Chapter 37 The Hidden Dragon #2
Curious, I lifted the decorative one—and my hand brushed against something firmer than down. "Hmmm. What’s this?”
Hiro got to the bed.
I angled the pillow and shook it.
A vibrator fell out of it.
“Oh.” I blinked.
Hiro smirked.
We both checked it out.
The vibrator was obsidian black with veins of gold that caught the light like liquid fire. Its dragon shape curved with a predatory elegance. The shaft was adorned with scale-like ridges that promised both pain and pleasure.
The tail—long and sinuous—coiled into a handle worn smooth from probably nights of desperate, solitary worship.
I could almost feel the heat of it, imagining how it would look glistening wet in the dim light of this shrine-like bedroom. "Of course it's a dragon."
I stared at it, and before I could stop it, my imagination painted the scene.
Yuki in this bed.
Alone.
The gray duvet pushed aside, her body bare against those cool sheets. Her dark hair fanned across those pristine pillows she kept so perfectly arranged.
I imagined her reaching for this dragon, and her thighs would part slowly, knees falling open as her breath quickened. One hand would drift to her breast first—squeezing, pinching, rolling her hungry nipple between trembling fingers until it peaked hard and aching.
She'd be thinking of him.
Kenji.
His sexy mouth.
His towering tattooed-muscled body.
His thick, pierced cock.
Then, her eyes would close, and behind those lids she'd conjure him—those cold eyes finally warming for her, that cruel mouth softening as he watched her touch herself.
In her fantasy, he'd be here.
Commanding her.
Telling her she was a good girl.
Telling her she was his.
The dragon would press against her pussy’s entrance first—teasing, circling, letting those scale-like ridges drag across slick, swollen flesh.
She'd already be wet. Had probably been wet since the moment she'd thought of him that day, that hour, that minute.
Then she'd push it inside her pussy.
Slow.
Inch by torturous inch.
Those golden-veined ridges catching on her inner walls, each one sending sparks through her nervous system. Her hips would lift off the mattress, chasing the sensation, her free hand still working her nipple—twisting now, punishing herself with pleasure she didn't think she deserved.
Kenji’s name would be her moans, and that dragon would slide deeper, and she'd start to move it—pulling back, pushing forward, fucking herself with the fantasy of him until her back arched.
Until her toes curled against those expensive sheets.
Until the dragon dripped from her pussy.
I blinked and the fantasy dissolved.
Hiro cleared his throat as if he’d been thinking the same thing.
I looked at him. “Kenji and you share women, but did you share his Scales?”
Hiro's smirk faded into something more thoughtful. "We grew up with them."
"Still. . .you never. . .?"
"Never." He shook his head firmly. "Kenji and I, we see them as sisters. Still do. The thought of. . .no. It would feel wrong. Like a violation of something sacred."
I studied his face, looking for any hint of deception and found none.
"They were little girls running around our father's compound.
Yuki used to follow Kenji everywhere, clutching the hem of his shirt.
Mami would draw stick figures for us. Hina cried for her grandmother every night for the first year.
Kenji and I would give her extra hugs." His voice softened.
"You don't look at women like that when you've seen them as children first. When you've watched them grow. When you've protected them."
"I understand."
"My brother has never touched any of them. Not once. Not even a kiss on their foreheads." Hiro's gaze moved back to the dragon vibrator still lying on the bed. "Which makes this even sadder."
I grabbed the edge of the decorative pillowcase, using the fabric as a barrier. Carefully, I maneuvered the vibrator back into its hiding place and tucking it deep into the pillow's interior without ever letting my bare skin touch it.
Alright. That’s done.
I smoothed the pillow and set it back in its precise position among the others.
Maybe, she won’t know that we saw this.
When I looked up, Hiro was watching me with approval.
"Well. . ." I dusted off my hands and turned to face him fully. "You and I are now sis and bro so. . ."
A wicked chuckle rumbled from his chest—low, dark, and full of heat that had no business existing between new siblings. "That's different."
"It's not."
"Nyomi. . .you are going to be shared by us."
I laughed. "I don't get any say?"
Hiro stepped closer, and the air between us thickened. His eyes held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"You put me to sleep." His voice dropped lower. "Your food made sure I didn't have any nightmares. You belong to both of us now."
The words landed somewhere between threat and promise.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
"Wow." I held his gaze, refusing to look away even as heat crept up my neck. "That's quite the claim."
"It's not a claim." He smiled—slow, dangerous, and certain. "It's a fact."
I opened my mouth to argue, to remind him that I was Kenji's and only Kenji's, that whatever arrangement they'd had with other women didn't apply to me, but something in his expression stopped me.
This wasn't about sex.
This was about belonging.
About something more than family.
About the way these men had survived their monster of a father by holding onto each other with both hands.
Kenji had claimed my heart.
Hiro was claiming something adjacent—my care, my presence, my willingness to make him breakfast and hold him while he grieved.
Different kinds of possession.
Different kinds of love.
Both equally absolute.
"Alright then. Nothing here points to Yuki being the spy, so. . .we should check Mami's room.”
He nodded. "After you. . .sis."
I rolled my eyes and headed for the door.
But I couldn't stop the warmth blooming in my chest—complicated, confusing, and somehow exactly right.