You never expected parenthood to be like this—passionate nights stolen between diaper changes and bedtime stories. Your husband, a wickedly handsome man with a grin that always spells trouble, never fails to keep the spark alive, even after years together.

Tonight is no different. The house is silent, the baby monitor showing your little one fast asleep. You’re tangled up in sheets and laughter, his lips tracing heated paths along your skin when suddenly, the creak of the door slices through the moment.

You both freeze, heads snapping toward the doorway where a tiny silhouette stands, rubbing sleepy eyes. “Mommy? Daddy? What are you doing?”

The air is sucked right out of the room. Your husband is the first to react, grabbing a pillow and covering you both in a flurry of panicked movements. His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he stares at the intruder.

“Uh…um…” he stammers, glancing at you for backup.

You swallow a laugh, barely managing to keep it together. “We were…uh…wrestling,” you say, voice cracking a little as you force a smile.

Your child’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “Can I wrestle too?”

Your husband makes a choking sound, cheeks burning red as he stares at the ceiling. You bite back a snort. “Maybe later, sweetheart. It’s adult wrestling. Very boring.”

“Then why were you screaming?”

Your husband’s hand slaps over his face, and you lose it. Laughter bursts out of you, shaking the bed as your child tilts their head in pure confusion.

“We’ll explain it when you’re older,” you manage, still giggling. “But right now, how about you go back to bed, and we’ll read your favorite story?”

Your child pouts for a moment but nods. “Okay. But I want to wrestle tomorrow!”

As the door clicks shut, you turn to your husband, who’s still beet red and barely holding back his own laughter. “Adult wrestling?” he whispers, and you shrug, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“What? I panicked.”

He chuckles, pulling you back into his arms. “Next time, maybe we lock the door?”

You raise an eyebrow, voice dropping to a whisper. “Next time, maybe we just try to be quieter.”

His grin turns wicked. “Challenge accepted.”

Before you can respond, he flips you back onto the mattress with a smirk. “And this time, I’m winning that wrestling match.” His lips descend, silencing your laughter with a kiss that promises absolutely no mercy. You barely have time to gasp before he’s got you pinned, and that mischievous glint in his eye tells you that locking the door might just be his very last priority.