Chapter 39 Red-Hot Desire #2
Mami had captured the moment like a confession—every shadow, every point of contact, every place where skin met skin.
The sheen of sweat on Hiro's back.
The flex of muscle in the man's thighs.
The soft give of the woman's belly where Hiro's weight pressed into her.
The expressions destroyed me most.
Hiro's face was turned slightly, his profile visible—eyes half-closed, lips parted, jaw slack with pleasure. He looked undone. Wrecked. Like whatever was happening to his body had short-circuited every defense he'd ever built.
The woman beneath him wore bliss like a mask—brows drawn together, mouth open, caught in that suspended moment right before release.
And the man behind him—what little I could see of his face—looked possessive. Hungry. Like he desperately hoped he could claim Hiro, but knew he never would.
It was gorgeous.
Too gorgeous.
Too intimate.
Mami had captured them and clearly stole a moment she was never meant to see, preserving it in charcoal and shadow so she could return to it again and again.
I couldn't breathe.
Hiro, beside me, didn't tense.
Didn't blush.
Didn't look away for even a second.
His voice was casual. "She drew this after an Opera in Italy. I recognize the woman and man. This was a year ago."
My head snapped toward him. "This actually happened?"
He nodded, completely unbothered. "Yeah. It’s a pleasure ladder. I like them."
"A what?"
“Pleasure ladder.” His voice dropped to a wicked tone that slid right under my skin. "Three people. One rhythm. One bed. Pleasure moving through all at once until everyone reaches their destination."
Heat rushed up my neck.
He saw it immediately—and smirked. “You're blushing."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He looked back down at the page. “Do you understand now what a pleasure ladder is, or do I have to show you?”
“I’ve got it.” I nervously closed the book.
He chuckled.
I swallowed. “So. . .she is good at spying on people and capturing moments.”
“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.
A mixture of saliva and pre-cum leaked from the corners of Hiro's mouth, trailing down his chin in glistening rivulets that caught the light like tears.
Red script cascaded down from Kenji's mouth, and the words hovered above Hiro's upturned face. "Open your mouth. Show me you belong to me."
And there, written along the curve of Hiro's hollowed cheek, his answer. "I've always belonged to you, Kenji. Since the day we were born."
I had to stifle a whimper as I stared at the image, my mind tripping over itself.
I wasn’t turned on because of the brother-angle. What hit me—hard—was the taboo of it, the sheer audacity of two violently beautiful men drawn in a moment they would never allow to happen.
Two predators stripped down to forbidden hunger.
Two kings unmasked.
It was the danger of them.
The power.
The intimacy.
The contrast between how terrifying they were in real life. . .and how undone Mami had imagined them.
All saturated in the forbidden desires.
Beside me, Hiro exhaled sharply and shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Mami is crazy. Absolutely out of her mind.”
“Yeah. . .” I murmured, still staring. “This is. . . insane.”
And it was.
But I couldn’t stop looking at the taboo art.
My brain whispered, you shouldn’t be staring at this…
My body whispered back, still. . .this is hot.
I swallowed hard and flipped again.
Kenji bent over a desk, his powerful body reduced to trembling submission.
Hiro loomed behind him, one hand pressed flat against the sweat-slicked hollow of Kenji's back, forcing him down until his cheek met cold wood.
Hiro's other hand gripped Kenji's hip with such savage possession that tomorrow's bruises were already blooming beneath his fingers.
Their bodies joined in brutal intimacy—Hiro's cock buried so deep inside his brother that each pulse between them must have echoed in both their veins.
Kenji's fingers clawed desperate furrows into the desk's edge, splinters embedding under his nails. His mouth stretched in a silent scream that seemed to pull the oxygen from the room.
Between Kenji’s thighs, his cock hung heavy and abandoned—engorged, aching, dripping a steady stream of pearlescent cum onto the floor beneath them like tears.
Words were scratched near Kenji's open mouth, desperate and raw in scarlet ink. "Harder! Make me forget I'm the Dragon."
Behind him, words were curled along Hiro's jaw. "With me, you're not the Dragon. You're just mine."
I went to the next page.
They were both in a sixty-nine position, bodies locked in perfect symmetry.
Kenji's powerful thighs straddled Hiro's face, muscles quivering with each breath Hiro exhaled against his most sensitive flesh.