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)
Can I figure out the others’ lie?
Chapter four
Professor Dumpling's Big Cock
Nyomi
Kenji put his view on the men. “Next.”
Reo nodded. “Satoshi. It’s your turn.”
I took note of his name and smiled.
Got it. I’ll remember that.
Satoshi stepped forward, still maintaining that drill sergeant swag.
I took him in some more.
The scars at his knuckles were definitely old, white ridges that had learned to live with him. The patchy roughness at his neck and near his ears made my skin itch. He scratched at it again like there was a fire under his flesh he’d sworn not to feed.
Then, he placed his hands at his sides and only looked at me. His voice was deeper than Kaoru’s. “My cock is 33 centimeters.”
Uh. . .say what now?
Reo added, “For American clarification, that’s 13 inches.”
My eyebrows wanted to introduce themselves to my hairline. I kept my face neutral as possible because if I showed too much shock or interest on my face, Kenji might want to kill him.
Satoshi continued, “Second, my first job was a clown for children’s birthday parties.”
Reo made a sound that could have been a cough or a laugh. It vanished into his sleeve.
Hmmm. Did Reo really need to cough? Or was he laughing at the absurdity of Satoshi being a clown? I’ll keep note of that.
“Third,” Satoshi frowned. “I am allergic to water.”
Huh?
Reo clicked his pen. “Two minutes.”
A hundred thoughts scraped for purchase in my head like cats on a door.
I gave them each a lane.
First, I slid my gaze down the line of his body.
Did men with big cocks walk differently?
Carry themselves differently?
I checked his stance.
Would his legs be spread just a little wider, like his thighs needed extra room?
I feel like some would lean back in their hips, as if nature had weighted them forward.
Satoshi, though, stood like a soldier carved from stone. Feet evenly planted, spine straight, shoulders locked into parade rest. No lazy spread. No unconscious adjustment. Not once had he shifted his weight like something heavy swung between his thighs.
If he really had thirteen inches tucked in those matte trousers, then he deserved an Olympic medal for self-control.
Or maybe he was lying through his teeth.
But the more dangerous truth?
I could feel Kenji’s heat at my side.
If I stared too long at Satoshi’s crotch, if my imagination wandered too far, he would tear Satoshi apart just to burn the evidence from my memory.
And somehow, that made the air between us hotter.
I quickly moved my gaze up—face, throat, hands. The scars. The patchiness. The way Satoshi seemed to wear stillness like a uniform and how his nostrils flared when the word water left his mouth.
Hmmm. That could be a truth not a lie. But. . .can you be allergic to water? That seems a bit impossible. Human beings need water to survive. Yet. . .it seems like an obvious statement that could be a lie. . .which is why it could be true.
Reo tapped his pen against his notebook. “Thirty seconds is up. You have a minute and a half remaining.”
Goddamn it. I hate that they’re timing me.
“Statement one. Thirteen inches.” I leaned my head to the side. “How did you measure your. . .penis?”
Satoshi paused. Not long, but it was a good two seconds. Then, he blinked. “I used a ruler.”
Hmmm. He doesn’t blink much. I still think his blinking could be a tell.
“Okay. Statement two. You were a clown.”
Honestly, with his stature and super serious expression, the clown statement seemed the most absurd. Even with paint on his face, I imagined him scaring the fuck out of kids as well as adults.
“What was your clown name?”
He didn’t even blink. “Dango Sensei.”
“What does that mean in English?”
Satoshi shrugged.
Reo murmured, half to himself, half to his notebook, “It loosely translates to Professor Dumpling.”
The corner of his mouth twitched like Reo was biting back genuine delight.
Professor Dumpling? What the fuck?
I pushed that away. “Statement three. Allergic to water. How do you stay hydrated and clean?”
“I can drink it. Skin contact is the trigger. So I use wipes. Oil. Fast showers if I must. Linen. Controlled humidity. Antihistamines. Sometimes steroids—”
“That’s enough.” Kenji crossed his arms over his chest. “Just answer with one statement.”
Damn. Satoshi is definitely allergic to water.
I heard the pain and struggle in those answers. Additionally, if Kenji had not stopped him. . .Satoshi would probably still be breaking down his woes about how he must avoid water.
The scars at his hands, across his face, and along his neck weren’t from knives or belts; they were maps drawn by hives that had blistered, broken, and healed back into him.
My throat tightened with something like awe. Satoshi existed inside this war with his own body and still chose to serve a man who would drown the world.
The test, Nyomi. Don’t forget this is timed.
As if Reo heard me, he flipped the page of his notebook. “Time.”