A Day Off

by Carolina Nadeau

Harold and Marian spend an afternoon in the countryside to relax and escape the pressures of everyday life – although not everything goes quite as planned.

2. Fantasies

The second time that Harold Hill found himself sitting in water that day was infinitely better than the first, he reflected. Having his beautiful wife in his arms in a tub of hot water was certainly a rare treat, and he couldn't begrudge the day's rather unlucky events knowing that they'd led them to such a delightful afternoon. Although, truth be told, they were both even more eager for the sorts of delights that would await them after they'd finished the necessary business of getting clean, and their washing had been punctuated with a good deal of flirting, teasing and kissing – which had made it even more enjoyable for them both.

Idly watching the droplets trickle down her naked body, Harold was struck by how intimately water could touch a person, reacting to every slight contour and variation, changing itself and the skin it traveled over so they were no longer two separate things. Like us, he mused with a smile, and when he followed the path of the water with his fingertips, it wasn't only out of his desire to touch her.

"Mmm," Marian murmured happily under her breath, leaning into his touch a little more. As she turned her head to gaze dreamily at him, though, she seemed rather startled by the thoughtful expression on his face. "Harold? Is something on your mind?

He tried helplessly to put his thoughts into words, feeling that his epiphany was suddenly not quite so brilliant now that he'd been asked to explain it. "The water," he admitted, dripping another handful of water down his beloved's arm. "How nothing can ever be quite so close to a person as water can – except for a person who truly loves them." He chuckled and shook his head before resting his chin against her hair. "I know it's a ridiculous thing to say. I must sound awfully pretentious to you. But it got me thinking about – about how much I love being close to you. Not just physically, I mean – but how I'm just so grateful that you let me into your life in every way, and that I got smart enough to let you in as well." Nothing could tie up his silver tongue quite like trying to articulate his feelings for Marian, the professor thought – although his wife did not seem the least bit displeased by his ineloquence.

Instead, she sighed in contentment, reaching back over her shoulder to stroke his hand. "Harold, that's a lovely thing to say! I feel the same way, you know. I'd never imagined that this kind of closeness with another person was possible, and I'm grateful for it every single day." Despite the tender honesty of her response, however, it was mere moments before he could feel her shoulders tremble a little with silent laughter. "I must admit, though, I'd not have guessed that your mind had wandered to such lofty places while you were running your hands all over me..."

Harold knew that she was not wrong to be surprised, but he was too proud not to protest. "Now, Miss Marian, surely you don't think that my every action is motivated by carnal desire?"

"Oh, I know perfectly well that your every action isn't, but when we're already naked in a bath together, it would not be unreasonable to expect you to be feeling a certain degree of – excitement." She laughed, playfully kicking her toes to peek out above the surface of the water. "I confess that I was – um, that I –"

Evidently either unwilling or unable to continue, Marian instead turned her body around to face him at once, a flash of inscrutable inspiration sparkling in her eyes as she pulled herself up to her knees. Harold attempted not to fixate too obviously on her breasts, which were glistening in the most delectable way due to the water; he did not quite succeed, and his wife's smile grew even more self-satisfied.

"You're going to smell like flowers, you know," she noted matter-of-factly as she ran her washcloth up and down her husband's arms, her fingers tracing intricate patterns through the soap bubbles that were left there.

Rather baffled by her inexplicable change of subject, Harold could only stare back at her. "I don't think it matters much. After all, I doubt that anybody will be close enough to me to smell what kind of soap I've used. Nobody except you, of course."

"But you'll smell it," she said, her face lighting up with mischief. "You'll just be going about your day tomorrow, when all of a sudden you'll think 'why do I smell like roses?' and then you'll remember this moment... and you won't be able to think of a single thing else until you can come home and take me into your arms."

Even as she said it, Harold knew that it was true – and it frankly delighted him that she'd thought of such a plan. "Devious, naughty little thing," he admonished teasingly. "You'd like to see me tormented that much?"

In response, she made a show of rolling her eyes and wrinkling her nose. "It would only be my revenge for this afternoon. A taste of your own medicine, if you will. Do you have any idea what it was like riding home with all those thoughts in my mind – of what you had planned for us? Um, still have planned, I might assume?"

He grinned wickedly at her, relishing the memory. "Well, I couldn't look at you too much while I was driving, of course, but it was obvious to me that you were having a good deal of trouble sitting still. The bumps in the road seemed to trouble you especially."

Turning away from him with a laughing gasp, she sank into the water a little, and with all her naked skin exposed Harold could tell even from behind that she was blushing. "Yes, well, that's exactly what you wanted, isn't it? That's why you purposely reduced me to a trembling mess before we even stepped foot in the motorcar?"

"Mm-hmm. It appears that the Think System has its... less musical applications, indeed. I'd say my experiment was a success."

