Disclaimer: Monk still isn't mine, gosh darn it.

Chapter Two

Sharona leans against the doorframe of the Monks' bedroom, one arm raised above her head, the other bent at the elbow with her hand resting on her hip.

"Oh, Adrian," she coos, sliding her bathrobe down her shoulders.

Leaning against the headboardis her husband, who has been patiently waiting for the past fifteen minutes. "Um, hi, Sharona," he greets her, his heart starting to palpitate.

His wife comes closer. With each step, she removes a little more of her robe, until finally, the terrycloth material falls from her body completely, pooling at her bare feet.

"I-I-Is that what you bought today?" Adrian asks, admiring the shimmering blue, satiny negligee that conforms to her curves perfectly.

"Mmm-hmm. You like?"

He nods, though a little too eagerly, and hurriedly removes his jacket.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Sharona crosses her legs in an enticing manner, observing while Adrian disrobes. "I have a proposition for you," she states as his hands undo the remaining buttons of his shirt. "I'll cancel that order - you know, the one for those vibrating contraptions - if you do all the things on our list."

Instantaneously, Monk knows what list she is referring to. "All . . . five of them?"

"You got it. But remember: you're only responsible for three of the things; I do the rest."

"I-I remember," Adrian replies, pulling his brown leather belt through the loops, his gaze never drifting from her.

Sharona giggles and crawled over to her husband, a look of pure lust in her oceanic blue eyes. "You do realize there's a pile of clothes on the floor? Just lying there . . . all wrinkled?"

"So?"

His wife drops their plastic-wrapped birth control into his palm. "So . . . do you want the top or the bottom?"

"Uh, b-bottom," he answers, seeing as he already is in that position.

"Good. Then, we'll start with number one. I can't wait to hear you scream!"

So saying, Sharona unbuttons, unzips, and then practically tears off his trousers.

"Y-You sure are in a hurry."

"I know. I'm such a horny little devil."

Monk swallows hard, feeling trepidation at the "events" that are about to ensue.

"What's the matter? You're not scared of me, are you?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm not sca-"

"Yeah, you are," Sharona cuts him off. "If you weren't, you'd be up already."

"Up?" The detective requires a few seconds to decipher her meaning. "Oh. Uh, I, um-"

"Well, we're just gonna have to rectify the situation. Or should I say 'erectfiy'? We're gonna 'erectify' Mini Monk."

Predictably, Adrian's face resembles a basket of strawberries. "Did you have to, you know . . . name it?"

Reaching behind her back, Sharona proceeds to unzip the negligee. "Would you like to do the honors?" she offers, ignoring his question.

Monk nods, grasping the hem between his fingers. Slowly, he lifts the garment over her head. Since it probably cost a pretty penny, Adrian secretly hopes that she plans to wear the negligee on future occasions.

When he has removed the expensive frock, Monk allows himself a moment to admire her body before returning his gaze to Sharona's face. He smiles warmly, and the two are soon lost in each other's eyes.

A couple of minutes pass before Sharona breaks the eye contact. Glancing downwards, she teases, "Oh, good. Mini Monk finally decided to get up."

"Sharona . . ." the detective groans, his face once again resembling a tomato.

"Don't forget this," his wife reminds him, pointing to the small, plastic square he clutches in his hand. "Unless you really want to have a Mini Monk."

"Okay. Uh, close your eyes."

She rolls them instead. "Maybe you'd like me to leave the room."

"Would you? You know I hate putting this on in front of you. It's-"

"Fine. I'll do it," Sharona intervenes, taking the plastic wrapper from him. Carefully, she removes the sheer white object inside and, not three seconds later: "There. Now he's ready for action."

Adrian stares at her, doe-eyed.

"What? I've had a lot of practice," Mrs. Monk informs him, shrugging casually. "On bananas!" she clarifies at the sight of her husband's panicked expression.

"Heh. Bananas. That's-"

A zealous kiss stops him mid-sentence.

"Adrian?"

"Yes?"

"Let's get started, shall we?"

"Ready for number three yet?" Sharona queries, running a hand through her tousled curls.

Monk shoots her a have mercy look and draws in another deep breath.

"Oh, that's right. You have to deflate before you can inflate."

The detective has no clue where Sharona gets all of her stamina. His wifereminds him of Energizer Bunny in those battery commercials. She could just keep going and going . . .

"So, which did you like better: one or two?"

Adrian shrugs, too worn out to think clearly.

"Well, since I was in charge of the first one . . . and you know how much I love being in charge . . ." Sharona remarks with her trademark laugh.

