Lights Out: A Dark Stalker Rom-Com, page 11
Do not come in your shorts, do not come in your shorts, I started chanting in my head.
I kept my eyes trained on the road and slowed the car. Movement in my periphery was all the warning I had before Aly tugged the band of my boxers open and pulled out my dick. Silence reigned absolute between us. We must have both been holding our breath. Then Aly let out a ragged exhale and wrapped her fingers around my shaft, and I nearly came on contact.
“Don’t misconstrue this,” she said, picking the knife back up.
Terror slammed into me. A woman had one hand on my dick and the other on a knife. This could get so bad, so fast. My cock should be shriveling up in fear, but I only got harder at the thought, the danger pushing my arousal to an almost uncomfortable level.
Aly noticed, squeezing my shaft and running her thumb over the head of it to smear a drop of precum over my skin. “I see the knife kink goes both ways.”
I guess it fucking did.
“I’m still mad,” she said. “This isn’t for you.”
Okay, but it felt a little like it was for me. Her hand was stroking up my dick, after all.
“This is something I’ve dreamed about for months, and I’m not going to deny myself a chance to touch you just because we’re in a fight.”
Awww. Our first official fight.
I was absolutely going to mark this in my calendar so a year from now, we could celebrate the day she acknowledged there was something between us. Was I getting ahead of myself? Probably, but I couldn’t help it. Aly was going to be mine. The end. I’d just have to find some way to make her think it happened organically, and she wasn’t falling for my dastardly plan to brainwash her into loving me by spoiling her rotten and playing into every desire she’d ever had.
The blunted edge of the knife slid up my side in idle threat as Aly worked her way back down my cock. Her touch was gentle because both her hand and my dick were so dry that there wasn’t enough lubrication between us for her to really go after it. She paused when she got to the bottom, squeezed my base, and then reached into the band of my boxers and tugged on my balls.
I let out a shaky breath and gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about doing this,” she said as she started to lean forward. She paused halfway to my dick, and I nearly groaned. “Are you STD free?”
I nodded. I’d gotten tested a few weeks ago and hadn’t been with anyone since.
“You wouldn’t lie to me about something like that, would you?” she asked, starting to rotate the knife against my side, the sharp edge heading toward my skin.
I shook my head, horrified at the thought of someone doing that to a partner.
“Good, because I can’t hold out any longer,” she said.
And then she clamped her lips around the head of my dick and swirled her tongue over it.
My vision tunneled. Oh, fuck, I was going to come like a fire hydrant if she kept this up.
It was somehow even better than I’d imagined, and I’d done an unhealthy amount of daydreaming the past several days. Was it because I was off the drugs that had dulled my emotions and sensations for so long? Or because it was Aly, and having feelings about the person I hooked up with elevated my pleasure?
Maybe it was both of those things combined, paired with the fact that I had my mask on, and this was the first time I was living out a fantasy I’d had for years.
That realization fled from my mind when she squeezed the base of my shaft again and lowered her head, taking more of me into the wet heat of her mouth. The urge to thrust my hips upward was strong, but she said this was for her, so I held myself still with monumental effort and let her play with me.
She moved lower, lower, widening her jaw as she took me all the way to the back of her throat. I groaned as her tongue swirled over me again, coating my shaft in saliva as she pulled up. Would it ruin my scary masked stalker image if I came too early? Didn’t badasses hold out for a long time?
Her hand wrapped around my now-lubricated shaft and started to pump, rotating on the way down just like I liked.
I prayed to the gods of longevity and then started naming baseball teams in my head.
She drew back up to my head and lapped at my slit with a moan. “God, you taste good.”
Nope. I wasn’t going to make it. I would blow like a two-pump-chump, and my badass reputation would be ruined entirely.
I tried to drum up some regret about that, but Aly tunneled her cheeks as she bobbed back down, and the suction had me seeing stars.
I took a wrong turn down a dark street and slowed the car to an absolute crawl.
“Make a U-turn at the next stoplight,” the British woman told me.
Aly froze.
Uh-oh.
Her lips popped free – no, no, no – and she sat up, knife fully rotated now, blade hovering over my skin.
“Did you just deviate from the directions?” she asked.
I whimpered in response.
I fucking whimpered.
In my defense, my dick was cold and lonely and pulsing with need, and the mouth that had so recently brought it pleasure was now several feet away. Who could blame me?
“Bad boys don’t get rewarded,” she said.
No. Goddamnit. I did not need a brat kink on top of my newly awakened praise kink. The two were supposed to cancel each other out, not act as amplifiers.
Or maybe I just had an Aly kink, and everything she said triggered this kind of response in me. Maybe being together meant that all her desires were about to become mine, too.
Please, God. Don’t let her have a fisting kink, I thought. Being used like a puppet was not something I wanted to experience.
I put my blinker on and turned the car around at the lights. She sat watching me in the dark, knife running up and down my side until we got back on the road my map wanted us on. Another torturous moment passed that made me worry Aly was going to leave me like this before she pulled the knife away and leaned forward again. This time, she started on my stomach, planting hot, drugging kisses on my abs before she parted her lips and nipped at my skin hard enough to pinch.
Was a biting kink a thing? It must be because I was rock-hard for it.
The snow picked up outside, and the car lights made it look like I’d just launched us into hyperdrive, even though we were barely moving, flakes flashing past us like stars as we raced through space. It made me feel like we were in our own little world as Aly’s lips wrapped around the head of my dick again.
“If we weren’t in this car,” she whispered against me, breath heating my skin while her hand worked my shaft, “I would deep throat you until I choked. But this angle is wrong, so I’ll have to do this instead.”
She laved at the head of my dick, tonguing my frenulum and then my slit before she did that delicious swirling motion again, all while her hand pumped my shaft.
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?
Chapter 9
Aly
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.
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.
