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It’s not fear I am reading in her eyes as she backs away from me. There is something akin to curiosity there, and interestingly enough . . . desire.

“I . . . I’ll stay right here,” she stammers. “If you really want to help, then all I need is your phone.”

I stare at her flushed cheeks and contemplate pressing her to come in but decide against it. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Walking back into my unit, I grab my phone, already dialing the number for a friend of mine who works as a locksmith as I move back to the front door.

The call immediately connects and I talk to my friend, who agrees to come tonight, but he’s on the other side of the town and it’ll take him a couple of hours to get to our building. I relay this to Dawn and notice the relieved look that crosses her face.

“Thank you,” she says, dropping back against the wall across from my door, and I can’t help but run my eyes over her body once more.

Once again, I am struck with the mental image of claiming this girl where she stands—in a hallway where anyone could walk by and see her pushed against the wall, crying out as she takes my fat cock into her soaked pussy. First, I would slide my middle finger into her pussy and make sure she’s wet enough for my cock before plunging it into her . . .


“You should come inside,” I say huskily in an effort to distract myself from the fact that I want this girl. “The locksmith will not be here for a while.”

“No . . . I-I’ll wait here,” she says stubbornly, but despite her protests, I can tell she’s cold from the goosebumps on her arms.

“Kitten . . .”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses, flashing me what she must assume is a sharp glare, but all it does is send my cock jumping behind my sweats. How I want to close the distance between us and kiss her petulant lips, but I settle for leaning against the doorframe and drinking up her perfect form.

“Did you know this building is haunted?”

“Are you really trying to scare me into coming inside?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes even as she rubs her arms. “It’s not going to work.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to do anything but make conversation as we wait for the locksmith.”

“Yeah, right.”

“So, this building is almost a hundred years old, did you know that?” I start. “Story goes that a woman lived here in the sixties, a nurse who lived alone with her cat, and one night, it snuck out. When the woman went looking for it, coincidentally, she locked herself out of her apartment. She knocked on all of her neighbor’s doors, hoping someone would answer, but none of them responded to her cry for help.”

Dawn leans in, awfully invested in my story for someone who only moments ago seemed uninterested. “Why wouldn’t they help her?”

“Because it was late, and most claimed they were asleep or didn’t hear her knock. It wasn’t the safest neighborhood back then, either. They were probably scared. Anyway, the building was dark, and she tripped and fell going down the stairs. She died just after midnight. They say she’s haunted the building ever since that night, infuriated by her neighbors’ neglect. Apparently, some residents have sworn that they’ve heard someone knocking on their doors in the wee hours of the morning, and those who dared to open the door . . .”

“W-what? What happened?”

“No one was there,” I say anticlimactically with a smirk, which earns me a glare from my clearly shaken neighbor.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I chuckle as I turn around to head back to my unit, but she grabs my arm before I can move. “Wait! Where are you going? You can’t leave me alone after that.”

“I thought you weren’t scared?” Christ, something about this girl just makes me want to rile her up, and I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s the way she glares up at me, her feisty side sending a thrill through my chest.

“I’m not scared!”

“Relax kitten,” I say, amused. “I’m just getting you a sweater or something to cover yourself. You’re trembling.” And she is. I can’t stand seeing her cold and uncomfortable.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the shiver that shakes her shoulders contradicts her statement.

“You’re clearly not,” I say. “I can grab something warm for you, or you could just come inside where you’ll be comfortable . . . and safe from the wrath of the ghost.”

“As if anyone would believe your dumb story,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes even as her fingers dig deeper into my skin. I don’t let myself think of the effect her tight grip has on me.

I shake my head and take her hand from my arm before intertwining our figures. With a gentle tug, I guide her into my cozy apartment. She makes a noise of protest when the door closes softly behind us.

“You don’t need to be scared about being alone with me, kitten,” I say humorously as I guide her in. “I’m not some creep who lures young pretty women into my home and shaves off their hair to sell as wigs.

Long seconds tick by. “That’s oddly specific.”