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One Week Later
IT'S A SUNNY MORNING, THE perfect day for a jog. I'm eager for some semblance of my old routine.
I dress in a pair of black workout shorts and a hot-pink tank top and pull my hair into a high ponytail. When I step out of the bathroom, I stop in my tracks.
Satoru is sitting on the edge of the bed, the brim of his ball cap covering his eyes, tying his running shoe. I'm surprised to see him since he usually goes on long runs before I wake up.
He glances up when he hears me approach and smiles. "Good morning, wifey."
"Morning," I say.
The truth is, despite my better judgment, I'm warming up to the nickname, maybe more than I should.
As promised, he's had a home-cooked meal on the table waiting for me every night when I get home from work. After dinner, I work at the kitchen island, catching up on things I couldn't finish at the office, while Satoru watches a movie with headphones. I appreciate his thoughtful gesture, allowing me to work without interruption.
Since we got back to London, I've slept better than I have in years. It's purely coincidental that I'm sleeping next to Satoru, or at least that's what I prefer to believe. I'm plagued with dreams of being wrapped in his arms, my thigh draped across his hips, his arms holding me tightly.
Last week, my dream turned sexual. Satoru held me close as he whispered my name in my ear. With gentle hands, he stroked my body, caressing me. I arched toward him, loving the hot touch of him on my skin. I pressed kisses along his neck, desperate for him to make me come. He plunged his fingers inside my pussy, and I rode his hand as he drove me to an orgasm. It felt so real, but when I woke up, Satoru's side of the bed was cold and empty.
Most mornings since, he's been gone before I'm up. This strikes me as odd, given that he seems the type who would sleep in.
"Are you going somewhere?" I ask.
"Yeah, out for a jog," Satoru answers as he ties his other shoe. "Want to join me? Looks like you had the same idea?" He motions toward my workout clothes.
"Um..."
Normally, I prefer to run alone and instinctively want to decline his offer, but he must sense my hesitation.
"It's just a jog, N/n. You don't have to worry about me asking you to marry me or anything too serious," he says, flashing me a boyish grin.
Why does the reminder that we're married make butterflies take flight in my stomach? I highly doubt spending more time with him will help curb my attraction to him.
I'm not prepared when I glance over to see him standing up, giving me a full view of his bare chest—his sculpted six-pack on display.
I have to channel all my focus into appearing unaffected by his striking physique. I've gone years without having a visceral reaction to a man, and then Satoru comes along and every time I see him without his shirt on, I'm like a bitch in heat.