From how closely he was holding her, he could feel her breath quickening and her pulse increase, and he hoped that those erotic thoughts were returning to her now. "You say that as if it were even necessary! It would have taken me far less than that to drive me wild, especially after how close we'd come to making love on our picnic."

"I know. I wanted to see you desperate," he murmured. "I wanted to see you so that all that mattered in the world to you was me making love to you."

She nodded, clutching his hand tightly as she spoke. "I understand – I like that, too. I mean, to see you like that. But it almost still frightens me, the things that you can make me think of, even in public."

"Oh, I know, believe me," he murmured, casting his mind back over all the times that he'd been forced to conceal and control the arousal that resulted at the mere thought of her. He'd not had to deal with such potential embarrassment since he was a teenager... or such distraction, either. "Some days when I'm alone in my office, my mind wanders to you – well, no, every day my mind wanders to you, but some days it wanders in a much more amorous direction than others, and then..."

Her eyebrows raised provocatively as she gazed back over her shoulder at him. "Mm-hmm?'

Harold cleared his throat self-consciously, unsure if it would be wise to continue now that he'd considered things more carefully – but she looked so strikingly lovely that he couldn't refuse her curiosity, however questionable of a decision that might be. "Sometimes I fantasize that during a slow hour, while no one's around, you stop by my office to visit and – "

"And?"

He'd said bolder things to her before, and at this point he felt that he had to go ahead with it and hope that it didn't earn him a slap. "Well, there are several variations on the theme, but I've often thought of you walking in, giving me a fervent, passionate kiss and then – slipping down under my desk to, um, surprise me."

Eyes wide, she laughed helplessly, somewhere between scandalized and greatly amused. "I really should have guessed that it would be that – there are few things that you enjoy more."

He grinned, a little more sheepishly than usual. "Well, it's the sort of thing that requires very little removal of clothing, so it'd be easy enough to get away with in the middle of a work day – and I'd reciprocate the gesture, of course, sit you up on my chair afterward and – "

"You've fantasized about this extensively, then? Goodness, how does your paperwork ever get finished?"

"No need to exaggerate, now. I did just remind you that I'm not motivated by desire alone – more often than not, I'm thinking about things like what I want to tell you about my day when I have the opportunity, or how I'd like to have you there just so I had someone to talk to. Besides – I'm sure that the librarian has had a few heated fantasies of her own about her handsome, charming husband while she works behind her desk all day, after all."

Surprisingly, Marian leaned forward and giggled softly before she kissed his lips, not at all the response that the music professor had been expecting to such an audacious remark. When she pulled back, she wore a wry, teasing smile, and Harold nearly held his breath in anticipation of what fantasy she might be about to divulge – but when she spoke, her words were focused on a quite different aspect of his statement. "It's occurred to me just now, darling, how lucky I am. You see, you must love me more than anyone else in the world loves anybody – and the proof is that you love me more than you love yourself, yet certainly no other man loves himself so much."

Dumbstruck, Harold wasn't sure whether to laugh at her joke or be touched by her sentiment, and in his shock all he could do was to feign offense. "Why, that's blatant slander against my character, Madam Librarian! Half-true, the part about my love for you, but the rest is pure fabrication. Perhaps I'll reconsider my plans for what we'll be doing when we get out of this bathtub..."

"You won't," she responded almost before he'd finished speaking, her voice ringing with certainty – and as her hands slipped beneath the water to caress him in a very intimate area, a touch that made his back arch and his lips fall open, Harold did not care in the least to maintain his charade.

"No, I won't." There was a second half to that sentence – to the effect that he actually intended to bring those plans into reality right now – but evidently, Marian could read it on his face more clearly than he ever could have said it, because she crushed her lips to his with a whimpering moan and leaned in to him, one hand continuing to stroke him below the water. Harold followed suit, finally allowing himself to touch her without restraint, and his hands glided over her wet skin, over her breasts and hips and backside and pressing her tightly to him. Now gasping with all the pent-up desire that they'd held back ever since the picnic, husband and wife embraced each other in near desperation, their sudden tumult of motion causing splashes and waves in the water.

Though they were caught up in a frenzy of sensual need and their actions seemed to be drawing them irresistibly close to making love, Harold knew that it wouldn't happen while they were still in the bathtub – as erotic as it was to bathe together, they'd learned rather early on in their marriage that the fulfillment of such encounters was better carried out in more comfortable and less slippery spaces.

