Three seconds ago,
Kaito Hiragi was asleep.
And for a brief, rare moment, life was quiet.
No yelling. No stalking. No emotional hostage-taking.
Just a pillow, a blanket, and the warmth of—
"…He's hard."
Ah. So much for peace.
Kaito opened one eye and tried to shift.
He couldn't.
His arms were pinned.
His legs were pinned.
One of his nipples may have been in someone's mouth.
He wasn't sure.
The room was warm, humid.
It smelled like shampoo, sweat, and danger.
And his boxers felt tighter than usual.
Goddammit. It's one of those mornings.
The source of the voice — and the cause of most of the heat — was Nao Kazami, currently topless, curled up against his chest like she'd grown there overnight.
Her bare skin was smooth and soft, flushed slightly pink.
Her pastel-pink twin tails tickled his jaw as she nuzzled deeper.
Above them, spinning lazily on the ceiling fan, her lace bra, hooked around a blade.
Of course it was hers.
"I was here first," she whispered sleepily, lips brushing against his collarbone.
"I think we kissed last night…"
Her thigh slid over his hip, and he felt her grind into him with innocent, subconscious affection.
No, Kaito thought, eyes wide. We didn't. You tried, then passed out in my lap like a drugged cat.
He tried to shift again.
That's when his leg twitched — and something wet and warm squeezed his thigh.
"Move again and I'll shove a boot down your throat."
Mika Shiranui was not a morning person.
She sat straddling Kaito's right thigh, knees on either side, black sports bra pushed up slightly, sweat beading on her flat stomach and defined abs.
Her wild red-orange hair clung to her face, giving her a feral, post-workout aura that would've been sexy if it weren't also terrifying.
"She climbed over me like a horny gremlin," Mika growled. "This is a goddamn war crime."
"You're just mad I got here before you," Nao mumbled.
"I'm mad that your naked tits are pressing against my—"
"You were grinding too, Mika."
"I WAS NOT GRINDING," Mika snapped, instantly bright red.
"You were," said a third voice.
Calm. Precise.
Chilling.
Saeko Jinrai sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, perfectly composed, like a temple guardian waiting to kill something.
She was taller than the other two — older, curvier, sharper — and her dark auburn hair was tied into a loose, military-style bun that only made her look more dangerous in the soft light.
Her black silk robe hung lazily open, just enough to reveal the line of her toned stomach and the swell of her breasts beneath.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
On her lap, her sidearm.
A cold, matte-black pistol she was cleaning with the kind of attention one might give a lover.
"Touch his cock before I finish loading this magazine," she said without looking up, "and I'll put a bullet in your head. Then claim trauma-induced muscle memory."
"You're bluffing," Mika muttered.
Click.
Kaito exhaled slowly through his nose.
"She's not bluffing," he muttered. "She tagged a toaster last week for overheating."
"The toast was burning," Saeko said.
"It was bagels—"
"It. Was. Burning."
Kaito tried to look down, which was hard when Nao's soft chest was mashed against his face, and Mika's inner thighs were flexing against his leg like a hydraulic press.
The heat between them was not theoretical.
And he was definitely hard.
And now all three of them noticed.
"He's still hard," Nao whispered.
"Because your whole body is on him, dumbass," Mika hissed.
"No… I think he wants me," Nao said dreamily. "I think he needs me to help with..."
Her hand slipped under the blanket.
Kaito froze.
"Nao," he said calmly. "I will buy you a dessert if you don't finish that sentence."
Nao giggled.
Mika snarled.
Saeko looked up and said, quietly, "I'll pull the trigger and repaint the floor with regret."
"Oh my god," Kaito muttered, "can you three just—"
"Choose?" Mika asked.
"Apologize?" Nao offered.
"Submit," Saeko said, too calmly.
Kaito stared at the ceiling.
This started three months ago. In an alley. With dumplings. And one bad decision.
I should've walked away.
I should've let someone else help her.
I should've never asked if she was okay.
Now he was a human heating pad wrapped in three kinds of obsession — clingy, explosive, and military-grade.
And one of them was whispering his name like it was a trigger.
"Kaito…" Nao murmured, grinding again.
This is my life now.
He sighed.
"Let's rewind it a bit."