Page 27 of Edging Sanity

Rowan didn’t answer. Just stood there, too close but too far away. She wouldn’t do anything, not yet, and the lingering hint of regret teased in the corner of her brain. Her admission was too intense, too sudden in the space of Delilah’s reply.

“How can I be addicted to something if I’ve never had a taste?” Delilah whispered, leaning in, almost closing the distance between them but stopping just short—begging Rowan to meet her.

Her mind screamed to back up, to claw herself free of this hold Delilah had over her. They stood this way for too long. Rowan didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally forced herself away and fled the room.

There was no other word for what she’d done. She fled, and Delilah watched her go with a mocking laugh that lodged into her brain and followed her all the way to her office.

How can I be addicted to something if I’ve never had a taste? The words swam through her thoughts, paired with the image of Delilah so close. So painfully close that it had taken every ounce of self-control she had to pull away.

Her phone buzzed just as she opened the door to her office and she stopped short, silently hoping Delilah was already demanding her return. But it wasn’t Delilah. The number was unknown, though the short, simple contents of the message were clear.

No fingerprints on the knife, only the victim's blood. Sorry for your loss.

She wasn’t surprised. She’d forgotten about the whole knife situation entirely, too wrapped up in the chaos that unfolded in its wake. Too obsessed with the idea of Delilah wanting her—needing her. It was too consuming for her to care about the knife. Her mourning period for Mariana had been short, shorter than was proper, but Rowan couldn’t find it in her to care about that either.

Because the only thing racing through her thoughts now were those taunting, tempting words that had caused all logic to temporarily flee from Rowan’s mind. She quickly stepped inside her office, closing and locking the door as she stuffed her phone back into her pocket.

Addiction. Would Delilah fall for it? Would she go that far and succumb if Rowan gave her a taste? Just a little taste. She bit her lip, head collapsing into her hands as she sat in the rarely used padded office chair. Just a taste, a hint, an idea.

And Rowan was tired of waiting. Tired of hoping that Delilah’s obsession would morph and twist in the same way hers had over the years. She didn’t want to act rashly though. Not after all the planning it took her to get here. The sacrifices she’d made. But it was just a taste…

With Rowan’s resolve made up—or disintegrated entirely—she tried to push her unwanted thoughts to the back. She’d finish out her banal work day and then allow herself the freedom to think about Delilah. She’d decide how far she wanted to take it. What the taste would look like. How to reel Delilah in and hook her.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

At exactly nine o’clock the following morning, Rowan strode into the camera room. She followed her normal routine of relieving the guard on duty and checking through the cameras to ensure they were all functional. Then, she promptly turned off the camera for Delilah’s room and left. The guard rotation for Delilah changed on Wednesday and Saturday and today there would be borrowed officers from the police department.

They didn’t know the schedule.

She didn’t even acknowledge them as she opened the slot on the door and ordered Delilah to put her hands on the wall.

“You’re early,” Delilah noted with a smug tone as soon as the door shut and they were alone. She tossed Rowan a knowing look over her shoulder.

“Shut up,” Rowan snarled, not wasting another second as she closed the distance between them and pushed Delilah up against the wall, relishing the breathy gasp that escaped her.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Delilah teased.

Just a taste. Rowan ignored the taunting and shoved her hand down Delilah’s pants, huffing a laugh when she felt the damp spot on her underwear.

“How long have you been ready for me?” she growled, pressing into the thin fabric and soaking it even more.

Delilah’s gasp turned into a quiet moan and she pushed back, her firm ass settling right against Rowan’s crotch, separated only by their damned clothing. Heat swirled between them as Delilah spread her legs further, opening herself for Rowan’s touch. Rowan withdrew only long enough to shove Delilah’s underwear aside and sink her fingers in.

“Fuck,” Rowan hissed, unable to hold back, drawing her fingers back out and sliding them up to circle Delilah’s clit. Her voice was thick with desire and her body was alight with awareness, fire licking through her ribs and settling between her legs. Delilah wasn’t nearly as wet as she’d been when Rowan dug out the knife, but she would be.

Rowan swiped over her clit, hitting it hard and fast, just like Delilah had shown her on the camera—it was a silent admission, an acknowledgement of what had been lingering between them. But this time, Rowan was in charge. And she was going to leave Delilah begging for more.

She teased the edge of Delilah’s desire, slowing down as soon as she felt Delilah clenching around her fingers, her body tensing and craving release that Rowan wouldn’t give her. She wanted to hear that snide, smug, mocking voice demanding that Rowan go harder, faster. Rowan wanted to let go, to fuck Delilah the way she wanted, the way they both wanted—two or three fingers deep with her palm grinding against Delilah’s core until her mocking voice switched to desperate pleas.

But that wouldn’t be today. Not yet. She rested her head on Delilah’s shoulder, one hand lazily playing with Delilah’s clit while her other came up to pin Delilah’s hand against the wall. Delilah bucked impatiently, her breathy moans muffled. Rowan knew she was biting her lips, understanding that they needed to be quiet if this would continue.

Too damn easily Rowan gave in. She sunk two fingers back inside, pressing as deep as they’d go and curling in until Delilah’s needy whimper broke through. Her reward. Her damnation. She repeated the action until the sound was reproduced. Until Delilah couldn’t help herself but demand more, her voice commanding despite the breathiness of it.

“Harder.”

It was an order that Rowan wouldn’t refuse. She slid out then slammed back in, her wrist tweaked with pain at the angle, but she couldn’t stop. Over and over Rowan pulled out before pushing back in, curling her fingers, pressing her palm harder and harder against Delilah with each movement. She was losing herself to the desire.