She Died

She Died
Sam's POV

“I think that's enough already, Rowan.” I moaned against his lips, picking up on footsteps behind us. But he just wouldn't stop, he kept sucking hard at my lips like he’d been starved of them for ages.
The footsteps echoed louder, the feet drawing closer, just as the noise of conversations carried in the air.
I found the strength inside of me and I pushed him off him. He staggered back a foot, his face flushed not with rage or pride, but with satisfaction. He licked his lips gently, licking my saliva on them like a kid licking ice cream from his lips.
I panted softly, my voice wheezy as I asked. “Why the hell did you do that?” I demanded, an edge to my voice. I wouldn't admit that I enjoyed every bit of it, but I still let him think he can kill, pulling me into his arms and kissing me just because I am a fool who can't get over my attraction to a criminal after a one-night stand that almost ruined my career.
How foolish can I be? 
He brushed his thumb on his lips, that proud, self-assured grin building tentatively on his lips again. “Isn't that why you are here, detective, because you miss me?” he said.
I scoffed, my lips curling in a sneer. He sure had a high regard for himself. “I didn't come here for you, Rowan. I came here for…” I paused, looking up when shadows fell over us. A man wearing a face-cap walked past us carrying a woman in his arms like a bride and kissing her as they walked to their room.
Rowan looked from the couple to me, a twinkle lighting up his eyes. “I am up for that and more detective if you are.” He grinned.
I grunted, my jaw clenching tight as I glared at him. I was a second from yelling at him when the door to the room he had come out of shot open, and Lucy Callaghan staggered out. She was a little inebriated, drugged, or drunk, because she was stripped down to her lingerie and her eyes were swirling on her head like balls in motion. Her eyes floated over me, ignoring me, and centered on Rowan.
“What's taking you so long, Rowan?” She cried in a voice that was low and sensual. I could tell she was terribly horny as she was drunk.
“I’ll be in a minute, Love.” He said, “Keep it steamed for me,” he added in a sensual tone, winking at her panties.
I just watched the exchange, my eyes jumping from one to the other, my blood boiling up, as if I had a volcano cooking it up into lava inside of me.
I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't care, shaking my head vigorously, to shake off the sting of everything. He has no obligation to me, so he could do whatever he wants with any woman he wants. But my heart didn't believe that. It only shattered more as I watched her giggle petulantly like an excited kid. She held her panties tight, as if about to finger herself, and she echoed in another low and sensual voice. “Okay, Love. Don't take long. I am seriously waiting”
“I won't,” he replied. She giggled again, staggered back to the room, and the door shut with a low, teasing squeal.
He looked to me then. The grin on his lips grew as he took in the dark hue on my face, the tightness in my features. He chucked silently.
I tried to fight back colour to my face, tried to force the question to my subconscious, but I just couldn't. “Is she your new woman now, or a target, or both?” I asked. I tried to sound firm and in control, but I sounded, to my own ears, a lot worse than that.
He brushed his thumb on his lips as he bridged the space between us. “I think you are jealous, Detective Sam,” he grinned, his lips stretched proudly, eyes twinkling.
“I am not,” I snapped, yelling over the place. 
“Yes. You are.” He replied in a low voice that only mocked my previous screaming. My voice quietened down from the preparation of another scream now.
He bridged the space between us more, and he was probably an inch from me, his breath fanning my face as I looked up to his. “If you must know, detective, she is just a target. My new target.”
“But you are fucking her.” The words were already echoing from me before I could retract them.
“I am not, Detective.” He said, and even though he was a con-artist, capable of lying his way out of anything, I seemed to believe him. He sounded very sincere. “Just like I did yesterday, I have gotten her so drunk that she would pass out in minutes, and by the time she wakes up, I’ll be gone with her credit card and whatever change lay in her pause, because when she wakes up tomorrow, I will have no excuse for why I didn’t fuck her as I didn't last night” He said, then he paused, his grin dropping to a neutral look. “What if I tell you that right now, it is you I want to fuck. What if I tell you, it is you I desire right now, more than Lucy, more than anything in the world, more than even her credit card and whatever lies in her purse.”
His fingers touched my chin, and he lifted my head up as I was already dropping it low, fighting the heat pooling from the rungs of my belly, and the desire surging through my veins. He leaned his head low, about to seal his lips on mine again, but a warning bell rang in my head, and that saved me from making another big mistake that I'll regret. I dropped back fast from him, looking away from his eyes, my chest heaving, my breath burning my nostrils, as I panted gently. 
“How did you get involved with Lucy, Rowan?” I said, trying to change the subject and the mood between us. “How come you are always involved with whoever the killer wants to kill?”
His eyes narrowed on me. “What do you mean?” He inquired.
“Cecilia Rosewood's call log came in today, and I discovered the number of the killer in it. He was the last to call her. The killer had used a burner phone for his operation, but that didn't stop me from getting my hands on his call log, and guess what I found? Lucy Callaghan's phone number. She and Cecilia's phone numbers were the only phone numbers on the phone. She is either an accomplice or his next target. She is either both or the latter, because I can tell she is hiding something.”
He quietly took in the information, his brows furrowed a bit. “It is either the killer is targeting the women I know, or I am the one getting myself involved with his target, or this is all some big coincidence. I guess I’ll have to stay until tomorrow, then, and ask Lucy what she is hiding. She would talk to me if I got too persuasive with her.” He said.
“Why not ask her this night?” I said.
“She is useless to anyone tonight. She must have passed out already. It can only be done tomorrow.” He said.
“Okay, I guess, I'll go then and come back tomorrow,” I said, turning away quietly. But he snatched my wrist, pulling me back into his arms.
I collided against his chest, and he looked down at me, his amber-hazel orbs shining bright. “You are going nowhere tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I want you.”
“But I don't want to…” his lips froze the rest of the words on my throat. He sucked hard on my lips as he pulled me down the hallway with him, his arms firmly on my waist. He pulled my lower lip with his teeth, and he pinched it.
I had been trying to get back control, but that little act drilled something like an electrical charge through me. It struck a button that unlocked the cage guarding my inhibitions, and I threw my arms over his neck, throwing caution to the wind as well.
He licked my lips hard, sucking and pinching, while I cried against his mouth, echoing moans after moans which he swallowed up. He took off my jacket, throwing it into the hallway. He kicked the door to the room he shared with Lucy Callaghan, and it squealed open behind him.
I drew back from his lips, about to yell No. But he breathed against my lips. “I promise you she is already asleep and won't wake up until morning.” He assured.
I don't know what came over me, but I latched onto his lips again, throwing my arms over his neck, and deepening his kiss, pulling him deeper and deeper to my lips.
We stumbled into the room, and he took off my turtle-neck, breaking off my lips briefly to get it completely off me. My bra went down as well, and at the same time, he kicked the door shut behind me. He grabbed my breasts with both hands, fondling them with his palms, his fingers were pinching my nipples when the coppery smell hit my nostrils—blood.
I pushed him off me instantly, looking sharply to the bed, to the smell. Cold shivers drilled through me, and I froze on the spot for a whole minute, staring directly at the bed, unable to believe my eyes. 
She lay limply on the bed, eyes glassy and staring at the ceiling, her neck sliced open, with blood still pulsing from it, to stain a bed that was already red with blood—Lucy Callaghan was dead.