After my last fanfic, The Dead Stay With Us, I had to write something a little more cheerful. This is pure fluff – hope you enjoy! (Note: It's a bit lemon-y, but I tried to keep things tasteful.)

XXX

Earlier, as they danced together at their wedding reception, Harold told Marian he had sparsely furnished their home because he knew she would prefer to decorate it to suit her tastes. But in truth, if he were living alone, he probably wouldn't have done much more than he already had. There were several benefits to keeping one's surroundings uncluttered – the nicest being the diminished likelihood of barking one's shins on a footstool or catching one's elbow on the corner of a table while navigating the hallways at night. And when a man was bringing his new wife upstairs for the first time, the last thing he wanted to do was divert his attention from her in order to locate an inconveniently placed light switch.

But Harold didn't intend to keep Marian in the dark for the entire time; he still had a few surprises for her. When they crossed the threshold of his – now their – bedroom, he stopped kissing her long enough to turn on the lights, revealing a fully furnished and decorated room.

Long ago, Harold had stayed in a hotel with Mediterranean-style rooms and, though he rarely remembered such mundane details, he had been struck by the perfect combination of comfort and elegance. With his usual determination, he had set out to achieve the same atmosphere for the bedroom he and his bride would share. Harold knew he was taking a risk – with its mahogany furniture and rich, jewel-toned fabrics, this room was a striking departure from the pale colors and frilly Victorian décor of Marian's girlhood home.

All of this had cost him a pretty penny, but it was worth it when he saw Marian's eyes glowing with surprised delight. "I see the music room isn't the only room into which you've put some effort," she said appreciatively.

Harold winked at her as he took off his suit-coat and draped it over the back of a chair. "Well, I can't properly welcome my wife home in an unfinished bedroom, now can I?"

Marian's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. When he started to remove his shoes, she turned away from him. "It is a lovely room, Harold," she said conversationally. "How long did it take you to finish it?"

Harold was tempted to make a sly remark about the two of them having far more interesting activities to engage in than idle chatter about décor, but the brittle nervousness in her voice gave him pause. Coming up behind Marian, he lightly laid his hands on her shoulders. "Darling, I know this is all very new to you. So" – his lips brushed her ear as he spoke – "what say we start with something familiar?"

As Harold's mouth mapped its usual path from the tip of her ear to the hollow of her throat, Marian relaxed in his embrace. When she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, he kissed even further downward, until he reached the delicate swell of her breasts. Lingering there until he had brought Marian's breathing to a fever pitch, he turned her around so he could unfasten her gown. His pace was measured and painstaking, as if he were unwrapping a parcel containing a fragile and exquisite vase. For Harold, there was nothing more erotic than undressing a woman for the first time and, judging from the soft sighs coming from Marian, she was getting just as much enjoyment out of the process as he was. When her dress finally dropped to the floor, she blithely and obligingly stepped out of it. But when he began to unlace her corset, she tensed up again.

Halting in his actions (though he still kept his hands on her laces), Harold dropped another series of languid kisses on her neck. But this time, they failed to reassure her; Marian remained stiff and silent in his arms. "Darling?" he ventured, concerned.

"I've heard the first time can be – unpleasant," she confessed in a mortified whisper.

"It might take a little getting used to, at first," Harold conceded. Then he leaned closer and said in his low, velvety voice, "Which is why we're going to go nice and slow."

Marian exhaled heavily and nodded. When he quietly resumed unlacing her corset, she didn't resist – but he could still sense her apprehension.

After Harold finished what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Marian, remember downstairs, when I touched you like this" – he gently cupped her breast in his hand – "how wonderful that felt?"

"Perhaps," she said coyly, squirming pleasantly against him as he continued his caresses.

"Well," he said, his voice a soft purr as he pressed closer to her in return, "that was a mere fraction of the pleasure I intend to give you."

Letting out a small gasp, Marian turned to face him. When she saw the smoldering sincerity in his gaze, the nervousness in her eyes faded into wonder, and then desire. Harold grinned – at long last, she finally understood what he had been trying to show her through the steady deepening of his embraces during the last month.

