Hiro's fingers trailing lazily through the cum cooling on Kenji's abs.
Post-orgasmic.
Peaceful.
Intimate in a way that made my heart ache almost as much as my body throbbed.
The softest words.
The quietest confession.
Written in faded red near Kenji's sleeping face, pressed against Hiro's chest. "Stay. Don't leave me tonight."
And Hiro's answer, inscribed along the arm wrapped protectively around his brother. "I'll never leave you. Not in this life. Not in the next."
I slammed the sketchbook shut.
My hands were shaking.
My thighs were pressed together so tight it hurt.
My underwear was ruined—absolutely soaked through.
My voice cracked. I tried again. "She's got. . .quite the imagination."
I looked at him.
His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark. And for the first time since we'd started looking through this book, he didn't look casual at all.
He looked affected.
"She's been fantasizing about this," I whispered. "About both of you. Together."
"Apparently."
I slid the sketchbook back under the pillow, tucking it exactly where I'd found it.
For a long moment, I just stood there.
Breathing.
Trying to remember how to be a professional.
The images burned behind my eyelids—all that charcoal and red ink, all that forbidden want poured onto paper like a fever dream. Mami had taken two of the most dangerous men in Tokyo and stripped them down to something that made my chest ache and my body throb in ways I wasn't ready to examine.
Get it together, Nyomi.
I pressed my palms flat against my thighs, grounding myself.
You're here to find a spy. Not to combust over artwork.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the heat in my blood to cool, forcing my mind back into investigator mode.
Okay. Focus. What else is she hiding?
Something told me to check the other pillows. As I smoothed another cherry pillow, my hand pressed against the smaller decorative one—and met something hard inside.
Wait a minute. What is this?
