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.
