Page 4 of Sinful Touch

This part of the city is not as busy as the new side, which is lucky for me because it makes this whole thing a lot easier.

I continue to make my way down the sidewalk, stopping at the door of the coffee shop. I take a deep breath and open the door, walking inside and immediately making my way to the corner that gives me the perfect view of where she sits.

I unzip my jacket and remove it putting it on the back of the chair as I take a seat and lean back.

Liliana is in her normal spot: curled up on the couch with a book and notebook in her lap. I smile when I see that it is yet another one of my books.

I have lost count of how many books I have published; once the first one came out, I just went on a roll, and more and more ideas came out, so more books came out.

I continue to keep my eyes on her as the girl walks up to me and places a coffee in front of me. I nod to her, but she is not the one that has my attention.

Liliana is not like any girl I have ever met. Most girls who see me go crazy can't speak and act stupid to try and get my attention, but not Lil.

She is nervous, but I can tell she is like that with everyone.

No, she is different.

Like right now, she is curled up on the couch reading my book but then takes small breaks to write in her notebook; I will fucking see what she is writing in there. Other girls her age are out drinking, getting lost in some guy, but not Lil, she is alone working on something I can tell she loves.

She doesn’t seem like the type to go out to parties and get lost in booze and men. No, she seems like the type of girl who would rather stay at home reading a good book, watching a movie, or getting lost in her writing.

I tilt my head to the side, watching her closely. She grabs the bridge of her nose with two fingers and shakes her head. I have noticed she grabs the bridge of her nose whenever she can’t get the words out that she wants to write; it is adorable, actually.

She lowers her hand and begins writing again. The coffee shop is filled with other students and random people who live the nightlife.

She is not paying them any mind, nor are they not paying her any mind. She is in her own world right now, a world I am dying to join.

She reaches over and grabs her coffee cup. She stops and looks down.

A smile forms across my face as she slowly gets up from the couch, setting down her book and notebooks. This girl drinks coffee like it is water, but I get it.

We writers stay up late and will continue to do so until the book is done; being a writer is an obsession. Or at least it is for me, and I can tell it is for her, too. I have spent many years writing down my desire and what I truly want and sharing it with the world. The funny thing is that I haven’t found the right woman to submit to and give me what I want. The girls I write about are not ones from my real life, fuck no. They are the women I have made up inside my head, the women who would finally give me what I want.

Most don’t understand what we writers go through. Sometimes, we don't see the end results for our work of art, and other times, we get lucky and get noticed.

It took me 5 years before someone would give me a chance, so I published my own stuff at the beginning. Being indie was nice. I had the freedom to write what I wanted, and I didn’t have to ask for permission. Now you can say I am on a leash. The world—or I should say my fans—wants a certain kind of book from me. If I tried to write something else, my fans, my agent, and my publisher would freak out.

Liliana circles around the couch, making her way over to the counter.

I quickly get up from my seat and go over to the couch. I look down at the still-open notebook.

At the top of the page, I see my name, and underneath, holy fucking shit.

I turn and look over at Lil. She is standing at the counter, waiting for her new-filled coffee cup. I look back down at the notebook, taking a deep breath.

I guess I am not the only one with secrets; I am not the only one with hidden desires. This girl is going to fucking destroy me.

4

Jaxon

She has been writing about me and allowing her desires to flow onto that paper; I need to get my hands on her notebook. It is killing me not fucking knowing what she is writing.

I want inside her head, I want to know everything she is thinking and feeling when I am around her, when she sits quietly in my class, hanging on to every word I say. I want to know have I lived up to what her head has made me? Do I live up to pleasing her in her notebook?

Fuck, this is insanity, I shouldn’t care what she is writing, I shouldn’t care what she is thinking and feeling, but I can’t fucking help it, she has taken over me. In every fucking way, I have become obsessed with her.

I don’t know why she is coming to the public library when we have one of the best libraries in the city, but I guess she wants to be alone to get lost in her sinful thoughts about me; I get, fuck yes, I get it. She has no idea the sinful thoughts I have about her, what I want to make her do.

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