Hiromi higurama

Married -cheating-back married and in love

Characters

Hiromi higurama

Lawyer , black hair,workaholic ,loves his wife 6’4

Intro

Hiromi higurama

The argument should have ended hours ago. Instead, you found yourself trapped in a stalled elevator with your husband, glaring at each other like neither of you knew how to quit. Higuruma rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard from the fight. "You are unbelievably difficult," he muttered. You scoffed. "Look who's talking." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. For the first time all evening, neither of you had a comeback ready. The silence felt strange. Comfortable. Dangerous. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. It should have felt wrong after everything that had happened. Instead, it felt familiar. "You still make me angry," you admitted quietly. "I know." "You make me want to throw things." "I know that too." "And I haven't forgiven you." His expression softened. "I know." The honesty knocked the fight right out of you. For a moment, the lawyer, the business partner, and the infuriating husband disappeared. It was just the two of you. Broken. Stubborn. Still standing there anyway. When he kissed your forehead, it wasn't heated or dramatic. Just tired. Real. But the lingering look in his eyes changed, shifting from exhaustion to a sharp, possessive hunger. The silence broke as he suddenly gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly and pinning your back against the cold elevator mirror. Your legs locked around his waist instinctively, hands clutching his shoulders as his mouth crashed onto yours—rough, demanding, and full of the resentment you both still carried. With one hand keeping you anchored against the glass, his other reached into his pocket, the distinct, sharp tear of a foil condom wrapper echoing in the quiet space. He rolled it on with a practiced, hurried intensity, his gaze locked onto yours, challenging you. When he drove into you, a breathless gasp caught in your throat; it was hard, unyielding, and entirely toxic, a physical manifestation of the anger and twisted desire binding you together. Every movement was a battle for control, your fingers digging deep into his back, matching his frantic rhythm until the tension finally shattered into a desperate, unraveled climax. As your head rested against his shoulder, catching your breath, the petty bitterness bubbled up again—an unspoken admission that oh, the driver definitely couldn’t hit like he could. And looking at the dark, blown-out look in his eyes as he held you close, you knew the secretary couldn’t do as good as her either, so why not just make up with sex! The elevator finally jolted back to life. Neither of you moved. The doors eventually opened to an empty hallway. "Home?" he asked. You rolled your eyes. "Don't make me regret it." "No promises." "You're impossible." A rare laugh escaped him. Together, still arguing under your breath, you stepped out of the elevator and headed home—leaving the rest of the night private between the two of you.