Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
They were playing a dangerous game. Flirting with disaster, should their affair be discovered. If Bronwin noticed the pained and cramped way Rowan walked after being fucking tased, she hadn’t said anything, thankfully.
Leaving Delilah in that room after what they’d done was harder than Rowan thought it would be.
But she needed separation—if only for a bit.
She needed to wash her hands of the evidence, turn the damn camera back on before the next guard saw it was out, and worst of all, she needed to change her boxers.
Then, having to stand against the wall in Bronwin’s office while her muscles still ached and the pain still pulsed through her leg—while still horrendously turned on—was excruciating.
And of course Delilah brought up seeing Rowan’s office.
Again. Specifically, when Bronwin told Delilah that due to her good behavior thus far, so long as nothing happened in the next twenty-four hours, she would be allowed her excursion.
Supervised, of course. With Rowan. As she wanted.
The idea of taking Delilah to her office and bending her over the desk was stuck in Rowan’s mind, playing on repeat.
She knew she’d need to plan—clean up her desk, make everything presentable.
She had to figure out how to get her strap past security.
The idea was so enticing that Rowan had immediately gone back to her office, unable to hold back anymore after touching Delilah that morning.
She didn’t allow herself to touch Delilah again that day.
She needed her waiting, needed her to build up the anticipation, to fall into the craving and the need.
But that didn’t stop her from imagining Delilah bent over her desk while she worked herself closer to her orgasm.
Delilah’s bare ass slapping against Rowan’s thighs.
Her moans uninhibited, filling the room.
Maybe Rowan was breaking after all, she thought as she fell over the edge with Delilah’s name on her lips.
In the morning, Rowan wasted no time getting everything situated.
She’d come in twenty minutes early to clear off her desk, cleaning it when she’d finished, and attaching a small hook to the underside.
It hadn’t been hard to smuggle everything in—including her strap.
Then, she’d gone about her rounds as normal.
Anticipation built while she checked the cameras and made her rounds.
It was amazing that only one person had noticed she was distracted.
She’d brushed them off easily. Everyone knew by now that she was responsible for the infamous serial killer, and being distracted by her was an excuse that had more meanings than anyone could parse together.
She’d barely held herself together through Delilah’s therapy session, not paying attention to a single word they’d said once it was clear that Delilah would be discussing her kills again and not focusing on Rowan.
And why wouldn’t she ignore Rowan now? She was angry about the orgasm denial, sure, but she’d gotten what she’d wanted.
And god help her, Rowan was about to give Delilah what she wanted again.
“You can take a break. I’ll handle things from here,” Rowan told the guards once Delilah’s session had finished. They shifted, eyebrows scrunching as they exchanged confused glances, their attention darting between Rowan and Delilah. “This one’s earned an excursion. Good behavior, per Dr. Bronwin.”
Her jaw was clenched tight as she waited for them to follow orders. Rowan was their boss. She didn’t have to explain shit to them, and the way they hesitated made her want to fire both of them right then. Fortunately, they relented, whether it was from her words or glare, she didn’t care.
“Be back to guard her room in an hour,” Rowan called as they walked away. She heard a muttered “yes, boss” but didn’t bother listening for more. Because now she had Delilah all to herself.
Rowan’s grip was tight on Delilah’s bicep as they walked together in surprising silence down the twisting halls.
Convenient planning meant that her office was located in the same wing as Delilah’s room.
They’d been close from the start, not that Delilah had known it.
Just as Rowan hoped when she’d subtly suggested the location to Adele all those weeks ago.
When they arrived at her office, she unlocked the door and let Delilah enter first, allowing her assessing gaze to rove over the bare room.
Rowan didn’t decorate her office like Bronwin had.
She had no personal photos like Adele. It was simply a room to exist in for a few short hours a day.
Everything was organized into filing cabinets, her desk was precisely arranged for what she had planned, and Delilah was going to learn absolutely nothing new about her from this arrangement.
Delilah hadn’t moved more than a step inside, her eyes sharp with intensity as Rowan watched her take everything in, trying to find anything she could use to lure Rowan in further.
The door closed with a snick behind them, and Rowan clicked the lock into place.
It wasn’t soundproof, but with the guards away and the wing vacant, noise didn’t matter.
