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 inner muscles clenched as if to remind me that they didn’t have a dick to squeeze, and they were not happy about that fact. I’d watched too many thirst traps of this man, and now my past behavior was coming back to bite me in the ass.

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.

He shifted his hips forward in the most subtle of thrusts and let out a low grunt. A thrill of victory shot through me, only to be dashed a heartbeat later when he pulled his thumb free, stepped back, and shook his head, just once. He pointed at me, then toward my bedroom. Then he clapped his hands together, tilted them sideways, and rested his head against them, miming sleep.

I nearly kicked at the floor like a petulant child. But I don’t wanna go to bed! I want to stay up late and get railed!

He must have seen the mutiny in my expression because he crossed his arms over his broad chest and widened his stance in a way that brooked no argument. Okay, that was kind of hot. But also, maybe he had a point. The fact that I felt like throwing a full-blown temper tantrum, tears and all, probably meant that I had whizzed right by overtired and was now deep into delulu territory.

“Fine,” I said, and he relaxed a little. “How are you getting home?”

He uncrossed his arms and typed out a response. I parked down the street.

“Of course you did,” I said, glancing skyward in exasperation. “And I can feel you smiling about that right now, you weirdo, so stop it.”

His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter when I glanced back down. He made deranged look more adorable than concerning, which was why he was so dangerous. Because if he was deranged and mean or a bully, my instincts would have put me off him, made me want to run screaming in the opposite direction. His humor and needling only drew me closer and lowered my guard.

I really hoped he wasn’t planning to murder me because I’d feel real dumb when it happened.

He started typing again, one-handed, and I scrunched my nose while I waited, feeling sorry again. There had been many times I’d felt like stabbing men in my life. It was just my luck that the one time I actually did was accidental.

He showed me his phone. I’m going to leave now. Even though I don’t want to.