Page 20 of Edging Sanity

“No.”

“Legally,” Delilah started as Rowan slid her hands down Delilah’s inner thighs. “You have to give me privacy for a search if I request it.” She leaned in, lowering her voice to whisper. “And I am requesting it. But know that it’s not me who will want it.”

Rowan swallowed, fighting back a shiver. “Where did you hide the knife, Delilah?” She demanded, her voice low, calm, her tone a warning that made Delilah’s eyes widen with delight.

“Privacy first.”

Glaring, Rowan stalked over to Delilah’s desk and took everything off her belt that might be able to be used as a weapon because, unfortunately, the only blind spot was the bathroom and there were no hooks on the walls in there. Which meant that Rowan was not going to let her taser be within Delilah’s reach.

Physically, she could overpower Delilah with no trouble. But bring 20,000 volts of electricity, courtesy of a standard-issue stun gun into the mix, and Delilah might stand a fighting chance. She also moved her radio to hook into her belt at the back instead of her side. Then she returned to Delilah, her heart racing as she unhooked her from the wall and practically dragged her into the bathroom.

She shoved her against the wall of the shower that was not meant for two and closed the curtain—unnecessary, but it was the most private spot and the spot with the most space in the tiny bathroom.

“Cozy,” Delilah murmured, her hands wandering too close to Rowan’s belt buckle.

“Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

Delilah smiled and bit her lip. “Wrong end.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“You gonna go by feel or sight?” Delilah asked, clearly loving having Rowan in this situation, the excitement evident in her eyes. “I think you should feel for it,” she whispered, leaning in until Rowan shoved her back by her shoulders.

“Do you consent to a strip search, Delilah?” Rowan asked, prolonging the inevitable. She didn’t actually have to ask since Delilah was potentially a danger to herself or others, but dragging this out… It seemed like a good idea.

“I’d love a strip search from you.”

Rowan tried not to roll her eyes. Tried to ignore the implications, and the fact that she knew, without a doubt, that her fingers were about to be inside of Delilah. That she was about to feel the heat she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Rowan searched her own pocket for the nitrile gloves she’d brought, somehow having known that Delilah was going to take it too far. When she wriggled on the first glove, Delilah’s enjoyment immediately faded. She grabbed Rowan’s wrist, an angry glint in her eyes.

“No gloves. I want you to feel me.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow, using her free hand to yank the chain between Delilah’s cuffs until she was forced to let go, then put the other glove on without a word.

“I revoke my consent,” Delilah said haughtily as Rowan slid her thumbs under the waistband of her scrubs.

“No, you don’t.”

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.