Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
“From that angle, I think she might have been in my closet.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My bedroom door was near the bed.”
“How do you remember that?”
"I remember every detail about all my encounters. It’s a part of the experience, the details. . .the setting. . .the moment. . .the emotion."
His casualness made my insides churn. I bit my lower lip, feeling a mixture of curiosity and embarrassment. My cheeks were aflame, and I was aware that my pulse had quickened. The intimacy of the situation was making me uncomfortable in the most peculiar way.
I caught his eye once more, and he held my gaze, his eyes glinting with an unspoken understanding. "So, she was in your closet then. I’m not willing to say for sure that she is the spy, but she’s moving like one.”
His gaze never left mine. “She is.”
My heart pounded in my chest.
I returned to the sketchbook and opened it to the next page.
Fuck.
The next image was of him lying on the same bed, completely satiated and knocked out.
The man and woman were gone.
Hiro lay sprawled across rumpled sheets, one arm flung above his head, the other resting on his stomach. His face was slack with post-orgasmic exhaustion, lips slightly parted, dark hair damp against his forehead.
But my eyes traveled lower.
His huge cock lay against his thigh—softened now, but still impressive even at rest. And there, catching the light even in charcoal, was metal.
Not one piercing.
Four.
I leaned closer without meaning to, studying Mami's meticulous rendering.
Two barbells intersected through the head of his cock, forming a perfect cross.
One ran horizontal—a gleaming bar that entered on one side of the glans and exited the other, the rounded ends visible on both edges.
The second pierced vertically, entering through the top of the head and emerging from the underside, its silver tips catching shadows where they rested against his skin.
The cross they formed was precise.
Deliberate.
Almost architectural in its symmetry.
Each barbell looked thick—substantial—the kind of metal you'd feel with every movement, every touch, every thrust.
I tried to imagine the sensation of that steel sliding inside a woman. The horizontal bar dragging against her walls. The vertical one pressing up, then down, hitting spots that fingers and flesh alone could never reach.
Four points of contact.
Four sources of friction.
Four reasons to lose your mind.
My mouth went dry.
“I’m even bigger in person.”
I widened my eyes. “I was just. . .realizing that you have. . .piercings too. That’s it.”
Hiro must have known exactly what I was staring at because he answered before I could ask. "When Kenji got his piercing, I got mine. This is called a magic cross."
Speechless, I flipped to the next page.
And things got even crazier.
Hiro blinked. “Well. . .this never happened.”
“No shit.”
Kenji.
Hiro.
Both naked.
Both together in the most erotic way possible.
My brain short-circuited.
The drawing showed them facing each other, bodies pressed so close there was no space between them. Kenji's hand was wrapped around both of their cocks—his and Hiro's—stroking them together in a single fist with savage intensity. Sweat-slick skin. The swollen heads of their thick, pulsing cocks kissed at the top, lines of pre-cum glistening between them in careful strokes of white charcoal against the dark shading.
Hiro's forehead pressed hard against Kenji's, their eyes closed, mouths barely an inch apart, letting out ragged breaths.
Their bodies were a study in contrast and similarity.
Both with brilliant tattoos.
Both equally powerful.
Same broad shoulders.
Same narrow waists.
Same thick, muscled thighs pressing together.
The piercings.
God, the piercings.
Mami had drawn them in excruciating detail—Kenji's rose piercing gleaming against Hiro's magic cross, metal touching metal as their cocks slid together in Kenji's grip.
Near their faces—so close their breath could mingle—Mami had written in delicate red ink.
The words curled from Kenji's parted lips. "You're the only one who knows what I need, brother."
And from Hiro's mouth, the response bled crimson across the page. "Then let me give it to you. All of it."
Heat flooded my entire body.
Between my thighs.
Up my spine.
Across my chest until my nipples tightened against my bra.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
I could only stare.
When I turned to look at Hiro, he just appeared absolutely shocked and speechless himself.
Well. . .I should look at more. . .I must be. . .thorough. . .Right?
My hand trembled as I flipped the page—desperate to escape and desperate to see what else Mami had thought up in that nasty mind.
Well damn, girl.
The next image hit me like a punch to the stomach.
Hiro was on his knees like a sacrifice.
Kenji towered above him, powerful and merciless.
Hiro's lips stretched obscenely around Kenji's thick shaft, cheeks hollowed to the point of pain, throat convulsing as he struggled to take more.
Kenji's fingers twisted cruelly in Hiro's hair, yanking his head back at an angle that strained the tendons in Hiro’s neck into taut, vulnerable cords.
Meanwhile, Kenji's head was thrown back in abandon, the long column of his throat exposed like something waiting to be bitten, his expression transcendent—body-numbing pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.