So, though it meant the temporary interruption of their activities, Marian did not resist when he pulled her to her feet, kicked the stopper from the drain, and helped her onto the small rug beside the bathtub. She shivered a little, standing wet in the open air of the washroom, and she clung against his side for warmth – and the feeling of her hardened nipples pressing against his arm and her hips brushing his erection made him want to forgo all further prelude and take her right then and there. For a brief moment Harold envisioned simply pressing her against the wall to make love to her, something that he'd always yearned to do, but he pushed the thought away for the time being, realizing that such an activity would be terribly ill-advised while they were dripping wet and standing on a tiled floor. Later, he promised himself, and instead enfolded her in a soft towel that he grabbed from the rack, using the motion to pull her close to his chest so he could kiss her again and again, slipping his tongue between her eagerly parted lips. His fingers soon danced across her thighs to explore between them, teasing his fingertips through the soft curls and softer skin until he found that familiar, exquisitely sensitive area that he'd come so very close to when they'd canoodled during their outing. Marian's reaction to his touch was instantaneous, her body tensing and curling toward him and a panting whimper escaping her lips.

Unable to delay any longer after they'd both been teasing each other for so long, Harold swept her into his arms, figuring that the one towel would manage to be enough for both of them for the time being – while he figured that it was best that they didn't get in bed while entirely soaking wet, he couldn't have cared less about taking the time it would take to actually make sure they were dry, not when the possibility of making love to her was so tantalizingly close. It took only a few short strides to bring her from the washroom to the bedroom, and only a few more until he could lay her down on their plush green comforter – if they were going to make so little effort to dry off, it seemed unwise to turn back the covers right now, so they could at least have dry sheets later.

As the librarian leaned back so invitingly on their bed, looking up at him through those long lashes, he was captivated, as he always was, by how lucky he was to have such an extraordinarily stunning woman for his wife. If she'd been a fairy earlier, she was every inch a goddess now, a figure glorious enough to be carved in marble, but warmer and softer and all for him. He could have spent hours simply exploring her body, and he had done so several times before. It wasn't just the obvious parts that captured his attention, either – while there were certain areas of her anatomy that undeniably held much greater eroticism than others, he could still find something to adore in her ankle or her elbow, simply because it was Marian.

Her desire-darkened eyes swept hungrily over his body in return, and the way that her fevered gaze lingered on his arousal gave him a rush of foolish masculine pride. Although he was shamelessly smug about many things, Harold had never wanted to be the sort of loutish man who took pride in his own anatomy simply because it was there, knowing that it was his skill and not his natural endowment that mattered most anyway – but he thought it was reasonable to feel proud of the fact that she liked it. As he considered that, he climbed to join his wife on the bed so hastily that he nearly stubbed his toe, but the pain wouldn't have mattered to him at that point anyway, so focused was he on the extremely pleasant situation at hand. He almost dove to reach her, and she giggled at his eagerness – but she wasn't laughing anymore when he brought his tongue to her breasts, all of her mirth swallowed up by her wordless moans of passion.

Harold wasn't sure if she was doing it consciously or not, whether it was because she knew how much he loved it or whether she was simply that frantic with lust, but almost the very moment that he had resumed his kisses, Marian had slipped a hand down her abdomen, between her own thighs, stroking and massaging the sensitive places there, making herself gasp and parting the slick folds for him to see... With a low groan in his throat, he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment just to process what he was seeing; the ache of his erection grew almost painful.

Yet as intensely as he needed to be inside her, Harold could not possibly resist the new craving that she had incited in him by this action – and he thought it might be in both of their best interests if he did not proceed to make love to her immediately anyway, as he was so worked up by now that he didn't trust himself not to climax as soon as he'd entered her. Sliding his body down hers, he gently pulled her hand aside and replaced it immediately with his mouth, loving her familiar, intimate taste and the throaty way in which she cried his name at the contact of his tongue. It didn't take long at all like this to push her to the very edge – her thighs trembled and shivered astride his head, her hands grasped fiercely at his hair, and her head lolled back onto the pillow as she seemed ready to shatter beneath his ministrations.

But when he pulled away at what was surely almost the last moment of her self-control, Marian raised her head and let out a strangled gasp of frustration. "Harold, why – "

As tempted as Harold was to meticulously kiss every single part of her and make sure that she knew exactly how beautiful she was, his desire was far too keen right now to delay the consummation of their tryst any longer. "I want you," he asserted, his voice sounding like a near growl to his own ears, all of his debonair grace escaping him in the face of such tremendous need.

Neither one of them possessed the willpower needed to draw things out to be sweet and slow – they'd both been too eager for this for too many hours now, and Harold was rather relieved to see that Marian was not at all alarmed by his less-than-gentle handling or his frank expression of lust. In fact, she was even more aroused to know that he wanted her too badly to wait, and the urgency of her caresses increased in tandem with his, at the same time pushing him and allowing herself to be pulled. When he slid back to sit against the pillows – he'd decided to take her in the same position that he almost had in the bathtub – he hardly had to guide her at all before she was kissing him breathlessly and straddling his lap just the way that he'd wanted her to.

But as he felt himself slip inside her unbearably tight wetness and the sensation caused him to shiver uncontrollably already, he felt that he owed it to his beloved to slow down. It was one thing to take things at a fast pace but quite another to risk leaving her unsatisfied – and though he was quite confident in his abilities to bring her release by other means while he waited for his full vigor to return, that didn't mean that he was willing to face the humiliation of finishing as soon as they started.

