Page 37 of Lights Out

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 werenothappy 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.

“Then stay,” I blurted. Oh, God. Clingy much, Aly? If the stabbing didn’t scare him off, surely my lack of chill would.

He shook his head, pointed at me, and mimed sleeping again. Then he closed the distance between us and leaned down to bump his masked forehead against mine. The plastic was cool and lifeless, almost jarring after all the time I’d spent anthropomorphizing it. I caught the slightest whiff of what might have been the soap he used, piney and crisp and clean-smelling, before he pulled away.

Even though he said he was leaving, he stood there, staring at me for a long moment before letting out a low, frustrated sound and striding away. I took it as a good sign that he’d lingered. Hemust have genuinely been into me if he had a hard time saying goodbye even after I’d stabbed him.

It made me feel better about my borderline obsession with him. People always said you shouldn’t meet your idols, but after months of following his account, the reality of him left me even more intrigued than his online persona. In my fantasies, he was one-dimensional, an archetype I’d created for my pleasure alone. The man walking toward my front door, being chased by my equally unchill cat, was even better because of the enigma he presented.

Who was he? Why wouldn’t he speak to me? And how long did he plan on toying with me like this before he got bored and moved on like all the other men in my life had?

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to me. We looked at each other for another drawn-out moment. There was so much I wanted to say to him that I didn’t know where to begin. Did he feel the same pull between us? This borderline-unhealthy fixation? He’d been watching me at work, so the assumption was yes, but I wanted to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the same need that had overtaken me was bearing down on him, too.

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