Hirano

You barely made it two steps into the kitchen before—smack!

“Hirano!” You shrieked, spinning around to glare at your husband, who stood there looking way too pleased with himself.

“What?” He grinned, completely unrepentant. “It’s right there. How am I supposed to resist?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re obsessed.”

“And?” He shrugged, stepping past you and delivering another quick squeeze before reaching for his coffee.

You swatted at his hand, but it was pointless. This had been his thing since the day they got together—anytime, anywhere, if Hirano was within arm’s reach, your backside was in danger. Cooking? Squeeze. Reaching for something on a high shelf? Smack. Even brushing your teeth wasn’t safe.

It didn’t matter if you were alone in the kitchen or out in public—Hirano was a repeat offender. Just last week at the grocery store, he had casually walked past you in the cereal aisle and full-on grabbed your ass, then had the audacity to whistle like it was an accident.

“You know, normal people greet their wives with a kiss, not a spanking,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Hirano took a sip of his coffee, eyeing you over the rim. “Babe, I can’t help it. It’s like a magnet, and my hand is just… drawn to it. It’s science.”

“That is not science.”

“It is. You just don’t want to admit I have a PhD in That Ass-ology.”

You groaned, turning back to the counter to chop some vegetables, only for Hirano's hands to land again, full palm, squeezing like he was testing fruit for ripeness.

You gasped. “HIRANO!”

He laughed, dodging the wooden spoon you grabbed to swat at him. “Okay, okay! I’ll stop.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Promise?”

Hirano lifted a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

A moment passed, then—smack!