As Marian smiled dreamily at him, Harold led her to a nearby chair – he dared not seat her on the bed just yet – so he could remove her shoes and stockings. Despite their many hooks, the shoes came off quickly and easily enough, but when his hands slipped beneath her drawers and touched bare skin once more, Harold couldn't help pausing to give her warm thighs a lingering caress.

For his attentions, he was rewarded with a lovely moan. Harold suppressed a giddy laugh; if Marian was this ecstatic now, he could only imagine how she would respond when the time came to make love to her. The thought simultaneously charmed and excited him; maid though she was, he had the feeling his dear little librarian was a quick study. Her beautiful reactions to his caresses while they were lying together on the sofa demonstrated she had a natural talent for lovemaking – a talent Harold looked forward to exploring in greater depth.

As his fingers ventured further up her thighs, tentatively testing the waters, Marian's hands descended to stroke his face and head. When she let out another moan and curled her fingers in his hair, it was all he could do not to pull down her drawers and bury himself in her lap.

Somehow, Harold managed to marshal the sheer determination that had sustained him throughout their courtship, and resumed rolling down her stockings. "Nice and slow," he reminded his wife when she gave a little sigh of disappointment – though his ragged breathing betrayed the impatience of his own desire.

Lest he do something he would later regret, Harold stood up and brought Marian to her feet with him. But this only exacerbated his longing: She was now clad in nothing but a thin silk camisole and drawers that tantalizingly revealed her every curve and contour; the temptation to throw caution to the wind and simply ravish her was overwhelming.

And he might have done just that, if Marian hadn't reached over and started to undo his bowtie. Harold caught her hands in his and kissed them. "Darling, you don't have to do that… "

"Which is exactly why I want to," she replied with a sly smile.

One of the things Harold admired about Marian was her ability to come up with a quick retort, no matter what her emotional state happened to be at the moment. Whenever he succeeded in knocking her off balance, she always managed to return the favor. But this was one time Harold wished she wasn't quite so good at it – he hadn't been kidding when he told her he had worse scars than the one on his arm. As it was their first time together, Harold meant to turn off the lights before undressing; he didn't want to alarm his new bride by displaying his injuries all at once.

Marian surveyed him with thoughtful eyes, as if she knew exactly what was on his mind. "Harold," she said in a low voice, her cheeks tinged with red, "would you deny me the pleasure of doing something I've dreamed of for several months, now?"

The idea that Marian had dreamed of undressing him was irresistible; Harold let go of her hands so she could continue. Once she had removed his tie, she undid his collar. But instead of unbuttoning her way down his shirt, she surprised him by leaning in and planting gentle kisses on the hollow of his throat.

Once again, Harold was reminded of how helpless he was against Marian's charms. He had never felt this way in the arms of a woman; even when he abandoned himself to passion, he had always been the one to set the pace. But now he allowed himself to slip into a daze and simply enjoy the sensations she was arousing within him. Even as chaste as her caresses were, they inflamed him in a way more experienced hands and mouths had never been able to achieve. Perhaps it was because no woman had ever touched him so tenderly, so reverently, so lovingly. Focused as he was on her soft lips against his throat, Harold didn't realize Marian's hands were busy elsewhere until he felt his shirt sliding off his shoulders. Goose bumps rose on his arms – and they weren't just from the chill of the night air.

Harold grinned at his wife. "And where, may I ask, did a wholesome, innocent female like you learn a thing like that?"

Marian lightly ran her fingers up and down his arms, and he shivered pleasantly at her touch. "Being a librarian and an avid reader has its advantages," she said, sounding a little shy all of a sudden.

"And here I thought the only occupational hazards of being a librarian were boredom, and the occasional paper cut." Harold nuzzled her neck, delighting in the feel of her warm skin and racing pulse. "Perhaps Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies were right about those books of yours… Care to show me what else you know, my dear – naughty – little librarian?"

Marian stiffened and pulled away a little. "I'm afraid my knowledge is rather limited," she said, her tone a touch cool. "I am a maid, after all."

