I feel my heartache suddenly, realizing what’s most likely the truth.
She’s here with her boyfriend, probably husband. Looking to buy an investment property, or maybe they simply got lost.
The sight of her in this place just doesn’t fit. A girl like this all on her own. It doesn’t make sense either. She could have any guy she wanted. I mean, look at her for Christ’s sake.
Then again, neither do her gray sweats and white T-shirt fit that picture either.
No bra either.
Jesus.
Before I can even form a thought, before I can string two words together, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt for a very long time.
A low sound comes from somewhere deep inside me, and I feel my dick start to thicken in my pants as I feel my lip curl into a smile.
A welcoming look that fast turns into both our eyes locked.
Something like a magnet pulling us closer together as we both take steps towards each other without saying a single word.
I forget why I’m really here, forget all about Phoebe what’s her name and her stupid locks.
I think even the old man might forgive me if he could see what I’m seeing now. If he could know exactly how I’m feeling.
This is a chance meeting, and no matter what else happens I can’t let this beauty out of my sight, not even for a second.
I tell myself I can deal with her boyfriend slash husband later.
Toying with the slash part of that idea before I become aware that she’s actually saying something.
She’s speaking to me.
Her eyes have narrowed, and her arms have covered her chest.
“Ummm… Who are you and what the heck are you doing outside my door?” she asks icily, her tone full of accusation.
Crashing back to earth, I realize the moment of chemistry has passed, at least for now.
This must be Phoebe Gold. This is her apartment.
My god, her baby!
“You’ve got a baby inside?” I ask her quickly, not wanting to waste another moment with my own selfish feelings.
I can come back to those later.
We both can, hopefully.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I had no idea it was you, I’m Maxwell. Max. Max Bear. I’m the locksmith,” I finally manage to tell her.
Her whole demeanor shifts and she relaxes in an instant.
Those smooth arms move from her chest with one hand resting on her hip.
Those childbearing, those hold me while you fill me until I scream your name hips.
“You’re the locksmith?” she asks, her own mouth turning into a coy smile as she scans my body, pausing with a slightly open mouth when she passes over my bulging crotch-ache of a tent pole as it springs to life.
Almost at the same time, I ask her a similar question, “And you’re Phoebe Gold?”
We both silently nod in agreement.
“But, your baby?” I remind us both, feeling hurt she could have ever been touched by another.
Her puzzled look turns to mild amusement once she sees the effect she’s having on me. Like she knows something I don’t.
“She’s probably sleeping,” she assures me casually, nowhere near as panicked as I imagined a mom would be, locked out from her own baby like this.
“I’ll be inside you in a jiffy,” I hear myself proclaim loudly.
“I mean… I’ll get you inside,” I stammer, fishing in my pockets to try and find the bunch of master keys but only feeling my rock hard dick where keys should be.
Jesus, what this girl’s doing to me already.
I have to have her.
There, I said it. When all this is over, I’ll do whatever it takes to spend some time to get to know her better.
But only so I can bury this effect she’s having on me deep inside her.
Return the favor.
She makes her own little sound and I notice her eyes fixed on my groin until I finally fish out a thick bunch of keys, turning to face the door quickly as I start to work through them all.
Most locksmiths have master keys for almost every type of key and lock.
Maybe I’ve been out of the game too long, or maybe I just can’t think straight.
Maybe both, but try as I might I can’t find anything to fit these locks of hers. It’s a solid door on an inch thick steel frame locked in three places.
As strong as I am, I know trying to kick it down won’t work. It would only make me look foolish if I even tried.
There’s suddenly a noise from the other side of the door, like raspy, shallow breathing. Then a scratching sound.
“My God, it sounds like your baby,” I gasp, asking if the building has a fire escape.
If I can’t open the door and kicking it down won’t work, I can always try a window. Break that if I have to.
“Uh… there is one, round back,” she stammers, growing instantly serious as I rush past her, already halfway to the stairs, telling her to stay put.