Grasping Marian's hips in an attempt to still her instinctive motions, Harold took in a deep, unsteady breath. "Darling, if we don't slow down, I – I might not last very long –"

A wicked gleam lit in her hazel eyes, and she squeezed her legs tightly around him, making him gasp raggedly in pleasure and shock. "I think I can keep up," she whispered heatedly in his ear, letting her hands slide down his naked back, and Harold shuddered even more as she began to bear down upon him and move in complete defiance of his warning, setting a vigorous pace in which he quickly joined her.

As much as it usually thrilled him to be in charge, to know that he could draw out all those exquisite moans and cries from his deceptively prim wife through his skillful actions alone, he couldn't deny that it was perhaps an even greater thrill to watch her take control, especially when she did it with such confidence. Making love to her while she straddled his lap afforded Harold the most wonderful opportunity to kiss both her breasts and her lips while they moved together, to run his hands through her long golden hair, to cup her backside and stroke her thighs. Still, he knew that he needed to restrain himself to ensure that she could enjoy their coupling to the fullest before he had no choice but to give in, and, as intense sensation coiled and tightened within him, he intermittently had to close his eyes and concentrate on his own breathing just to keep his release at bay.

But her brazen, domineering actions, in combination with her increasingly rapt cries, aroused him beyond belief, and he could do nothing but give into his desires. He'd always found the sounds that Marian made while he was inside her to be unbearably erotic – the combination of witnessing her pleasure while experiencing his own was something he knew that he would never, ever get tired of. And it was his powerful desire to watch Marian find ecstasy in his embrace that kept him going long enough even though he was shivering with the effort of resisting release, just long enough until her trembling and moaning reached a fever pitch and she tightened even more around him, pushing him over the threshold into unrestrained bliss as well, and then nothing mattered, nothing existed in the entire world but the two of them.

As the most incredible sensations coursed through them both, Harold held Marian close against his chest, elated to feel her heavy, uneven breathing, the heat and sweat of her body, and know that he'd been the one to cause these reactions. Although she had been the one most responsible for the pleasure of this particular tryst, he had to admit, so maybe he oughtn't congratulate himself too much. It still made his head spin to contemplate how his innocent librarian had become capable of such boldness in the bedroom – he'd taught her plenty and helped her along, yes, but a passionate enthusiasm like that couldn't ever be learned. There was such sensuality in practically everything she did, whether she intended it or not, so naturally, when it came to the act of lovemaking, she was completely in her element. (He wondered, in the back of his mind, if she'd agree with that sentiment or be scandalized instead.)

"Oh, God," he breathed against her damp neck as he tried to stir himself from his euphoric daze – despite his earlier contemplation that he might have been becoming more religious of late, it was difficult not to let one of those slip out around her once in a while, though thankfully she tended to be far too preoccupied to scold him in moments like this. When he finally lifted his head to look into her eyes, though, something about the teasing little smirk on his wife's face made Harold feel uncharacteristically insecure, and not over the words he'd just uttered.

"I'm sorry, love," he blurted hoarsely, not knowing what else to say. "That was – over a bit sooner than I'm proud of, I know."

Raising her eyebrows, Marian giggled as she smoothed the hair from his forehead. "Now why in the world would you be sorry? That was wonderful – it was over just as quickly for me, if you couldn't tell."

"It's not the same thing for a woman," he maintained. "For you, it doesn't mean you have to stop... and I can tell that you're nowhere near ready to stop. I know I'm not."

"Maybe, but you did promise me that you were going to make love to me 'over and over' today, didn't you? And I haven't the slightest doubt in your ability to do exactly that." Underneath her pleasure-flushed complexion, Harold could see the evidence of a different sort of blush stealing across her cheeks. "Besides, you know that I did it on purpose – took control even after you warned me that I shouldn't, I mean."

Wishing to gain a little control back for himself, Harold rolled them over so she was sprawled beneath him, blonde locks fanning out around her. "And why was that?" he inquired.

"The very reason that you might have done the same thing to me, darling. You said you wouldn't be able to last if I did, and I wanted to see that. I wanted to be the one to make you feel so good that you couldn't handle it – I love that I can do that to you." Now she was blushing even more, and she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek self-consciously with a dismissive shake of her head. "What a fool I am, to be blushing after the way I just behaved..."

"No, you know how much I love it when you blush." Cupping her cheek in his hand, he traced her soft ivory skin with his thumb, utterly enamored. "I can remember clearly the first time I really saw you blushing – that first day at the Candy Kitchen last July. And I remember that I had an impulse to just pull you close and kiss your cheeks all over and tell you how sweet you were. I wasn't accustomed to having such affectionate thoughts about a woman – I should have known right then that you affected me differently than anybody else in the world!"

