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)
Maybe it was because, when we were young, happiness only existed if Kenji created it.
Our father didn’t smile.
My mother never gave me any warmth.
But Kenji could make a moment feel safe, even in hell.
He’d sit beside me on a cold floor, pull his coat around both of us, and mutter, “It’s fine. We’re still here.”
And I’d believe him. Stupid, blind belief—but belief, nonetheless.
Maybe that wired something in me wrong.
Maybe my brain learned too early that Kenji’s calm was my shelter, and everything else was noise.
So now, when I saw him like this—with a woman he wanted, a woman who wanted him back—it didn’t feel like I was intruding. It felt like I was remembering. Remembering what it was like before the blood. Before the screams. Before the Fox carved obedience into our bones.
Maybe that was why my chest loosened when I saw him trembling beneath someone’s touch. Maybe that was why the dark thoughts quieted. Why the world stopped spinning so fast. Because he was alive, and if he felt safe, then some part of me—some tiny, rusted piece—felt safe too.
Maybe that made me twisted.
But maybe it just made me a broken brother.
Maybe watching was the only way I knew how to stay close without breaking anything more than what was already broken.
Maybe it was the only time the world didn’t feel like it was slipping out from under me.
And maybe that was why I didn’t look away.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t.
Because every time Kenji lost himself in someone else’s warmth, I found a little warmth too.
Borrowed.
Stolen.
Accidental.
But real.
“Yes, Tora.” Kenji's hands found Nyomi’s full breasts and cupped them. Squeezed them. His thumbs brushed across her nipples until she moaned. And that sound slid through me like honey.
Sweet.
Thick.
Intoxicating.
My cock throbbed.
"That's it, Tora." My brother's voice was wrecked. "Ride my cock. Take what you need."
"Kenji—" She gasped.
I felt myself harden until it hurt.
In the dream, I didn't look away. Didn't pretend I wasn't affected. I just watched my brother worship this new intriguing woman, watched her body move like a wave, watched the pleasure transform both their faces into transcendent blissful expressions.
My hand drifted down.
I pressed my palm against myself through my pants, feeling the ache, the heat, the desperate throb of want. I was so hard it bordered on painful, my cock straining against the fabric, begging for friction.
This is wrong. She's his. She's. . .
But my hand kept pressing.
Kept rubbing.
Kept chasing sensation while my eyes devoured them.
Nyomi's pace quickened. Her moans grew louder, sharper, climbing toward something inevitable. I watched her body tighten, watched her nails dig into Kenji's chest, watched her mouth fall open in a silent scream as the orgasm crested.
And then she turned her head and looked directly at me.
My heart stopped.
Her eyes were dark.
Knowing.
Hungry.
She held my gaze as she rode out her pleasure, as her wet pussy shuddered and clenched around my brother's cock.
She watched me watching her, and this hot energy passed between us.
Electric.
Dangerous.
Dirty.
My balls tightened, and I pressed my hand harder against my aching length.
Come closer, her eyes seemed to say. Come see. Come taste. Come take what you want.
I took a step closer.
Then another.
The bed seemed to pull me forward like gravity, like magnetism, like something older than logic or loyalty.
My feet moved without my permission.
My hand reached out to my brother’s Tiger.
I wanted to touch her.
Just once.
Just to feel that dark brown skin beneath my fingers. Just to know what my brother knew. Just to see if she was as soft as she looked, as warm as I imagined.
But then I walked forward and the floor shattered like black glass beneath my feet. I fell, a silent scream tearing from my throat as gravity abandoned me.
The darkness below wasn't empty—it writhed with shadowy tendrils that reached up to claim me, wrapping around my ankles, my wrists, my throat.
They pulled me down into a void so absolute it devoured light, sound, hope—the hungry mouth that lives beneath every dream, waiting to consume the unwary.
I woke with a gasp.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Sweat slicked my skin.
And between my legs. . .my cock was hard.
Concrete hard.
I could feel the wetness of precum soaking through my boxers, evidence of how far the dream had taken me before the fall.
Fuck.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow my breathing.
Warmth pressed against my left side.
Warmth pressed against my right.
I turned my head slowly.
A man lay beside me—beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and full lips, his bright purple hair was mussed from sleep.
I called him, Puppy. He was one of my regular companions. Someone I always phoned after the events of the evening, needing bodies beside me, needing not to be alone with my thoughts.
I’d brought him and another regular companion to this island for protection and some sense of warmth.
On my other side, the other companion lay next to me. A strawberry blonde woman. Equally beautiful. Long limbs tangled in the sheets, her breathing soft and even.