the wetness on the nitrile and searching for her entrance, carefully working her way inside until she felt it: a hard object about one knuckle deep.
At least Delilah hadn’t been lying. She could tune out Delilah’s gasp, but when fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her face closer to the smooth entrance, Rowan jerked back, smacking Delilah’s hands away before she quickly shot to her feet.
“Don’t do that,” Rowan growled, their faces inches apart.
She was acutely aware of the heat coursing between their almost touching bodies.
Aware of her finger still partially buried inside Delilah, the heat from her walls and the wetness coating her gloves.
Delilah’s warm tongue slid against Rowan’s gloved palm, their ragged breathing mingling in the silence.
The sudden weight of Delilah’s arm on her shoulders made everything more intimate.
How the hell had she managed to let Delilah manipulate her into this position?
She slowly uncovered Delilah’s mouth, and it took everything in her not to move her hand down to Delilah’s throat. It hovered between them instead, ready at a moment’s notice to silence Delilah again.
“Rowan,” Delilah breathed quietly, a whine that made her core ache with need. “You’ll have to go deeper. Dig it out of me. I know you want to.”
Rowan ignored her. As much as she could ignore the woman who’d been trying to get them into this exact position for the last week, as much as she could ignore the fact that she was at least one knuckle deep in a serial killer.
And even worse, Rowan was more aroused by the entire setup than she was upset.
Fixing her gaze on a spot on the ceiling, Rowan shoved two fingers roughly into Delilah.
She swallowed when Delilah’s surprised gasp curled around her, turning into a moan as Rowan wriggled against her inner walls.
She was far enough inside that her palm was flat against Delilah, rubbing her clit ever so subtly as she felt for the base of the knife.
It wasn’t a long knife, nor was it particularly thick. She guessed it was about the length of her middle finger, and the width of her pinky and ring finger combined. Which meant that Delilah was completely full, and based on the heavy breathing and quiet whimpers, she was fucking loving it.
Rowan adjusted and the tip of her finger barely hooked the end of the closed knife as she slowly worked it out while Delilah tensed around her, the breathy gasps making Rowan’s boxers uncomfortably damp.
The next adjustment made Delilah bite her shoulder, barely suppressing a groan.
Rowan knew she should push Delilah off, put a stop to the contact that was sending waves of agonizing desire pulsing through her, but the warmth encasing her fingers and the pressure of Delilah’s teeth sinking into her flesh was overwhelming.
She was powerless against the desire, the need.
Rowan was practically shaking with the effort of withdrawing the knife instead of plunging back in and fucking Delilah in ways she’d only ever kept in her mind.
“Don’t stop,” Delilah moaned, unlatching her mouth and tipping her head back against the tiled wall, revealing her slender, pale, unblemished neck.
She watched Rowan like a predator watches their prey, a victorious smile on her lips and her pupils blown wide.
When Rowan didn’t move, Delilah threatened, “Don’t stop or I’ll scream. ”
Rowan slapped her hand back over Delilah’s mouth, pressing hard against her until she felt teeth.
Feeding into exactly what Delilah wanted, she dug her fingers deeper, readjusting her hold on the knife.
She curled and stretched, working the knife out slowly.
Her entire body was on fire, her core aching, her mind screaming to let Delilah touch her.
It took monumental effort to finally slide her fingers out, the knife laying heavy in her palm.
“Don’t scream,” Rowan ordered coldly, slowly moving her hand away. She stayed tense and ready for the promised scream, but the only sound filling the room was Delilah’s labored breathing. When Delilah did nothing but watch her through heavy lidded eyes, Rowan finally took a small step back.
The motion drew attention to the fact that Delilah’s arms were still somehow wrapped around her, draped lazily over her shoulders. Unable to bring herself to be free of Delilah entirely, she looked down at the object in her hand instead, finally breaking their overwhelming eye contact.
“Why the hell is the knife wrapped in a condom?” she growled, blurting the question as soon as she figured out what the disgusting film obscuring the knife was.
Delilah’s light huff of laughter wafted mint across Rowan’s face, reminding her, once again, how painfully close they were to one another.
“Don’t worry,” Delilah purred, one hand finding the base of Rowan’s neck.
“You’re the only one here who’s been inside me.
” Rowan only glared at her, forcing back a shiver as Delilah’s blunt nails scratched the bare skin of her neck.
Delilah pouted. “I thought you’d appreciate that I protected the evidence. ”
Frowning, Rowan looked down at the condom-wrapped switchblade covered in Delilah’s arousal. She ducked away from Delilah, finally releasing herself from that captivating hold to wash the exterior for a better examination—without taking the knife out since, apparently, it was evidence.
And… that looked like blood on the handle, tucked underneath the condom. It was clearly not Delilah’s. It looked dried. Flakes had rubbed off as Rowan washed it.
“Uh, Rowan,” the static crackle of a voice over her radio made her jump. “We got a code blue in 203."