"Heh. You'd think that I would have a say in things. You know, since I am your boss . . ."

"Were my boss,"his wife amends. "I'm you partner now, remember? Stottlemeyer said so. He made it official."

"Okay . . . pardner," Adrian drawls, donning a Southern accent. "What say we stop this here chitter chatter and get down to business?"

One hour and three minutes later . . .

"Wow! That was . . . That was some adventure!" Sharona declares, pulling herself into a sitting position. "God, it took me, like, five minutes to catch my breath!"

"What are you complaining about? My tongue is still wagging!"

"I'm not surprised after what we just did. You know something? I think the whole city of San Francisco heard you. No, wait. Make that the entire state of California!"

"Me?" Adrian gasps, pretending to be appalled. "How could they hear me over you?"

"I wasn't that loud! You were screaming my name at the top of your lungs! 'Oh, Sharona'!" she demonstrates.

"Well, unless I'm wrong, which, you know, I'm not . . . you were the one who said: 'I can't wait to hear you scream'!"

The two of themare now in a fit of hysterics.

"I think the earth moved that last time," Sharona comments when her lungs are functioning properly again.

"What!" Monk shrieks, dreading another earthquake and its accompanying dissociative episodes.

"Would youcalm down? It's an expression. It means the sex was phenomenal, that's all."

"Oh. Right."

Like a petulant child, Sharona sticks her tongue out at him. "God, you are so-"

"Oh, shut-up."

"Did you just tell me to shut-up?"Mrs. Monk demands, trying to contain her laughter.

"Yes."

"Oh, my God! That's how you talk to your wife? Why would you say a thing like that?"

"Let's put it this way: if you don't shut-up, you can't do number three again."

"So you think I'm gonna do that again after the way you treated me?" Sharona challenges. "Not a chance! . . . Unless, of course, you do number four again . . ."

"All right. How about this: We do three and four together?" Monk suggests as a compromise.

A pair of sapphire irises widen in surprise. "You know about that? How?"

Twisting his mouth into an impish grin, Adrian remains mute.

"Ugh. You're telling me later. Hey, how much longer do we have?"Sharona wonders, stretching across his body to read the alarm clock. "Good. We have exactly sixty-four minutes before Benjy gets home."

"I guess that's enough time,"Monk replies, his lips connecting with the exposed freckles on her shoulder.

"My God, all that . . . stuff we did. All that stuff you did. God, it's still kind of hard to believe how, um, how sexually active we are."

"Oh?" Monk replies, feigning naiveté.

"Well, let's take a stroll down memory lane, shall we?"

"Fine. Just keep it short," Adrian grumbles, transferring his lips to her other shoulder.

Sharona lets loose a giggle and inches closer. "Our wedding night. You were shaking like a leaf."

Her husband chuckles at the memory. "I was. I was terrified."

"Tell me about it. I start to take off my bra, and you jump out of bed and run into the bathroom."

"And lock myself in."

"Right. Thank you. You know, when you didn't come out after ten minutes, I seriously thought you were gonna spend the night in there."

"Heh. And where would I sleep, in the bathtub? Come on, Sharona. If I won't sleep on a couch . . ."

His wife gasps in mock surprise, as though she has just realized something disconcerting. "Oh, so that's why you came back into the bedroom, hmm? You didn't want to make love to me. You just wanted a comfortable place to sleep!"

"You're right," the detective plays along, trying to keep a straight face. "And I got one. I just had to suffer through the love-making first."

"Well, you must be some kind of masochist then, considering you 'suffered' through it three times!"

"I simply have a very high threshold for pain."

"Well, good thing for you," she teases, "'cause if you didn't, I would've had to start going through the yellow pages and look for a divorce lawyer."

Rubbing the back of her neck, Adrian responds, "I wouldn't put it past you."

"Yeah. Hey, remember that thing I said, that finally got you to open to door? 'Okay, Adrian. If you don't come out of there in ten seconds, I'm starting without you.' And then, I started moaning really loudly."

"That was a nice touch."

"Oh, yeah, that was brilliant." But then her tone grows a bit more serious. "It was worth the wait, you know. You are amazing."

Mr. Monk smiles lovingly at his wife and gently lies her down on the rumpled sheets. Slowly, he begins to trace his index finger down the front of her body.

Now, it is Sharona's heart that is pounding with anticipation. "So, um, we're really gonna do them together, huh?"

"Yeah."

"A-Are you sure it's okay to skip the first two? I mean, I know how you like to do things in order. So-"

"Sharona?"

"I should shut-up, shouldn't I?"

"You got it."

END