I’d told Tanya about it afterward, and we’d both been so freaked out that now we avoided the subject altogether, as if bringing it up might trigger a new wave of weirdness.

“How was Brinley?” I asked. Tanya had worked with her the night before, keeping an eye on her like I had the night before that.

Tanya pushed away from the window and went to the coffee maker. “Good. Thank god. I think you’re right, and she’ll be able to stick it out. That first bad night just threw her.”

“Nothing like a baptism by fire to test someone’s mettle,” I said.

Tanya finished pouring her coffee and turned toward me, leaning her hip against the counter as she took her first sip. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if we had more people to split patients between.”

I perked up at that. “Speaking of, are you going to that job fair next month?” The hospital regularly put up booths at high school job fairs and local recruitment events in an effort to lure more people into nursing fields. Few would end up working here, but we saw any increase in numbers as a win.

Tanya nodded. “Wanna come with? It counts as a shift, and you might see some daylight for once.” She eyed me over the rim of her mug, one brow rising. “You’re looking pretty pasty lately.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hope your sales pitch at the fair is better than that.”

She snorted. “You in or not? Don’t make me take someone like Donna.”

We both grimaced. Donna was one of the nurses who’d been in here with Brinley last week. She had a terrible bedside manner and no natural instincts for caretaker work. Bringing her to a recruitment fair was more likely to drive people away from our career field than toward it.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” I said.

Tanya let out a relieved breath and took another sip of coffee.

Silence fell between us, but it was a comfortable one we both settled into. Some nights, we’d sit and chat between patients, sharing gossip. Others were like this, both of us stuck in our heads, just trying to catch our breath in the middle of a rough shift.

Tanya’s pager beeped on her hip, and she swore under her breath as she checked it. “Lab results,” she said, downing the dregs of her coffee before striding out of the room.

I checked my pager as she left. I was waiting on bloodwork for two patients myself, and it was surprising mine hadn’t beeped at me yet. Maybe I could bribe my lab tech friend, Vern, to bump me up in her queue.

The date at the top of my pager caught my eye, and I straightened in my seat. Today was Thursday. That meant a new video from the Faceless Man. He posted every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday like clockwork. How the fuck had I forgotten?

I dove out of my chair toward my locker. To have the breakroom to myself was a minor miracle, and I wouldn’t miss my chance to watch the new video in peace.

“Come on,” I muttered as I turned the dial on my lock with impatient fingers. The door could open at any second, and then this opportunity would be over, and I’d have to wait until the next lull or the end of my shift to watch it.

I opened the lock and grabbed my phone out of my purse. My fingers flew as I pulled it close, tapping my favorite social media icon and going straight to the search bar. His creator page filled my screen a heartbeat later, and warmth flooded my body as I saw the familiar video covers of him in various poses and stages of undress.

Damn, the man was fine.

My breathing picked up as I stared down at my phone, nipples peaking beneath my scrubs. I was like a Pavlovian dog for him, but instead of drooling over the anticipation of food, I got wet somewhere else over the expectation of pleasure. This couldn’t be normal – my knee-jerk reaction to him, like I was primed and ready to go after the merest glimpse at his page. I needed to stop masturbating to his videos because being this turned on this quickly was starting to be a problem. Especially right now, when there was no time to relieve my sudden need, and I’d be left aching with thoughts of him for the rest of the night.

I probably should have put the phone down and watched the thirst trap later, preferably in the solitude of my bedroom where I had easy access to a vibrator, but there went my finger, opening the latest video as if it had a mind of its own. It must be a good one because it had only been posted a few hours ago and already had over a hundred thousand views.

I pulled the phone closer and watched as a haunting song started to play. All I saw was darkness until the camera panned upward, revealing the Faceless Man’s mask lying flat on something. The camera panned more, and – holy shit! It was lying on a bed, and I had that same comforter!

I hit pause and let out a tortured groan. Oh, no. No, no, no. I should not have started watching this here. My pussy clenched at the sight of that mask lying on what could have been my bed, spasming in a way that only my biggest vibrator or a long hard fuck could ease.

Quit now while you’re ahead, I thought. Watching the rest of the video could only end in torture, but despite knowing how uncomfortably aroused I’d be for the rest of the night, I couldn’t help but lift the phone back up and hit unpause.

The music started playing again, and a masculine hand slid into view, nails clipped short, tattoos whorling down the back of it right onto each finger. The camera panned out a little more. I released a shaky exhale as a muscular forearm was revealed, covered in tattoos and veins, and, oh, god, what was it about forearms that had such a chokehold on me? Was it because I could picture those muscles flexing as that big hand held both of mine over my head? Or better yet, bunching with barely restrained strength as long fingers wrapped around my throat?

The hand slid over the mask, curling into the eye sockets before dragging it slowly out of view as a painfully low male voice sang about doing unholy things in the bedroom. The Faceless Man’s music selection was always perfect, able to turn even a simple video like this into a clit tease. It was even worse this time because I couldn’t stop picturing him filming it in my bedroom.

Suddenly, the camera snapped up, and I sucked in a sharp breath. There he was, framed in a mirror in all his shirtless glory, phone in one hand as he filmed himself, the other slowly undoing his belt. I hit the pause button again to take it all in. He was perfection – maybe not for everyone, but he was for me – with heavy muscles gained from what must have been hours in the gym, toned and trim in all the right places, wide and dense in others.

I wanted to trace my tongue through the valley between his pecs, worship his abs, and spend an ungodly amount of time memorizing the deep V of his hip flexors.

More than anything, I wanted to replace his hands with mine, undo his belt, pull out what looked like a sizable dick, if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by, and spend the rest of the night doing things with him that would make the Devil blush.

A noise sounded in the hall, reminding me that my time was limited. I unpaused the video and watched the last few seconds, reveling in the slow, measured way he slid his belt loose and wrapped it around his fist while taking deep, labored breaths, his chest heaving. Why was that so goddamn sexy?

Probably because you’re picturing him breathing like that while wrapping his belt around your wrists to restrain you, you horny little bitch.

Damn, I had it for this man, and I’d never even met him, had no idea what he looked like beneath that mask or what he even sounded like. He’d never spoken in his videos.

That was probably the allure. Kinky sex with a hot, faceless man who didn’t speak? Sign me the hell up. I’d had about enough of men’s voices lately.

Something in the corner of the mirror caught my eye, and I hit pause again right before the video ended. The backgrounds of his videos were always dark and out of focus, but I could have sworn I was staring at the edge of my dresser, complete with what might have been the clutter of my makeup containers and hastily discarded hair clips.