Aly was done playing around. The way she lapped and sucked and stroked spoke of a single-minded determination to get me off.

I switched from baseball teams to hockey teams. I wasn’t a huge fan of the latter, and it took brain power to recall some of the names of – holy fuck, what did she just do?

I took my foot off the gas and glanced down. The back of Aly’s head hid her mouth and hand from sight, depriving me of getting to watch her do whatever the fuck this was to me.

No. Hockey. Remember the hockey. Team things. You were trying to –

Pressure built at the base of my spine. My balls started to tighten.

Aly sucked me deep and did that thing again.

I was going to come.

Hard.

I tapped her shoulder, trying to get her attention. She swatted me away like she didn’t need the distraction right now.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Her mouth.

I tapped her again, more insistent this time.

A pop sounded as she pulled herself off my dick. “If you keep interrupting me, I’ll never find out what you taste like when you come.”

Lust roared through me as she bobbed back down and sucked me deep. I knew she said this was just for her, but I could no longer stop myself from moving, just a little, thrusting up into her luscious wetness. She moaned like she welcomed it, so I thrust harder.

A sharp stab of pain shot through my right hand.

What the fuck?

I glanced down, and my eyes flashed wide.

Aly had just accidentally stabbed me.

I jerked my hand away from the knife to see how bad it was, but Aly did that thing with her mouth again, and between the resulting spike of pleasure and the searing pain, I fell over the edge, spine bowing forward, losing all control as I came inside her welcoming, perfect mouth. She choked a little, trying to swallow it all down, and it only made me come harder, dragging my release out.

Aly gripped my cock when I was done and cleaned every last drop off it with her tongue. I elevated my hand and pulled it close. Blood was starting to trickle down my arm, and I didn’t want to get any of it in her hair or on her car seat.

She gave the head of my dick one last, sweet kiss and then tucked it back into my boxers, rising with a satisfied smirk that quickly turned to horror when she saw my hand.

“What the fuck did you do?” she said, grabbing it to assess the damage. “Oh, Jesus, I think you need stitches.”

Was there a nice way to tell her that I, in fact, had done nothing, and it was her who had done the maiming?

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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 planned to take the secret to his grave. Oddly enough, my instinct was to believe him.

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.