Maid though she was, Marian certainly could be mischievous. Normally, Harold would have made a ribald remark to get a rise out of her, but he heard genuine embarrassment in her voice – embarrassment mixed with the tiniest bit of resentment. Marian had never asked him about his past affairs with women and, after their tense conversation on her front porch that warm July night, Harold had never again requested that she elaborate on the rumors she heard. During their courtship, it hadn't seemed necessary to talk of such things – they had both tacitly operated under the belief that what had passed was past – but now the prospect of consummating their relationship seemed to have brought this subject to the forefront. Adding to that a new bride's natural anxiety, it was no surprise Marian was feeling a bit miffed. Though he knew she desired him, Harold could still sense her nervousness, and the last thing he wanted to do on their wedding night was make his wife feel inadequate.

So Harold pulled Marian close and told her how he truly felt about her; how he had always felt. "You are the most alluring… fascinating… charming… " – he punctuated each adjective with a kiss – "woman I've ever met. You might think I'm the one who's bewitched you, but I assure you it's the other way around." He paused and regarded her with serious eyes. "I've never known anyone with such an open and honest heart – do you have any idea how rare a person you are? Even though you knew the truth about me, you still loved me – more than that, you accepted me for what I was and didn't try to reform me. Granted, I needed reforming, but it wouldn't have happened if you'd made demands or tried to catch me and rein me in. I thought I was finished that night I stood before the boys' band in that classroom, but when you looked at me with those beaming eyes of yours, I believed I could be as good as you thought I was. I could've believed anything when you looked at me like that – yes, just like that." He tightened his embrace. "I love you, Marian – I need you."

"I need you, too, Harold," Marian said softly. Her cheeks were no longer crimson – she gazed at him with the straightforward, unabashed desire of a woman who was deeply in love. When she pressed herself against him and whispered what was in her heart, Harold abandoned all restraint; his mouth descended over hers for a kiss that soon turned as breathless and hungry as the ones he had given her in the parlor. It might have been wiser to proceed at a slower pace and draw out the excitement, but he had wanted Marian for too long – there was no point or sense in waiting any longer.

Removing Marian's camisole and drawers a bit hastier than he normally would have, Harold whisked her to the bed and placed her on top of the covers. While he undressed, she modestly averted her gaze. He couldn't help grinning at this; he had always found her reticence charming. Eager to join his lovely bride, Harold quickly divested himself of any remaining garments and, ever mindful of Marian's comfort, extinguished all lights but the small lamp on her vanity. When he approached the bed at last, Marian scooted over to make room for him.

"Now don't wander too far away, Mrs. Hill," he teased as he slid into place next to her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harold," Marian replied, her voice quiet and earnest.

Their eyes met, and he was arrested by the sight of her. Blonde curls tumbling over the pillow, pristine alabaster skin gleaming in the dim lamplight, deliciously curvaceous breasts, hips and thighs: a golden Madonna lay before him. Entranced by this lovely vision, all Harold could do was stare at her; after four long months of careful planning and patient waiting, the woman he loved was finally his for keeps.

Marian gazed up at him with a shy, sweet smile. "Harold?" she asked, the uncertainty creeping back into her voice.

If he'd had any presence of mind, he would have told his wife that Botticelli's Venus paled in comparison to her. But Harold could hardly string two coherent thoughts together, let alone wax poetic. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, the words tumbling out of their own accord. "I want you so badly, Marian – I've wanted you from the moment I first saw you walking toward me."

Harold winced at his clumsiness; he had been as blunt and graceless in his declarations as an infatuated schoolboy. But amazingly enough, his bald-faced confession proved just as eloquent as if he had quoted a line from one of Shakespeare's sonnets: Her eyes glowing with joy, Marian wrapped her arms around Harold's neck and pulled him closer.

As their lips met for the lightest and softest of kisses, he let his hands roam freely over her soft, smooth curves, gradually working his way down her body until he reached velvety wetness at last. As Marian melted at the touch of his deft fingers, Harold was sorely tempted to add his tongue to the mix. But he refrained; he didn't want to overwhelm his new bride too much. Promising himself he would taste her at some point during the course of their honeymoon, and someday teach her how to touch and taste him, Harold settled for deepening their kiss – which in turn caused her to tighten her arms around him. Soon, they were pressing against each other as fiercely as they had on the couch – only now, there were no longer any barriers to prevent their crossing the final threshold.

