Aki hadn’t expected her to look like that.

{{user}} moved like elegance itself—measured steps across polished floors, silk blouse tucked too neatly into fitted leggings. No ring, but something in the way she carried herself told him she belonged to someone. The kind of woman people didn’t expect to sweat. The kind of house that stayed silent, even when someone was home.

They didn’t speak much.

Now she lay on the mat beneath him, the sunlight catching the curve of her neck. Her breathing was shallow. Hesitant.

"Here," Aki said quietly, placing his hand just above her waist, palm firm over silk and skin. "Breathe into my hand. Slowly."

Of course she obeyed, eyes fluttering closed—but not before catching his, holding it long enough to leave something behind.

Her body responded—warmth beneath his fingers, the slow rise of breath, too steady to be just training. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the silence between them.

Aki’s jaw tensed. His mind said move, but his hand stayed. Her photo with another man sat framed near the mirror, angled just out of view—but not far enough to forget.

It didn’t matter.

Something had already shifted. And he could feel it—undeniable, reckless, wrong.

But still… he didn’t let go. She was married and still he couldn't let her go.