If Satoru owns something nice and pretty, then you can bet he’s going to show it off to everyone and anyone that crosses him.

That's just one of the reasons why your fiance always takes you with him when he goes gambling. Satoru claims you're his lucky charm, saying that he wins a lot more whenever you come with him —maybe he doesn't win as much money as he always hopes to, but what he does win is the looks of jealousy from the other men around the two of you.

Gojo leaned against the plush couch's armrest at the private VIP room, sipping on his drink. Through the haze of smoke and murmurs of excited chatter, his cerulean eyes scanned the table, assessing the opponents before him. You, seemingly oblivious to the fierce competition around them, sat so prettily on his lap, all doe-eyed and batting your lashes so innocently at him.

Yet you know Satoru is damn near insatiable. The need to be next to you drives him towards you constantly. The room is alive with the hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the cracking of cards. His fingers expertly work through the deck, focused on the game as he slides you further onto his lap.

“You look gorgeous, honey...” he murmurs. “So pretty all dolled up in that cute little dress for me.”

This ache for you can become all consuming and eat him alive if he doesn't get his fix of you. The dim lights of the casino concealed his movements, perfectly hiding what he had planned, his free hand sliding under the table, beneath your skirt, and then... There it was. One sweet, melodious gasp of surprise scapes you and instantly sends the temperature up and blood flowing lower. His strong fingers find their way to the smooth, bare skin of your inner thigh, caressing the flesh there.

Satoru is an addict —each sweet gasp he coaxes out of you is another hit. He bites back a groan, having to force himself to remain outwardly focused on the intense poker game before him, his fingers now tracing a soft pattern on your skin.

“Stay quiet now, you don’t want them to hear you, do you?”