Delilah Devlin: Lost Souls

And although she’d just complained because he’d arrested her orgasm, her body blossomed anew beneath his attentions, pleasure curling tighter and tighter inside her core.

His mouth trailed the edge of her jaw. His tongue laved her neck, the jut of her collarbone, then he moved lower, licking and nipping the sensitive skin of her breasts until he hovered over one engorged nipple.

She gave a husky shout when his teeth closed around the tip, but dug her fingers in his thick, dark hair and pulled, letting him know she wanted him right there.

When his lips latched around the areola, her body stiffened, hips pumping upward but halted by the weight of his torso pinning her to the mattress.

As helpless as a butterfly pinned to a mounting board, she struggled to move and ease the ache pounding between her thighs. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Huh,” he gusted, releasing her nipple to bite his way along her abdomen, the shock of his targeted nips causing her belly to quiver.

When he scooted down her body, he paused, centered, his face just above her sex. His head tilted, and he captured her gaze. Without looking down, he used his thumbs to spread her folds and extended his tongue to lap at her clit.

Cait’s jaw sagged. Small desperate moans clawed their way from her throat as he tortured her with licks and taps that ratcheted her toward a peak she couldn’t escape. “Sam, please,” she groaned.

“Who’s in charge now, sweetheart?”

“You! Oh God, you!”

He dropped his face and stroked through her folds, taking the moisture slipping from inside her. Then fingers entered her, two thick digits, and she pumped shallowly, up and down, needing them deeper, needing him to fill her. Her head thrashed side to side, her body shuddered from shoulder to thigh. As the first wave of pleasure exploded in her core, she opened herself wider and thrust up her breasts.

Then he was on top, somehow instantly inside her, gliding his cock deep into her wet channel, riding the storm he’d created that never ebbed as he drove deeper and deeper.

He paused only a moment to cup her ass and bring her closer, where he jerked and burrowed, his shoulders spread above her, his lips pressing wild kisses against her cheeks, her chin, at last landing on her mouth to smother her cries. Soon, his own muffled shouts echoed against the walls of her small bedroom.

They moved together, and Cait wrapped herself around him, hugging him to her body because he was the answer to every question, the source of every pleasure. Her Sam. Her husband…

At those two words, her eyes widened. She dropped her head to the mattress and watched his face as he continued to shiver, sweat sprouting on his forehead and dripping into his closed eyes. Strained features slowly eased. His eyelids blinked open, and then his gaze found hers.

They shared no smiles. Her eyes were filled, his features blurring. When he softly dropped his full weight upon her, she accepted the burden, breathed out when he inhaled, finding a different rhythm that emphasized the fact that together, like this, they worked.

Cait turned away her face and closed her eyes.

Sam pushed up on his hands and extricated himself, rolling to his back beside her.

Separated, she felt a moment of panic until he reached for her hand and held it inside his.

“We need to talk,” he said softly.

Without looking his way, she nodded. “We do. But can it wait until morning?” Nothing she could do to help Sylvia right now anyway.

“Sure.” He shifted beside her, his hands turning her and spooning their bodies together. She lifted her head and rested it on his upper arm, a solid pillow, an intimacy she missed whenever they slept apart.

“Mornin’, then. But you’re coming to the station. Easier to explain.”

“Sure,” she echoed. Then with his warm breath gusting against her ear, his heavy arm anchoring her against his body, Cait drifted into sleep, held safe inside her love’s arms.

Early the next morning, they stopped to pick up Jason on their way to the Criminal Justice Complex. “You both need to hear this,” Sam said, his tone all business. “Saves repeating it.” His steely stare said he didn’t want any secrets kept from him either.

Cait wrinkled her nose, knowing he was scolding her in a not-so-oblique way because she had a habit of holding on to clues until she’d had time to figure out what they meant or whether they were relevant. Something that annoyed him to no end.

Like the knowledge that Sylvia Reyes, a woman he didn’t know about yet, had somehow died the night before. Cait did feel a niggle of guilt for not sharing that fact with Jason last night, but he was used to her ways, having worked side by side since she’d been encouraged to resign from the Memphis PD. And she intended to talk to both Sam and Jason about it, but the drive to the station was too short. Or at least that was her excuse, and she was sticking to it.

Striding down the corridor toward the Homicide Bureau in front of the two most important men in her life, she admitted she’d made a conscious choice to not even consider talking to one other person, someone who might actually make sense of what she’d seen. Soon enough, she’d have to face that prospect. For now, she had enough worries on her mind. Like walking the gauntlet of desks lined up in the murder room. She glanced around the open area, amused by the wary, curious glances from the detectives she received.

The last time she’d been here, she’d been debriefed regarding the kidnapping and murder case that had kept the city riveted for weeks afterward. Stories of satanic rituals involving mummified women had shouted from the tabloids but had received a gloss of ordinary after Lieutenant Leland Hughes worked some PR magic of his own. A skin-walking demon who’d stolen women to devour as part of a spell to make him immortal was lost. Worthen’s demon became one unhinged perpetrator who’d left booby traps in a vacant house where he’d been “storing” his captives to serve his deviant desires.

Although she and Leland rarely saw eye to eye on anything, she was the first to admit Leland had shown genius worthy of a novel spinning that tale.

“Didn’t even get a chance to miss the place,” she murmured as they trailed inside Leland’s cramped office and closed the door.

The middle-aged curmudgeon sat behind his desk, same bulldog expression, his upper lip curled like he smelled something bad. Must have gotten hold of a slice of Jason’s pizza, she thought, suppressing a smile.

“Glad you all could make it,” he said, but his expression tightened.

Like he didn’t look at all happy to see her .

“Glad to see you’ve recovered,” she said, her voice just as falsely polite.

His eyes narrowed as he flashed her a tight smile.

At the sight, she nearly choked with laughter. His front teeth, shiny and impossibly white, looked like a row of Chiclets.

“Nice teeth,” she gasped.

“Temporary crowns,” he growled. “The final set are being made.”

Since she’d been the one who’d broken his teeth by shoving the end of a bellows in his mouth to extract a demon, she decided to refrain from making any other comments about his appearance. “Whatcha got?” she asked, looking at Leland and then Sam, who hadn’t taken a seat but hovered by the door.

“Why don’t you start by telling us what you were doing last night at the Deluxe?” Leland said. “We’ve had the place under surveillance. One of my men said you were parked outside for hours.”

Surprised by his comments, she sat straighter in her chair.

Jason cleared his throat, no doubt to avert any attempt on her part to drag out the explanation and possibly to prevent her from leaving out any salient details. She wrinkled her nose at him and then slumped back, giving Jason the lead. Her partner had tact, something she found occasionally helpful.