I suddenly have a new appreciation for Broadway, master lockpicker. He could get this done inside ten seconds with his eyes closed.
Click.
Halfway through, a distant noise rocks my concentration. Like a wail, or maybe a moan. Either way, my hand jerks ever so slightly and a pin drops.
Fuck.
I hold off from voicing thatfuckaloud, somehow reining in my annoyance, and start over. Ignoring the noises coming from above—definitely moaning, and getting more frequent—I focus on the lock.
Click.
One by one, all the pins set into place like small victories.
The makeshift tension wrench turns, the door unlatches, and I slowly empty my lungs. It’ll be a fucking nightmare doing this every time Hailey adds more full pages to her journal.
I grip the handle, pushing the door open, my heart climbing up my throat as I wait for the hinges to groan or creak. Given the age of the building, I’m surprised when the door glides open without the faintest noise, letting me inside.
Unfortunately, not before I catch movement at the top of the narrow staircase and come eye to eye with the fucking janitor soundlessly moving up like he’s floating rather than stomping through the passageways. His face doesn’t betray an ounce of emotion as he watches me slowly pushing the door closed.
My only option is to plaster what I hope passes for a self-indulgent smirk onto my lips and shrug, like I’m here on a booty call.
The janitor doesn’t say a word, doesn’t acknowledge my presence in any way, moving past Hailey’s door as the gap closes completely. I guess I’m not the first guy he caught sneaking into a girl’s room at night.
Given the moans and guttural, male grunts piercing the air every few seconds, I’m not the only man in the building tonight.
Safely inside the room, I lean against the closed door, surveying Hailey’s private space bathed in the pale moonlight pouring inside through a gap between the curtains.
I avoid glancing at the bed for all of ten seconds, before I stare at Hailey’s sleeping form, her long blonde locks a veil surrounding her pretty, pillow-nuzzled face.
She’s on her side, one leg bent over the comforter, her microscopic PJ shorts rolled up, revealing the brain-melting, soft curve of her ass.
This girl is made of wet dreams.
A sudden onslaught of erotic ideas diverts my attention from the task at hand. Instead of finding her diary and snapping pictures of it in the bathroom, I stare at the sleeping beauty, adjusting my hard cock.
This is wrong.
I shouldn’t be here, perving over an unconscious girl. I should summon a little patience and wait until Hailey trusts me enough to show me her diary by choice.
There are, however, two issues with that plan.
One: I have neither the time nor the patience.
Two: coaxing her trust means building a relationship. A friendly relationship... I don’t want to be her friend.
I don’t want to be her anything.
Apart from maybe the reason she’d scream my name while I powered inside her. Just once. Nothing lasting. One wild night of corrupting and dirtying the pretty girl until she’s a walking embodiment of the image I conjured before I met her: a cum-covered, needy, boyfriend-stealing slut.
Yes, one night would be enough.
Maybe I shouldn’t be here, but who knows how long it’ll take until she willingly shares her memories with me?
I’d rather not spend any more time here than absolutely necessary. I miss my life: my shiny Corvette, clothes, and evenings drinking fine whiskey and watching the dancing throng of ripe bodies inBravo. I miss the nights filled with torture, blood marking my hands, and the screams of the men who wrong me.
I miss good, hard fucking with nameless women.
That last one is an easy fix on campus, but if Hailey found out I was sleeping around, I’d be in a losing position.