Though she couldn't conceal the joy in her eyes, Marian raised a questioning eyebrow. "But even if you had done that, it still wouldn't have taken you long at all before you kissed my lips, I suspect."

He chuckled, as she'd hit right on the truth of where those fantasies had inevitably led. "You're right, of course. Even though I desired a few more innocent kisses as well, I couldn't have possibly resisted such an opportunity... nor would I have tried." He found it equally impossible to resist that same opportunity right then, and he leaned down to give her just the sort of deep, passionate, desperate kiss that he would have given her that very first time, if, by the point when he was finally able to kiss her, he'd not been so mindful of – and enchanted by – her complete innocence.

And, as his much more-experienced wife, Marian kissed him back ardently, eagerly molding her body to his and tangling her hands in his hair. By the time their lips parted, they were both gasping tremulously – and due to their extremely intimate proximity, they were both fully aware of how powerful each other's arousal had already become.

Sliding his fingers lightly up her arms, Harold drew her hands back to pin them over her head, making it clear that he intended to take the lead this time. It wasn't quite fair, after all, that she'd denied him the chance to savor her pleasure – after all the time he'd had to envision it, he'd all but missed her climax for his own when she'd pushed him so far, so fast. Remembering how successful he had been earlier in teasing her with words, he wanted to see if he could whip her up into desperation again for their next round of lovemaking. She wanted him already, he knew that, but he wanted to watch her tremble in anticipation again, so it would be all the more satisfying to watch her writhe and moan beneath him.

"So, darling," he intoned in a smolderingly low voice that was carefully calculated to make her melt, "I think we're going to do this my way this time. 'My way' being that we're going to take a nice, long time – " he slipped his fingers painstakingly down her thighs, lifted up her legs from under the knees and wrapped them snugly up around his waist " – and we're going to see just how many times I can make you come."

Her breath caught in shock at his wickedly bold words and color flooded her face, yet there was only desire in her expression as she imagined what he was describing – that was one of his very favorite things to do, to tell her what he was going to do with her, to make her imagine the pleasure she would experience and then to give her even more. "Oh, yes, please," Marian whispered ardently, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him even closer, kissing and touching every part of him she could reach. Even as she willingly surrendered herself to his control this time, there was nothing passive in her embrace, and she writhed beautifully against him, her every motion seducing him, inviting him, begging him to make love to her.

He remembered how, in the earliest days of their marriage, he had been so fearful that the rapacity of his carnal desires – which had grown surprisingly insatiable even by his standards, thanks to the powerful effects of being so deeply in love – would disgust or overwhelm her, and that his long-held dreams of spending hour upon hour in bed with her, making love in every way that he knew how, might not be such a realistic possibility, at least not for a very long time. Harold had been wonderfully surprised, though, when Marian took to the experience much in the same way that she had, at the start of their courtship, taken to kissing – in spite of how new it all still was to her, she delighted in their lovemaking and the giving and receiving of pleasure with the very same fervor that he did. Though it initially had taken a good deal of reassurance on his part to instill in his wife the confidence that her desire and behavior were neither immoral nor distasteful, she had never wavered in her enjoyment of their physical relationship or her eagerness to try whatever new experience that he wanted to share with her. Now, nearly six months married, the librarian was entirely free of those inklings of guilt and shame that had plagued her – though she still blushed furiously every time they made love or talked about it, which Harold adored. After all, he had fallen in love with a woman who blushed, and he wanted to make love to that blushing woman as well. As long as he knew that there was no shame in those pinkened cheeks, he found them to be one of the most charming sights in the world.

But it wasn't just her blushing that he loved to see – his Marian was an extraordinarily expressive and responsive woman in all ways, most especially in the throes of passion. As he thrust into her once again, he observed her every reaction, her fingers clenching, back arching, toes curling, and mouth opening on an ecstatic gasp – all those delectable responses that he'd been too addled to concentrate on the last time but that he loved so very much. Yes, he thought as he began to make love to her, he was going to enjoy watching every single one of those as he brought her the sort of unimaginable pleasure that she deserved...

xxx

Lifting his head from his pillow, Harold opened his eyes slowly in confusion, unsure of what to make of the orange sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows. It didn't look like morning, unless they were experiencing some extremely odd weather today, but he wasn't sure what time other than morning would find him waking up in bed. He was immediately conscious of a pang of hunger lancing through his stomach, but he couldn't gauge which meal he should have eaten.

