I manage to try him again in between the ongoing deluge of creeper calls. It goes to voicemail, again. After many rings, too. So he’s either seeing my call and dodging it, not hitting the ignore button either, so I won’t know he’s there, or he’s honestly away from the phone. I’m guessing the latter, since if he did something like this on purpose, he wouldn’t care about my feelings being hurt if he sent my phone call straight to voicemail.
Crap.
He was supposed to be at work, but when I passed the reception desk earlier, Paul was on. Maybe he took off for some reason, or had to run an errand? Maybe he’s back at the desk by now?
I can’t recall exactly when the shifts change here, and screw it, this is important. I pocket my phone, grab my wallet and my keys, and charge for the elevator. I head up to his apartment first, figuring if he hasn’t started work yet, he might still be up there getting ready.
My pussy tightens as the elevator slows to a halt on his floor. One weekend and my body has already gotten accustomed to anticipating sex when I reach this spot. Already, my mind fills with memories—him pinning me against the front door after I returned from an errand downstairs to my apartment. He couldn’t even wait to drag me inside—he stripped me right there, and fucked me against the door, my legs around his waist, our hips digging into one another.
Then, of course, there was later that night, in the kitchen just off his hallway, as we tried to cook together but kept getting distracted by the brush of our arms as we reached around one another for supplies, and the way the heat from the stove made him smell even more delicious, practically edible… I’d bent over to pull some extra veggies from the fridge when he grabbed me from behind and flipped up my skirt. The sensation had been unique to say the least—the cool air from the fridge spilling over my shoulders as he gripped my hips and slid into me from behind, fucking me right there in the middle of dinner prep.
I’m breathing hard by the time I reach his front door, even though it’s only a few steps from the elevator. Get ahold of yourself, I order, trying to slow my breathing, calm my frayed nerves. This visit isn’t about sex. This is about something so much more important. It’s about my career, my future, my work… My whole life hinges on figuring out who is trying to ruin me and why.
I hit the buzzer.
Then I wait. And wait. And wait.
I check my phone to be sure I’m not imagining it, because it feels like time is crawling. I hit the buzzer one more time, just to be sure. Maybe he was in the shower and didn’t hear it, or maybe he’s listening to music. But the bell goes off, loud as ever, loud enough that I can hear it all the way from out here in the hallway. And from within Zayne’s apartment, I only hear silence in response.
I shake my head. Okay, not home. So maybe he is downstairs at work.
I climb back into the elevator and clench my thighs tight around my pussy. It feels disappointed, almost angry at me, for bringing it all the way up to this floor and not giving it the release it demands. It scares me how hungry I am for Zayne already, after barely any time of knowing him.
I reach the ground floor and step out of the elevator, make a beeline for the front desk. Paul is still standing there, in the same spot where I walked past him an hour ago, smiling cheerily at one of the second floor tenants as she breezes past.
I sidestep to let her into the elevator, then approach the front desk, chest tight.
“Hey Paul.”
He blinks, though if he’s surprised to see me speaking to him first, he conceals it well behind that practiced smile of his. “Ms. Walker. How can I help you?”
“Um.” This is going to sound weird. I know it is. But there’s nothing I can really do about that just now. “I’m looking for Zayne, actually. Have you seen him?”
Paul’s eyebrows do a little dance above his face, as though deciding whether or not to rise in surprise. Eventually, he settles for just smiling a smidge wider, still polite as ever. “He’s out for lunch at the moment. His shift starts at 4 today, if you’d like to stop back then. Although, if it’s anything I can help you with in the meantime, I’d be delighted to offer my assistance.”
Unless you happen to be an expert in tracking down cyber stalkers or revenge porn enthusiasts, I don’t think you can, I resist saying. I just smile instead. “Thanks, Paul. I’ll stop back later.”