Page 87 of Sin

Still chuckling, I turned away to take in the room some more.

He watched every step I took as I toured the not-lair, running the tips of my fingers over the spines of comics and books on a floor to ceiling bookshelf. Some of the titles were in unknown languages, others were beloved classics which I could have bet my soul were first editions.

Spotting a familiar one, my heart sped up and I plucked it from the shelf. “No way.” I flipped over the familiar cover and traced the words inside with an unsteady finger.

For London,

I didn’t realize what I’d been searching for until I found you.

Love you always,

Sin

My gaze flicked up from the book, finding London’s intense gaze on me. The room suddenly felt a whole hell of a lot smaller.

I swallowed and wiggled the book at him. “You kept my poems?”

“Of course I did,” he said, like he couldn’t understand why I was surprised. “I kept everything of yours.”

A breath. “Everything?”

Slowly, he nodded and waved his hand in a circle around the room. “Yes.”

And that’s when I looked. Truly looked. Mixed among the paintings were numerous framed and familiar art pieces. My art pieces. There were all the drawings I’d done of London, drawings of Super suit designs, some fanart I’d created for some of his favorite books and movies, like Legolas and Gimli from Lord of the Rings.

London watched my reaction silently, but intently. Because he’d kept my art. I’d thought they were either tossed or forgotten in some old closet somewhere. But no, he’d framed them and hidden them away like treasure just for him.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and he nodded.

Licking my lips, I looked back at the first poem and grinned. Back in high school, I’d written him a notebook full of poems and gave them to him when I asked him to be my boyfriend.

I remembered how nervous I’d been because it was London. One of my best friends and a guy who I thought was so out of my league it was laughable. But I’d been crushing on him for years, and everyone knew it. Even London himself.

He’d blushed when he read the first poem in the book, but he’d looked so damn happy too.

That smile was still as vivid as ever in my mind.

“About time you asked,” London said, snapping the book of poems shut, grabbing the front of my shirt, and yanking me in for our first kiss.

“Dios, these are embarrassing. I can’t believe you still have this,” I muttered, flipping a few pages in and reading a poem I’d written about his lips. They got progressively more suggestive the further in you delved, and I cringed as I came across one of the last pages, describing the way he…

Blushing, I moved to close the notebook, but London’s hand was suddenly there, stopping me with a hand on the page.

I shivered, surprised to find him standing right in front of me now. Damn, he’d moved so quickly and quietly.

His hand slowly withdrew, and a sinful smile curled his full lips. He tapped the page. “This one’s my favorite.”

“Oh?” I asked like a dumbass because holy fuck, London was inching closer looking as if he planned to devour me.

“Yes. Especially…” He drew out the word and skimmed a finger along a line toward the bottom of the poem. “This part.” Something in my expression must have amused him, because he grinned. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re feeling shy?”

Cheeks unusually warm, I scowled. “No.”

“Hm,” he mused, not sounding like he believed me at all. “You know how you used to read to me?”

I saw where he was going with this. “Yes.”

He tapped the poem. “Will you read to me, Sin?”

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