Then his eyes fell on the scattered clothing and hastily discarded bathrobes surrounding the bed, and a broad grin broke out on his face as memories of the afternoon rushed back into his mind. He tried to run mentally through the series of events since they'd arrived home from the picnic, and, as he catalogued exactly what they'd done, was seriously impressed even with his own stamina. No wonder they'd fallen asleep in the middle of the day! So, he reasoned, it must be about dinnertime now – a deduction that was confirmed when he glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

Yet despite the discomfort of hunger (thirst, too, he realized in vague irritation) he couldn't bring himself to leave their bed when he became aware of the captivating presence at his side. Marian lay snuggled against him wearing only his flannel bathrobe – his, now how had that happened? – with her honey-blonde curls spilling all around her on the pillow and her full lips pursed into a small, sleeping smile. As much as he might like to have dinner, Harold couldn't rationalize the decision to leave her embrace. He'd had always thought that Marian looked positively delicious when she was at all disheveled, and knowing for a fact that her disarray was a direct result of their exuberant lovemaking made him savor the sight that much more.

Absentmindedly, his fingers tapped out the notes on her arm for a song that he'd recently been learning to play on the trumpet. It was a habit he'd picked up ever since he'd become a legitimate music man, his hands always moving restlessly in the pattern of some song or another; he'd learned to notice Marian doing it as well, and he'd often wonder what beautiful piano tunes were running through her mind as her fingers formed soundless chords against the cover of a book or the fabric of her skirt.

Harold had almost drifted back off to sleep from concentrating on the repetitive motions when his stomach protested again, and he realized that dinner would not be a negotiable issue. He wondered if he could manage to slip out of bed and have dinner waiting for her when she awakened. She deserved a break from working so hard all the time, he thought, especially on this day off. Of course, Harold's culinary range was not nearly as impressive as hers – he'd started cooking for himself for the first time in years when he'd moved into this house last September, whereas Marian had been cooking under her mother's watchful eye for a long time. He tried to think of what ingredients they had in the house that he could work with – and he didn't want to risk unsettling her stomach, either, as she'd been having the occasional trouble with nausea in the past week or so. Well, he wouldn't know what he could cook if he didn't go assess the situation in the kitchen, he figured...

Very gently unwinding her arms from his, the music professor rolled his wife over just a little so he could sit up on the edge of the bed. He stretched his arms and legs for a moment, and only then did he become fully conscious of the fact that he was still stark naked. And Marian, of course, was wearing his bathrobe. Just as he started to stand up to seek out some pajamas that he might wear, he felt his little librarian's fingers lacing with his to arrest his movement.

"Where are you going?" she murmured, her sweet voice heavy with slumber.

"Oh, you're up," he exclaimed lamely as he turned to look at her. "I was going to surprise you by making dinner, although the 'surprise' part seems to have gone out the window."

His wife giggled happily and pressed his hand to her lips. "How sweet of you."

Still in a sleepy haze, she sat up in bed, causing the too-large bathrobe to fall down around her shoulders, and she blushed as she knotted the fabric in her hand, pressing it to her chest. There was something amazingly charming to him about her maidenly instinct to preserve her modesty, even after five months of an intensely passionate marriage, and even after that afternoon they'd just had.

"We could make dinner together, though," she offered. "There's really no reason for you to wait on me today."

"Ah, but you wait on me so very often," Harold said with a laugh. "You make dinner nearly every night, so it's only fair for me to do it now. I don't want to be one of those men who just expects his wife to work for him all the time, you know."

"I'd feel like a pampered fool, lounging around in bed while you cooked all by yourself, and not even on my birthday or while I'm sick!"

"I can't say I don't feel a little guilty every night when I come home and get to read the paper in the parlor while you cook," he pointed out.

Still, Marian shook her head. "Harold, I can't let you cook, I just can't."

A different possible motive for her objections struck him quite suddenly, one that he'd not been considering at all before. "Is my cooking really that bad?" Harold asked, trying to sound nonchalant. While he was well aware that it wasn't exactly his strong suit, he was surprised to find that he was a little hurt at the idea that Marian didn't like it.

"I didn't say that!" the librarian exclaimed in alarm. "I've told you before that your cooking is good – do you think I lied to you?"

"I'd never accuse you of lying, dear. It just seemed like you were fighting back a little too hard against something as simple as dinner."

"I told you the reason, though," she sighed. "I'd feel too guilty if you did that for me. It feels wrong not to make myself useful if I have the opportunity."

At least once or twice a month they had these wonderful days when their lack of obligations coincided perfectly and they could devote the entire day to each other, the way that they had on their honeymoon. Harold didn't know a lot about marriage other than what he'd been learning as he went, but he figured that it could only be a good thing for them to maintain little slices of that carefree, newlywed spirit, and it was always nice to be afforded an opportunity to make love all day, as opposed to sacrificing sleep at night. And even responsible-minded Marian could never find it in her heart to object to these days of decadence – she might toss out a joking comment or two about what a shame it was that they were wasting an opportunity to catch up on laundry or yard work or polishing the furniture, but in the end she was always more than willing to postpone such chores for another time.

