Page 3 of Sinful Touch

“What is your name?” I ask. Normally, I don’t care what my students’ names are; I only care about their papers and the words they write. But I want to know her name.

“Liliana…Liliana Silver,” She says softly, the nervousness returning.

“Hmm, I am guessing Lil for short?’ I ask, knowing it is not her nickname, but it will be now.

“No, actually, Lili,” She says softly again. Her tone is like fucking butter.

“My bad. I think I will stick with Lil, though, if that is okay with you”

She slowly nods.

I motion for her to sit, and she does without question.

I continue to descend the stairs and stop at the stand. I put my planner and other things on top. I lean forward and look over the students.

My eyes stop on Lil. She is in the back, her head down, as she writes something down. She finally leans back and looks at me.

Fuck.

I shake my head and take in a deep breath.

I am in so much fucking trouble.

3

Jaxon

Izip up my jacket and grab my helmet, closing the door behind me as I take two steps at a time. The rain is starting to come down, and the darkness of night has already taken over the city. I have always loved the rain and the blackness of night. It is easier to hide and stay in the shadows.

I have been watching Lil for the past few days after our little run-in at the beginning of my class on the first day. I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind; her soft voice has been on repeat. We didn’t say much to one another, but it was enough for me. Enough to want to know her more. Enough to go against the norm and take things into my own hands.

It would probably be easier to just talk to the girl, but what is the fun in that?

A rush comes with watching someone when they don’t know. You learn all kinds of things about them. I have watched her enough to know she is going to the coffee shop. One good thing about this city is that there are coffee shops open 24-7. Lil has found one that she likes in the older part of town. Most people like the newer side of town, but I have a feeling she isn't like most people at all.

She tries to blend in, and most people don’t even give her a second glance. From how she acts, she is used to being under the radar. I envy her for that. There isn’t a place I can go normally where people don’t know who I am, but the coffee shop has become her safety net, a place she goes to and spends hours writing.

I want to know what she writes about. I know she is working on her papers for my class, but I have watched her enough to know she already has them done, which means what she has been working on is not for me, which makes me jealous, jealous because I want to know what is inside her mind, the part of her mind she refuses to let anyone else see.

I make my way over to my bike and pull the helmet over my head; I swing my leg over and get in the right position. I turn it on and take off down the road.

It will take me about 45 minutes to get to the coffee shop from my house, so she will be on her third cup of coffee by the time I get there. She will be curled up on the couch facing the fireplace, wearing her head buds, making sure to drown out the rest of the world.

I have spent hours watching her from a distance; she seems nervous when she sees me. I made that mistake the first time I saw her go to the coffee shop. I have learned my lesson of it being better if I watch her from a distance; I get to see her for her, and what a beautiful fucking sight it is.

I stop as the light turns from yellow to red; I take a deep breath as the music blares through my headphones.

Liliana has no idea who I am, but for the first time in my life, I want her to know. I want to show her my world, not the world that I have gotten because of my status as a writer.

When people look at me, that is all they see. While most women want to be with me because of what I write, I can say that none of them can handle the desires I have deep down inside me.

No one wants to know the real Jaxon Fox; they want the man they have made up inside their minds.

But Liliana, when she looked at me, it wasn’t with awe because of me being a writer; no, there was something else in her eyes, something that has drawn me in like a moth to a flame, and I want to get fucking burned by her.

I pull up and park on the other side of the street; the little coffee shop is right down the street. I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me, and I want to be able to watch her, watch her as she feels free to be who she is when no one else she knows is around.

I slowly get off my bike and remove my helmet; placing it on the seat, I run across the street and make my way down the sidewalk.

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