My husband has a knack for surprises—9 years of marriage, 9 unforgettable birthday surprises. This year was no different, and I tried everything to sweet-talk my way into figuring it out early. No luck. The man’s like a vault.
Finally, one day before my birthday, he caved: "Pack your bags, we're flying to Mexico—Desire Maya!" I was over the moon until I checked the theme nights.
Night 1: BDSM—perfect, outfits ready.Night 3: Neon Night—our favorite! I’ve got a glowing fan and my husband’s laser gloves; we’re practically human rave lights.But Night 2? Greek Gods and Goddesses—nothing. Nada. My walk-in closet, a shrine to theme nights we've collected over five years in the lifestyle, had no ancient Greece.
I gave him the look—you know, the "Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could’ve sewn us togas out of bad linen!" look. But he just smirked, “Check the closet.”
I sighed, opened the door, and… there they were. Two perfectly packed bags. White and gold costumes fit for Zeus himself and a goddess who could outshine Mount Olympus. Sparkling jewelry, a tiara, arm bracelets, and matching earrings completed my look.
I froze. Speechless. How could I underestimate him? The man is two steps ahead, always. My Zeus, my hero. I felt guilty for doubting him and ridiculously lucky for having him.
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