But right now, it seemed that a chore was what Marian needed to make her feel all right about allowing him to cook for her. She had thankfully overcome her feelings of shame about desire and lovemaking, yes, but she'd probably never stop being ashamed of idleness. Thinking fast, Harold gently suggested that perhaps she might like to use the time while he was busy preparing dinner to assess the state of the clothes he'd been wearing during his unfortunate tumble into the river. After all, he knew that Marian was fine with doing nothing productive today, but he figured that she wouldn't want the events of today to create more work for her tomorrow.

As memories of the picnic flooded back to her mind, her eyebrows raised in concern, and Harold could already see the wheels turning in her head as she planned what she should do. "Oh, yes, I should get a start on getting your clothes washed, before they suffer any permanent damage," she exclaimed. "As I recall, we did away with our clothes with considerable speed, and I'm not even sure where they are..."

"I suspect my bowtie and coat are still somewhere around the front door," he offered helpfully.

"Yes, and I think you actually threw your socks off, didn't you? And your trousers, where would they be – " She stopped suddenly in midsentence and examined him thoughtfully, as if noticing him for the first time. "Why are you still naked, darling?"

Harold burst out laughing at that, falling back onto his pillow. "Marian, I must say, you wear that bathrobe much better than I ever could."

Purposely letting the front of the robe fall open a little bit, she leaned over him, smirking. "All the fancy lingerie you've given me, and what you've wanted to see me in all this time is a red flannel bathrobe?"

"My enjoyment of one is hardly exclusive to my enjoyment of the other," he protested. "As a matter of fact, I was going to suggest that when we come back up here after dinner, you slip into one of those lacy little numbers and we try out a thing or two from one of those naughty lovemaking manuals that we're hiding – from nobody – under the bed."

She flushed with desire immediately at the thought, and Harold was pleased to know that she approved of his plans. "I don't know where you get all your energy, Professor, but I'm not complaining," she said with a tremulous smile.

In their current position, Harold couldn't resist pulling her in for a brief, tender kiss, although he was careful not to let it go too far, and he rolled over and stood up immediately afterward to remove himself from further temptation. Already his passion was stirring again – Marian claimed she didn't know from where he got his energy, didn't she know by now that the cause was was her? – and right now, he was trying his best to get them out of the bedroom.

"Unfortunately, if we go downstairs for dinner, I'll have to wear something." He picked up her neatly folded bathrobe off the chair a few feet away from the bed and held it out with a grin. "Trade?"

"Yes, but – hand me mine first. And don't look when I take it off!"

Turning away dutifully after he'd handed her the satiny lavender robe, Harold still couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of her command. "Don't tell me you feel embarrassed about being naked in front of me now, darling!"

"Not embarrassed – all right, you can look now – I'm just being practical. If you stood there and watched me slip that robe off, I know you wouldn't be going downstairs to make dinner anymore."

"You're smart," he told her, running his hands over her curves and pulling her close. "Because, quite honestly, even thinking about you slipping that robe off is enough to make me question if it's food that I'm really hungry for..."

"No, we need to have dinner," she laughed, quickly disentangling herself from his embrace so she could head to her vanity to fix her hair. "We've neglected all manner of things in the past months in favor of making love, but I daresay eating should remain a priority!"

As she examined herself in the mirror at her bedside vanity (the same mirror they'd used rather inventively a couple times during their afternoon of lovemaking, Harold recalled with satisfaction), the librarian seemed rather shocked by what she saw.

"Oh, I do look frightful now," she laughed with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes as she ran her fingers through her tangled curls.

"Nonsense," Harold retorted, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "What you look like is a beautiful woman who's spent the last several hours rolling in the sheets with her lover, which happens to be exactly what you are."

Blushing with mingled pleasure and embarrassment, Marian quickly smoothed her hair out of the way and tied it back with a white ribbon that she'd plucked from her vanity. "You make it sound like it's so obvious! How I've worried before about that very thing – do you know how strangely mortified I felt the first time we left our hotel room the morning after our wedding? I was so, so very happy, but I wasn't quite sure how one rejoins polite society after an experience of that sort."

Harold grinned, reminiscing fondly. "I had my suspicions... Your face was bright pink when the waiter came to take our order at breakfast."

"And you just kept grinning and winking, and that only made me think about it more," she admonished with a smile. "It was as if we had a wonderful secret – a beautiful, but terribly intimate, secret."

He pointed a triumphant finger right at her nose. "See, that's the dead giveaway. It's not that there are any merely physical signs to betray it, but the demeanor, all the blushing and smiling and laughter, that's the unmistakable sign of a recently well-loved woman."

"Or man," Marian noted archly.

"Or man," he agreed. "Although, come to think of it, there are certain physical markings that one must conceal, I suppose..." His fingers unapologetically traced the pale red love bites that he'd planted on her neck that afternoon; he knew that it was a tad primitive of him, but he enjoyed the sense of carnal possessiveness that came with having left such marks on her body.

