A/N – A very fluffy little sequel to I Only Have Eyes for You.
XXX
June 1916
While Marian hated to be parted from her husband for any length of time, she always relished the nights before Harold left for business trips that she wasn't able to attend with him. Though they never lacked for passionate feeling between them, even after four years of marriage and two children, there was a particularly delightful intensity to their embrace whenever they were anticipating a separation, no matter how brief.
"Nine days until we can do this again," Harold sighed as he lifted his head from her still-quivering thighs to inspect his handiwork: a line of love-bites for her to cherish in his absence. "I wish I could take you to Des Moines with me."
"I wish I could come, too," Marian likewise sighed. "But I promised the Events Committee I'd chair their summer fundraiser."
Harold grinned wickedly at her. "Well, if you can't come with me tomorrow, I suppose I'll have to make you come tonight… " As he lowered his head back to her lap, her arch retort that she'd come as often as he pleased was lost in a gasp, and that was the end of any banter between them for quite some time afterward.
Much later, when they were lying in an exquisitely exhausted tangle of limbs and delighting in the cool early-summer breezes that wafted over them from the open window, Harold whispered, "I've got an idea, Marian – my best one yet. It won't be nearly as good as taking you with me, but it should keep us both entertained while I'm gone."
Her curiosity piqued despite her fatigue, Marian immediately rolled over in the music professor's arms to look him straight in the eye. "And just what are you up to now, Mister Hill?"
True to form, Harold merely gave her an impish twinkle. He always enjoyed drawing out his little schemes for as long as possible, and his teasing never failed to tantalize and excite her. But the librarian could be just as patient as he, and simply gazed at him with an expectant smile until he finally said, "You're not, ah, planning to do any major cleaning-out projects in my absence this time, my dear little librarian?"
"There are none left to be done!" she laughingly reassured him.
"Good," he beamed at her with genuine relief. "Because that could spoil the surprise." He leaned in and nipped at her ear, which gave her a pleasant little shiver. "I've hidden eight love letters in various places all over River City for you to find, one for each full day I'll be gone. Well, they're more phrases, to be precise. Each day, I'll send you a telegram with a mundane line that will give you a hint as to where to find the letter of the day." He drew back a little from their embrace and looked seriously at her. "These letters are meant to be found in a very specific order, you understand."
It wasn't often that Marian was rendered speechless by the depth of her husband's crafty and cunning mind, but at present, all she could do was goggle at such an elaborate romantic scheme.
It was a mark of how much her opinion mattered that Harold gave her a worried look. "Is that too much? Have I gone too far?"
"Of course not!" Marian managed to gasp. "I'm just… I still can't help being overwhelmed by how much thought you put into me."
Harold graced her with the soft, affectionate smile that always warmed her insides better than even her mother's mulled wine in wintertime. "I hope you're used to it by now, my dear little librarian."
Marian vehemently shook her head. "To be used to it would be to take it for granted. And I'll never do that."
"An excellent point," he conceded. "So let me amend mine: I hope you know that you deserve it. And I hope you'll remember during those eight days I'm gone that every bit of me is yours, Marian – body, heart, and soul."
She confirmed her complete confidence in his devotion by leaning in and kissing him both sweetly and skillfully as she knew how. "I don't doubt your love for me one single bit, Harold. I only wish I could think of something nearly as wonderful to do for you in return."
"Just keep kissing me like that – that's more than enough," Harold moaned, his fingers finding the curve of her breast as his arousal stirred against her thigh. Her exhaustion ebbing completely, Marian spread her legs to welcome him yet again as he rolled her body beneath his. As he crooned the most delicious phraseology into her ear while their hips moved in a frenzied rhythm together, she feverishly wondered what similarly ardent declarations his letters had in store for her over the course of the next week.
XXX
On the first day, Harold's telegram instructed:
BE SURE TO SET OUT THE GOOD CHINA FOR SUNDAY DINNER
Indeed, Marian found the following letter concealed in the porcelain cabinet, to her great glee:
Loving you is a banquet that fills me up body, heart, and soul.
XXX
On the second day, Harold's telegram suggested:
THE LIBRARY NEEDS ANOTHER BOOK ON JOHN PHILIP SOUSA
To any other reader, this directive wouldn't have seemed odd or out of place. But as the library had already received just such a book last week, she quickly located the volume, which thankfully hadn't been checked out. And just as her husband hinted, tucked right into the library card pocket inside the front cover was the sweetest of flirtations that made her tingle from head to toe:
Of any man in the world, I am the most fortunate to have seen what lies beneath that arch smile, that proud gaze, that high-buttoned collar.
XXX
On the third day, Harold's telegram warned:
THE PIANO BENCH IS OVER-FULL OF MUSIC FOR THE AUGUST PARADE
While the music professor wasn't lying about that, to her slight chagrin, there was also a letter that made the librarian giggle quite happily, like a besotted teenage girl:
Venus herself could not make me harder when you let out that low laugh of yours; it goes straight to below my belt.
XXX
On the fourth day, Harold's telegram stated:
GIVE MY REGARDS TO YOUR MOTHER WHEN YOU HAVE LUNCH WITH HER
Thankfully, Mrs. Paroo did not stoop so low as to remark, teasingly or otherwise, on the marked color that tinged Marian's cheeks during their visit. But when she handed the librarian a sealed envelope after they completed their noon repast, she did slyly opine that Professor Hill must be quite the besotted husband if he was still playing these kinds of games with his wife… and she was very glad to see he'd learned his lesson from the last business trip he'd been so foolish to go on without her!
