Lights out

Chapter 9Aly

I’d stabbed him. Jesus take me now, I had stabbed a man while giving him head. There was no coming back from this. My days ended here. Any second now, I would spontaneously combust from the humiliation.

The Faceless Man seemed to be handling it pretty well, all things considered. If our roles were reversed, I doubted I’d be so forgiving about getting stabbed. Or was it just his commitment to silence that hid his true anger? Was he being stoic about it now, but after this, I’d never see him again?

And why did that thought make me feel like the floor had dropped out from beneath me?

“One last time,” I warned, the words only slightly muffled by my surgical mask.

The hand lying before me didn’t so much as flinch as he readied himself for the final stitch. I’d tried to get him to turn around and go back to the hospital and have a doctor do this with a localized painkiller, but he shook his head, and the stiff set of his shoulders told me he would have been stubborn about it if I’d pressed harder. I wasn’t about to. My co-workers were in the middle of dealing with a tragedy; they didn’t need me taking up a bed with my…whatever he was.

So here we were, sitting at my tiny dining table turned makeshift ER, my emergency kit spread out around us. He was lucky I had everything required for cleaning and stitching his wound, but I was still uncomfortable about this. I was an RN. Suturing was considered a minor surgical operation, and our state, like many others, didn’t allow RNs to perform the procedure. You needed to be an advanced practicing nurse to do it. If anyone found out I’d broken the law, I could get in a lot of trouble, maybe even lose my job and get fined.

I told him all that as we pulled into my driveway, on the off-chance his wound got infected and he had to see a doctor, asking him to please not tell anyone it was me. He’d mimed zipping his gaping mouth shut like he pla

Just one more stitch, Aly. You can do it, I told myself. It had been a long time since I’d done this, and I was out of practice. My exhaustion wasn’t helping. Nor was the fact that I couldn’t stop following the line of tattoos up his hand to his thick, veiny forearms.

I licked my lips and nearly moaned. I could still taste him on them.

This man had watched me at work, decided he needed to play white knight, and then broke into my car to give me a ride home. And what had I done? Oh, you know, waited all of five minutes before face-diving onto his dick.

“Are you ready?” I asked, glancing up at him.

He nodded, seemingly far less affected by this situation than I was, and stroked his free hand down Fred’s back.

I spared my traitorous cat a glance. Fred had jumped into the Faceless Man’s lap the second he sat down at the table, and now he lay there curled up and purring like my stalker was his new favorite human in the world.

My life had gotten really weird lately.

I dropped my gaze and refocused on the hand before me. The Faceless Man needed five stitches. Five. I must have sliced more than stabbed, lost in my own little lust-filled world as I worshipped what was arguably the most aesthetically pleasing dick I had ever seen. Because, of course, it was. His entire body was a masterpiece; why not his cock, too? Big, thick, straining, with silky smooth skin unmarred by veins or discoloration. I’d taken one look at it, and saliva started pooling in my mouth.

Yup, I had it bad for his body. But just that. This could only ever be fantasy fulfillment. I shouldn’t have been so turned on by the maniacal way he’d frightened off those gross men in the truck. And I definitely shouldn’t be smiling to myself as I poked a needle through his skin one final time, thinking of his flirtatious DMs and texts.

What was it about smartass men that was so attractive? Was it because they never seemed to take life or themselves too seriously? Or was it because I saw so much pain and death that I needed someone who could make me laugh with a well-placed one-liner after a terrible shift like the one I’d just finished?

Though it killed me to admit it, the Faceless Man’s brand of smartassery seemed like the harmless kind that spoke more of witty banter and self-deprecation than cracking jokes at the expense of others. I wanted more of it in my life, still couldn’t believe he’d gotten me to laugh with that “sounds kinky” line when I was so pissed off at him.

He sucked in a breath as I tugged the final stitch closed, the only noise he’d made this whole time, despite the pain he must be in.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just have to tie this side off.”

I took deep, even breaths as I finished closing him up, trying not to let the panic drown me. Of course, I’d stabbed right through a tattoo. The scar would be super visible because of it. And he’d have a scar, all right. These stitches were rough work, thanks to my lack of experience.

“You can probably get a plastic surgeon to fix it for you,” I said as I straightened. My back protested from being bent over for too long after all the time I’d been awake and on my feet. I needed aspirin and about fifteen hours of sleep.

The Faceless Man shook his head and pulled his hand from Fred to start typing one-handed. It took him a while to get it all out, and I used that time to clean his wound and the mess we’d made. I must have hit a vein when I stabbed him because he’d bled a fair bit. At least I now had his DNA.

