Page 34 of The Sinner’s Desire (The Sinner’s Touch #1)

She’s mine.

That’s the only thought running through my head the moment I see her.

Lilly’s facing away, talking to a guy almost my size with the build of an athlete. I know it’s that Benjamin guy. I looked him up on my way here.

He watches me approach.

Every cell in my body demands I stake my claim—and I couldn’t care less who’s watching. All that matters is that everyone knows she’s mine.

The moment I reach her, I grip the back of her neck.

It’s like an electric shock—physical and mental—because only then do I realize just how much I missed her.

I feel her shiver under my fingers, and a messed-up wave of emotion crashes over me. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in closer.

“Lilly,” I say, but it comes out as a low growl.

She takes a few seconds before turning to face me. “Amos.” Her voice is barely a breath, but her eyes say she’s just as shaken as I am.

I don’t even remember there’s an audience—but she does, because she says, “This is Benjamin Stone.” She acts like she hasn’t already given me his name by text. “He’s a childhood friend.”

Amateur football player. Twenty-two. Law student.

I already have everything I need to know about him—but from the way Lilly reacted when she saw me, the guy’s no threat.

Still, jealousy doesn’t play fair, and knowing they spent nearly the whole day together makes me wish I had been the one showing her around campus.

Probably the lack of sleep. That’s the only thing that explains this irrational shit—because I don’t know the first thing about this university.

He extends his hand toward me, and I size him up before accepting it.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your friend’s name, Lilly?” the blond guy asks, and it takes me a second to realize that while she may see him as just a friend, he wants more.

“Of course . . . Ben, this is Amos. My—”

“ Yours is the perfect way to describe me, baby,” I say, cutting her off, unable to stop myself from being a possessive bastard.

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.” She emphasizes those last words, making me feel even more like an asshole for even thinking she’d try to hide us.

I think I hear a soft laugh from the guy.

“Nice to meet you, Amos.” He offers his hand again, and I finally shake it. “Well, this has been fun, but I think I’ll head out.”

“Thanks for the tour, Ben.”

“Anytime. We’ll talk later this week about your mom’s fundraiser.”

“Okay.”

I’m paying close attention to their exchange—and only then do I remember she invited me to the event. “We’ll both be going, baby.”

He finally walks away, and I say to Lilly, “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Food. I’m starving.”

She steps closer, right into my arms. “I can make something at home.”

Jesus Christ.

“I want to take you somewhere,” I lie, buying myself time—because now that she’s this close, I realize all my plans to take it slow just went to hell.

As sure as the sun’s coming up tomorrow, the moment we’re back at my place, I will have her.

“Alright,” she agrees, sounding a little disappointed.

I’m not the kind of guy who shows affection in public, but here I am, cupping her face and kissing the mouth I’ve been craving for weeks.

It was supposed to be a light kiss—to reassure her that we’re okay—but when she opens up, I lose control. I devour her lips and tongue until she moans.

Laughter nearby finally snaps me back to reality, and I force myself to stop.

“Food,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead—though all I can think about is her naked, legs wrapped around my waist as I fuck her deep. But I promised to do things right, and I want to take her out to dinner first.

Half an hour later, we’re almost at the restaurant when she asks, “If we keep seeing each other . . . will you ever tell me where you go on those missions?”

Up to this point, she’s only talked about her day-to-day stuff. But I’ve felt it coming—this question. She complained over the phone about not being able to reach Ethan either.

“It’s not something I can talk about, Lilly.”

“I’m not trying to be nosy. I'm just really worried about you both being gone.”

“We know what we’re doing. You don’t need to worry.”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window until we get to the restaurant. Even once we’re seated, she doesn’t speak.

“It’s not negotiable. It’s my job and it’s classified. I won’t put you at risk by talking about it.”

“I’m not trying to act like a child or start a fight.” She softens and looks around. “I really love this place. It’s cozy. Kinda reminds me of the French bistros.”

I breathe a little easier at the change of subject. “It opened a few weeks ago.”

“And how do you know that, if you were working?”

“Because I was looking for a place to bring you.”

She gives me her first genuine smile since I arrived. “You thought about me.”

“You still doubt that?”

“I still can’t quite believe that we’re . . . uh, together.” Her cheeks turn red, and she clears her throat, pretending to study the menu. “It says here one of the owners trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris—and she makes killer macarons.”

“The best part of this bistro is that you can order from the breakfast menu at ten o’clock at night.”

“Seriously? This place is heaven. Oh my God, everything on the breakfast menu looks amazing—and it hasn’t even been that long since I ate.”

I finally start to relax. “ How about we order a couple of breakfast dishes? That way you get to try it all.”

“You don’t want dinner? You okay having breakfast food at 7 p.m.?”

“I’m starving. I’d eat anything.”