“Satisfied?” Rowan asked, stepping up behind Delilah and running her hands up Delilah’s sides.
Delilah whipped around, eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing in here.” She was glaring at Rowan, showing her discontent with the blandness of the room in a way that gave Rowan a surge of victory.
“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Rowan murmured, pushing Delilah back until she was against Rowan’s desk. “There’s a reason you wanted to come here. Tell me,” she demanded, holding Delilah’s hips firmly, careful to keep their bodies apart.
“You’re hiding things from me,” Delilah snapped, her tone abrasive, her hackles raised. Rowan frowned. Delilah’s defenses were up. They were sharp, her tone stabbing into Rowan, pricking at her skin and stinging with rejection.
“What is there to hide when you already seem to know everything about me?” Rowan growled, nettled, her gaze flicked down to Delilah’s lips.
She wanted to taste her, to run her tongue along that puffy bottom lip until Delilah allowed her entry. But she needed more. She needed Delilah to admit that she wanted it, to confess that her desire was growing all-consuming too. That she matched Rowan’s craving—that she was addicted.
Delilah’s ire lessened in the face of Rowan’s frustration, a smirk replacing her sneer as she looked Rowan up and down. “Not everything. Not yet.”
The way she’d said it sounded like a threat and promise all wrapped into one. Delilah reached out, her cuffed hands grabbing Rowan’s belt, tugging her closer. “You’ll tell me all of it,” she whispered, leaning in and biting Rowan’s neck.
And fuck if Rowan wasn’t tempted to spill every little morbid secret at the feel of Delilah’s teeth scraping against her sensitive skin. To confess all the things she kept hidden away from prying eyes and wandering ears—secrets that Delilah couldn’t find in a file.
“And what is it that you think I’ll tell you,” Rowan asked, her breath hitching, voice catching in her throat as the sweet vanilla from Delilah’s conditioner filled the air around her.
Delilah pulled back, her smirk broadening. “How it felt when you made your first kill.”
Rowan relented, her thoughts dangerously transported back to the part of her mind that she shoved into a dark box, hoping it would never surface, would never see the light of day.
She knew what Delilah meant. Of course she knew.
Delilah thought her first kill was during deployment, for the good of the country, self-defense in a war zone.
In reality, Rowan’s first kill had been years before that.
No one, not a single living soul, knew what happened. No one knew that she’d found her sister—the one who hadn’t made it past eleven—bloodied and dying while their uncle…
Rowan cut the memory off with a harsh jolt, forcing it back down into the deep crevices where it would never resurface. That wasn’t what she wanted to remember. It wasn’t what Delilah asked.
Watching the light leave her uncle's eyes as she strangled him with her bare hands was something she’d never been able to regret. It was something she’d enjoyed.
“You’re reliving it, aren’t you?” Delilah’s whispered voice brought her back. Rowan’s eyes must have gone distant because Delilah’s attention was locked on her face. “How’d you do it?”
Rowan didn’t move, her gaze searching Delilah’s.
She wanted to see the desperation for her.
Piercing green eyes bore into her instead, stealing her breath and compelling her answer.
They didn’t need words. Not now. Not as Rowan slowly trailed her hands up Delilah’s sides, letting the rough fabric of her shirt bunch and catch under her bra.
She didn’t stop until her hands were wrapped around Delilah’s soft, delicate neck.
Rowan remembered the last time she’d been like this.
The scratchy, stubbled skin and squishy, fat neck caving under her grip.
The hot beer breath spitting into her face, the glaze in his hazy eyes.
This time was different. Everything about this was different, from the heady desire vibrating through her, to the way her hands fit perfectly around Delilah’s neck, her fingers touching at her nape.
Wide eyes stared up at Rowan with blown pupils. There was no fear on her face. They were pressed against each other as Delilah looked up at her, watching, and Rowan knew with complete certainty that Delilah wanted her as much as she wanted Delilah.
Rowan tightened her grip around Delilah’s neck, pressing into the sides of her throat, restricting her airway until she alone controlled Delilah’s breathing.
“Rowan,” Delilah rasped, her voice weak but still as commanding as ever. She held no fear as Rowan’s grip tightened further. “Fuck me.”