I slipped a wad of gauze into a plastic baggie and slid it off the table while he was distracted. It would be going in my freezer with a note attached that said if anything happened to me, the blood belonged to my killer. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but a girl had to be careful.

He turned his phone my way, and I read, No plastic surgeon. I’ll wear your mark like the badge of pride it is. To drive his point home, he made a fist, placed it over his heart, and bowed to me like someone from a Tolkien movie.

“You are ridiculous,” I said, turning away so he wouldn’t see my amusement.

I took my mask off, gathered the trash, and went to throw it away. “Do you want something to eat?” I asked, opening the freezer. The door hid me from view while I chucked the plastic bag into the far corner. “I have frozen pizza, or,” I opened the refrigerator. Moths flew out of it. Okay, so moths didn’t actually fly out, but they might as well have. My fridge was barren except for wine, a small bottle of half-and-half for my coffee, and a to-go container from my favorite local deli.

I shut the door and turned back to him. “Or frozen pizza.”

He shook his head, carefully set a protesting Fred onto the floor, and stood. From his videos, I knew he was tall, but seeing him in the flesh, taking up far too much space in my dining room, was something else. He was several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and the tree trunk thighs of a football player. His black Henley clung to him in a way that almost made me jealous. Lucky cotton.

I wanted to say something, crack a joke, or find some way to fill this pregnant silence, but words escaped me. He was here. In my house. Within touching distance.

My body was keyed up, hyper-aware of his every move as he grabbed his phone off the table. I didn’t know if it was like this for all women, but giving head turned me on. The act was so intimate, so vulnerable for both parties, and I just plain enjoyed getting someone else off. Feeling a dick go rigid between my lips and start to pulse as a man lost himself to pleasure? I loved it, which meant that I was horny as hell right now.

At this point, all it would take was a single brush of his fingers against my clit, and I would come, but I doubted he was thinking about sex after I’d stabbed him.

I felt a brush against my shin and looked down to see Fred butting his head against my leg. “Oh, now you remember me? The human who rescued you and has done nothing but spoil you rotten since the day you turned up like a half-drowned rat? I see how it is.”

Fred sat back on his haunches and meowed up at me, unapologetic.

The sound of footsteps had me lifting my head. The Faceless Man padded toward me, holding his phone out.

You should shower and get some sleep, the text read. Thanks for stitching me up. It was the least you could do after brutally mutilating me, but I appreciate it anyway.

I clapped a hand over my eyes and groaned. I was never going to see him again. “I know I’ve said it about a hundred times, but I am so sorry.”

I heard the sound of typing, and then his long fingers wrapped around my wrist, tugging my hand away as he showed me his phone again.

Aly, that was so good that I will happily let you maim me whenever you’re feeling frisky.

My cheeks heated. I didn’t blush easily, but this man seemed to be my kryptonite. “Uh, you’re welcome then?”

His broad shoulders shook like he was laughing. At me, I was sure, but I couldn’t blame him. The reality of a kinky hookup was proving a little different than the fantasy I’d harbored for so long. First off, I’d been the one with the knife. Secondly, it included snacks.

Whenever I daydreamed, it was always of some brooding alpha male pushing me around, aggressive and borderline ruthless as he used my body. I still wanted that for myself at some point, wanted it with this man in particular, but I doubted I’d get it after what I’d done to him, regardless of how nice he was being about it.

The hand around my wrist tightened, all the warning I had before he tugged me close. My chest bumped against him, nipples tightening in my bra. My breasts felt fuller somehow, aching like they longed to feel his big hands cupping them, and my underwear was absolutely soaked. Every few seconds, my i

Do not rub yourself against him like a cat in heat, I told myself. You’ve already done enough to freak him out for one night.

He released my wrist and lifted his hand to grip my chin, tilting my head back until I stared into the black voids of the mask’s eye sockets. I looked from one to the other, wishing I could see beyond them to his actual eyes. What did they look like? What color were they? Were they staring down at me with the same lust that filled mine?

His thumb brushed over my lips, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I swore I felt them drop to my mouth. Was he thinking about earlier, too? The feel of me sucking him down before everything went sideways?

Unable to help myself, I reached between us and brushed a hand over his jeans. Oh, fuck, he was hard. I flattened my palm on his erection and stroked upward, hungry for him all over again.

“Let me make it up to you,” I said before fastening my lips around his thumb and swirling my tongue over it suggestively.