Kenji Aikawa stared at the ceiling of his penthouse bedroom, arms crossed behind his head. The city lights blinked through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but he barely saw them. It was past midnight, and sleep was nowhere in sight.
All because of one quiet bookstore employee.
He rolled onto his side, jaw tight. "Get a grip, Kenji."
Today had been… unexpected. He'd gone to the store to check weekend numbers—nothing more. But the second he spotted Matsuda crouched in that aisle, something twisted in his chest. The kid looked so small, so focused, bangs hiding those big eyes. Kenji hadn't planned to call him over. The words just came out.
Then the touch.
Just fingers brushing while handing over a book. Innocent. Professional.
Except Matsuda had frozen like he'd been electrocuted. Ears red, breath catching, lips parting just a little.
And Kenji? He'd felt it too—a rush of heat straight to his gut. The urge to crowd closer, to see how much redder those cheeks could get.
He'd touched the kid's jaw without thinking. Thumb on soft skin. Tilting that pretty face up.
Matsuda hadn't pulled away.
He'd stayed perfectly still.
Obedient.
Kenji groaned and dragged a hand over his face. He was straight. Always had been. Women only—elegant, confident, no drama. Relationships were efficient: dinner, sex, goodbye. Emotions stayed out of it.
So why the hell was he hard just remembering those wide, cautious eyes?
He closed his eyes, trying to force sleep.
Big mistake.
The dream hit fast and vivid.
He was back in the bookstore, but it was empty. Lights dim, aisles narrow and shadowed. Matsuda stood by the new arrivals table, arranging books like always. Gray sweater hanging loose on his slim frame, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Kenji walked up behind him—no words, no warning.
Matsuda stiffened but didn't turn.
Kenji pressed close, chest to back. One hand slid around that narrow waist, fingers splaying possessively over the soft fabric. The other hand gripped Matsuda's jaw—firmer than earlier, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
"Look at me," Kenji ordered, voice low and rough.
Matsuda turned his head slowly. Those dark brown eyes were huge, pupils blown wide. Cheeks flushed pink. Lips already swollen like he'd been biting them.
Kenji didn't wait. He tilted the jaw higher and crushed their mouths together.
Matsuda gasped into the kiss—soft, shocked, perfect. Kenji swallowed the sound, deepening it, tongue sliding in to claim every corner. The kid tasted sweet, like the mints he always kept at the counter.
Matsuda's hands clutched Kenji's shirt, not pushing away—pulling closer. His body melted back against Kenji's, small and pliant.
Kenji growled against his lips and spun him around, lifting him onto the display table with zero effort. Books scattered to the floor. Didn't care.
He stepped between Matsuda's thighs, hands gripping both hips now, yanking him to the edge. The kid's legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
"Good boy," Kenji murmured, nipping at that sensitive neck. "You stay still when I touch you, don't you?"
Matsuda whimpered—actually whimpered—and nodded, head falling back to give more access.
Kenji's mouth trailed lower, sucking marks into pale skin. One hand slipped under the sweater, fingers tracing smooth ribs, thumb brushing a hardened nipple.
Matsuda arched with a broken moan, hips bucking forward.
Kenji pressed him back onto the table, pinning wrists above his head with one hand. The other slid down, unbuttoning slacks, dipping inside—
Kenji jolted awake, chest heaving, sheets tangled around his legs.
He was rock hard. Throbbing. Sweat cooling on his skin.
"The fuck," he rasped into the dark. "What's this hell...?"
He sat up, running both hands through his hair. The dream felt burned into his brain—every sound, every taste, every desperate little noise Matsuda made.
He glanced at the clock: 3:17 AM.
No way he was sleeping again tonight.
Kenji swung his legs off the bed and headed for a cold shower. The water hit like ice, but it barely helped. He braced one hand on the tile wall, head bowed, letting it pound down his back.
This is insane.
He'd never dreamed about a guy before. Never wanted one. But Matsuda… Shō… wasn't like anyone else. Quiet, delicate, but with this pull that made Kenji want to unravel him completely.
He shut off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. Stared at his reflection—sharp eyes, clenched jaw.
Tomorrow was Sunday. The store opened at noon.
He could stay away.
He should stay away.
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't.
Kenji dropped onto the couch with his phone, opening the staff schedule he had access to as CEO. There it was—Matsuda Shō, shift 12:00–8:00 PM.
He tossed the phone aside and leaned back, eyes closing.
The dream replayed in flashes: Shō's flushed face, the way he obeyed every touch, the heat of that slim body under his hands.
Kenji's fingers curled into fists.
He wasn't sure what this feeling was yet—curiosity, obsession, something darker.
But one thing was crystal clear.
He needed to touch Shō again.
Needed to see if reality felt anywhere near as good as the dream.
And if it did?
God help them both.
Because Kenji Aikawa didn't do half-measures.
When he wanted something, he took it.
And right now, whether he understood it or not… he wanted Shō Matsuda.
Badly.