It happened on Christmas night.

The house was quiet—warm lights still glowing faintly from the tree in the living room. You’d just started settling in for the night, cozy in your favorite hoodie, when the door to your bedroom creaked open.

She stepped in slowly, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor.

Your wife.

Completely nude, save for the wrapped gift she held shyly in both hands—pressed just over her chest, cheeks glowing redder than any ornament outside. Her curves were impossible to ignore—full, soft, beautifully hers. You could tell she wasn’t used to doing things like this. It made your heart race even more.

She hesitated in the doorway, eyes meeting yours for a beat that felt like it stopped time.

“M-Merry Christmas,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Then she gave the tiniest shake of her thighs—playful, bashful, beautiful.

“I love you.”

Your breath caught in your chest.

Not just because of how stunning she looked, not just because of the surprise, but because of the courage it took for her to do this—for you.