Marian simply laughed in contented agreement as she tucked the unopened letter into her reticule for later. While she longed to know what he'd written her, it was a good thing she didn't read it until she reached the privacy of her own home, as the contents of this communiqué made her tremble even more pleasantly than she had the day before:
Each night you are a feast of the most delectable delights for all my senses, and as I breathe in the memory of you on that pink handkerchief, I ache to be in your arms.
XXX
On the fifth day, Harold's telegram requested:
IF YOU COULD, PLEASE FIND MY MISSING BROWN GLOVE
Marian had to go digging through the cedar trunk in the attic that contained all of her husband's winter outerwear to locate this epistle. And when she found it, she appreciated both the mischievous allusion to the letter's hiding place and that he'd gone to such trouble to hide it, as this was the most heated missive yet:
Buried in between your warm thighs, I am home.
XXX
On the sixth day, Harold's telegram was surprisingly sentimental:
I LOOK FORWARD TO SHARING A STRAWBERRY PHOSPHATE WITH YOU SOON
Somehow, Marian managed to contain her blush when Ed Langford kindly handed her an envelope shortly after she walked into the Candy Kitchen. Although she could barely contain her anticipation all morning, she made herself wait until after lunch before setting out on the latest scavenger hunt.
However, today's missive ended with a colon rather than a period, which only deepened the enticing sense of mystery that had been percolating in her this entire week:
I have never tasted anything as sweet as you, and wish for nothing more than this:
XXX
On the seventh day, Harold's telegram entreated:
I LEFT MY BEST PITCH PIPE IN MY DESK AT THE EMPORIUM, PLEASE RETRIEVE
When the librarian opened the top drawer of his desk at the emporium and spied the epistle within, her giddy anticipation changed from wondering just what phrase followed up yesterday's puzzle right to feverish contemplation of the music professor doing exactly what today's letter promised:
To drink deeply from your wet fountains,
XXX
On the eighth day, Harold's telegram directed:
IF I'M LATE TO DINNER TOMORROW, PLEASE SAVE FOR ME IN THE ICEBOX
Once again, Marian marveled at her husband's cleverness as she unearthed from their leftovers a letter wrapped in wax-covered parchment to preserve it from contamination:
Eat of your kissable crimson lips.
XXX
On the ninth day – the day Harold was finally, finally, finally due to come home! – his telegram asked:
UPON REVIEW OF CORRESPONDENCE, CAN YOU GUESS MY GIFT TO YOU? POE COULDN'T HAVE WRITTEN IT BETTER
Marian laughed aloud at that, which naturally piqued the curiosity of the nosy clerk at the telegraph office. Smothering her smile, she gave the lady a decorous nod and went home as swiftly as she could manage without arousing further suspicion.
Having heeded Harold's instructions as to his little game, Marian saved each of his letters in meticulous chronological order, along with his telegrams. And being a well-ordered librarian, she would have done this in any case – as he must have known.
Bringing out all the letters, she laid them in a line down the dining room table and read his romantic declaration in its full and completed glory:
Loving you is a banquet that fills me up body, heart, and soul.
Of any man in the world, I am the most fortunate to have seen what lies beneath that arch smile, that proud gaze, that high-buttoned collar.
Venus herself could not make me harder when you let out that low laugh of yours; it goes straight to below my belt.
Each night you are a feast of the most delectable delights for all my senses, and as I breathe in the memory of you on that pink handkerchief, I ache to be in your arms.
Buried in between your warm thighs, I am home.
I have never tasted anything as sweet as you, and wish for nothing more than this:
To drink deeply from your wet fountains,
Eat of your kissable crimson lips.
At first, Marian hadn't been sure what her husband's allusion to Edgar Allan Poe meant to imply, but now that she had strung every one of these ardent phrases together, she realized that not only was this a poem of Harold's composing, it was loosely modeled on Poe's An Acrostic, which they'd read the week before his trip. That must have been where Harold had gotten this ingenious, wonderful, delightful idea!
It didn't take long for the clever librarian to discern the acrostic message in this piece. And when she did, she had to sit down, lest her knees give way as she traced trembling fingers along the line where he'd left those now-faded marks on the inside of her thigh.
XXX
Just as he'd planned, Harold's homecoming from Des Moines was so much better this time around. As soon as he walked through the door, Marian's arms were around him and her mouth eagerly claimed his – exactly the kind of enthusiastic response he'd hoped to arouse in her with his heated acrostic.
"You're gonna have to give me my mouth back for a little while if you want your present, my dear little librarian," he teased as his hands quickly found their way beneath her skirts to cup her warm thighs – she had worn her most airy and accessible lingerie gown to facilitate their reunion, and it made him want to strip from his heavy traveling suit right then and there, for parity as well as pleasure.
But to Harold's delight, Marian not only ignored his less-than-perfect grammar, she removed his suit for him, scattering his garments in the front hall with the same raw abandon as he buried his face in her breasts and urged her onward. Once she'd finally gotten him down to his union suit – admittedly, his amorous attentions to her décolletage slowed her down somewhat, but neither of them minded this – he whisked her to the parlor sofa, buried his head in her lap, and made good on the promise he'd so painstakingly constructed for his brilliant wife to parse out just in time for his eager return.