Easing the fervor of their embrace, Harold rolled Marian over until she was lying beneath him. Before she could tense up too much in nervous anticipation of what was about to happen, he resumed their searing kiss and, for good measure, stroked her thigh with his palm. As Marian relaxed into languid bliss, Harold guided himself into her with gentle thrusts.

Once he had had entered her completely, he paused and waited for the tinge of pain to ebb from her gasps. Marian's eyes flew open. "Is that it?" she asked breathlessly.

She looked so dumbfounded that Harold had to laugh. "No darling, we're just getting started," he assured her in a tender voice. "The unpleasant part is now past… it only gets better from here on in."

A delighted smile lit up Marian's face – a smile that was soon lost in a throaty gasp as he pulled away and then moved in a slow, languorous stroke forward, pressing inward until he had reached the depths of her. As he started to pull away again, she let out another gasp and arched her back against him. With a groan, he thrust into her again, this time a little more insistently.

After a few more of these experimental back-and-forth motions, they fell into a steady rhythm, moving together as easily and gracefully as when they danced in each other's arms. As Marian's eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew louder and less restrained, Harold gazed at her in rapture: Her face was a captivating portrait of euphoric desire. There was nothing he wanted more than to deepen that ecstasy; to see how much he could make her moan as he coaxed her along to climax. He had promised her incalculable pleasure, and he meant to make good on that vow.

But as time passed, Harold began to grow uneasy. Though Marian's elation was steadily increasing, he had the unpleasant suspicion he was going to beat her to the finish line. Normally, he was a master at pacing himself, but it had been far too long since he had been with a woman. And being in love added a potent element to lovemaking; Harold hadn't fully realized how difficult it would be to rein in the intensity of his desire for Marian. He simply couldn't resist her – especially not now that she had abandoned her usual reserve to writhe so beautifully in his arms.

So Harold let himself go, and made love to her as sweetly and passionately as he knew how. To his delight, Marian finally let out that howl of ecstasy he had been waiting to hear; as she clung to him, crying his name over and over, Harold experienced the most wonderful sensation of release. Even after this blissful feeling sputtered and blinked out like a dying match, he remained inside her, savoring the feel of her warmth and wetness.

Marian also lay unmoving, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Alarmed, Harold wondered if he had overwhelmed her too much, after all. He frantically scrutinized his wife's enigmatic expression, desperate for some indication that she would want this again, would want him again.

After what seemed an eternity, Marian opened her eyes and beamed at him. "Oh, Harold," she softly crooned, entwining her fingers in his tousled hair.

Overcome with exhaustion and relief, Harold buried his face in the crook of her neck.

XXX

Later, when they were dressed in their nightclothes and lying quietly in each other's arms, Marian gave a contented sigh. "I love how you've decorated our room," she said, the earlier apprehension completely absent from her voice. "I'll feel like we're on an exotic honeymoon tour every time we retire for the evening!"

Harold chuckled. "In raptures over the furniture – just like a woman! And here I thought you were sighing for an entirely different reason," he said, only half teasingly.

"It was wonderful," Marian confessed in the blissful manner of a woman who has just discovered the fullness of love's joy. She leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "You're wonderful."

Her earnest reaction surprised him a little; Harold had expected her to blush and demur. Touched by her honesty, he brushed a tendril of wayward hair from her cheek and gave her a kiss in return. "Well, you sure know how to flatter a fellow – you're going to give me a swelled head with all these compliments!"

"I'll cut you down to size first thing tomorrow," Marian promised, gazing at him with that dreamy expression he loved to see. "Right now I'm too comfortable… and exhausted… " She yawned and closed her eyes.

Harold grinned – he knew Marian would blush furiously the next morning when she awakened and recalled the things they had said and done the night before. And in response, he would kiss and sweet-talk her until she forgot her shyness and made love to him again. He wouldn't have minded making love to Marian right now – he had bought her a nightgown that was the same rich blue color as her Marie Antoinette gown, and she looked awfully fetching in it. But for the time being, Harold was content to hold his wife and listen to her steady breathing as she slept.

"Good night, Mrs. Hill," he whispered before reaching back and switching off the lamp on his bedside table.