Apparently, Marian felt something similar, because she tugged his sleeve down and, with a playful smirk, traced the imprints that her frantically grasping fingernails had left on his back during their lovemaking. "Well-loved," she teased, throwing his peculiar turn of phrase back at him.

"I concede to that label," he told her with a light kiss to her cheek. "You're quite adept at loving me, in all senses of the word."

Despite all of the teasing that they'd been engaging in, a sincere, sweet smile broke across her face. "I've always hoped that was the case," she confessed, her voice soft. "It makes me so happy so see you happy – and that includes, um – when we're in bed, of course. I know I can't be much of a lover, compared to you, but I still want to be."

He shook his head in disbelief – he knew that his wife had her share of insecurities, especially about their physical relationship, but her assessment was so wrong as to be absurd. "Oh, Marian," he sighed, stroking her hair. "Just the fact that you say that should be enough to make you realize that you already are. You know what I was thinking earlier today, in fact? I was thinking how nobody in the world could be capable of loving me as completely and selflessly as you do. You know me, body and soul, and that makes you a perfect lover."

"I do my best." She laughed a little shyly at that, glancing down from his gaze.

Lifting her chin up with his fingers, Harold leaned down to meet her lips with his own. He held the kiss only briefly, needing to look into her eyes again as his heart tightened with love for the woman who had become his entire world, who had shown him that he could be worth something and had made him as indifferent to the beauty of all other women as he was to any man. "Just by being you, you're already perfect for me, Marian."

As both of their robes had fallen open a little, the simple act of drawing her close brought them into unexpectedly intimate proximity already, and the feeling of her soft breasts against his chest made his heart start to pound. Yet Harold felt a surprising sense of calm as their bare skin pressed together, a feeling of pure comfort and contentment, a desire to melt into her embrace and stay there forever. And maybe he could have gone on simply holding her like that for hours, but the rumbling of his stomach quickly ruined the poignancy of the moment as she broke away from him, laughing.

"You were eager to get started on dinner, weren't you? Now I know why," Marian said with a light giggle. "We'd best get on with it." As she took a few steps back to move toward the door, however, she almost tripped as her feet tangled in something, and the music professor instinctively caught her by the arm to keep her from falling.

Reaching down, the librarian pulled the offending item up to eye level – it was Harold's light blue dress shirt, which he'd carelessly tossed aside in his frenzy to join her in the bath. "Still a bit damp," she noted, frowning. "You'd be a wreck by now if we hadn't gotten you out of these clothes when we did."

"In more ways than one," Harold teased, delivering a light smack to her backside as he walked past her and out of the bedroom.

"Oh, you'll pay for that, Harold Hill!" Marian proclaimed as she bounded forward to join him, laughing as she chased him down the stairs.

xxx

Though they were already thinking of returning right to their bedroom after they'd finished washing the dishes, both Mr. and Mrs. Hill had to admit at least a hint of tiredness from their earlier activities, and they took things a bit slower this time. Besides, they were still uncovering the odd article of clothing here or there, and Marian had insisted that they should have that squared away before they resumed their flagrant abandonment of all real-world concerns.

Taking a few steps toward the front hall, Marian bent down in a way clearly intended to drive him wild as she picked up his abandoned bowtie from where they had tossed it, and the music professor had to suppress the urge to simply grab her and make her forget all about laundry.

"There it is! I think that's the last little piece that's eluded me," she announced as she walked over to deposit it on top of the pile of clothes she'd been making. "I'll just bring these down to the laundry room and then – " she gazed pointedly over her shoulder at him " – we can resume our earlier discussion about the removal of robes and such."

"I look forward to that very much," Harold responded, his heart already beginning to race with ardor and his mind running through the myriad enticing possibilities of what they might soon be doing.

While Marian was busy in the laundry room, he took the opportunity to make use of the washroom, and, much like she had earlier, he had to laugh at his own reflection in the mirror.

Running a hand over his hopelessly disheveled curls, Harold chuckled to himself. "You know, it's only been a few hours since we bathed, but we are most certainly going to need another bath before we can go to work tomorrow if we keep up at this pace! Although it'll have to be separate baths if we ever hope to actually leave the house."

"That will be fine by me... as long as I still get to ensure that you'll smell like flowers all day," she called down the hall with a triumphant ring in her voice.

"I'll wash with your soap tomorrow if you want me to, then. It won't be quite the same as you doing it for me, but the results will be the same." For in truth, the fragrance of Marian's bath soap combined with the heady aroma of their lovemaking had made the scent of that soap into a sort of aphrodisiac for him today, even moreso than that sensual act of bathing with her had – if he had to smell it on his own skin all day at work, he knew he wouldn't be able to think straight, which, of course, was his wife's intention. No matter how tired they were going to be tomorrow from all this, Harold suspected that they'd still be craving a repeat performance by evening.

The two of them arrived back in the parlor almost at the same moment, and Marian gave him a self-assured nod. "There. All of your clothes are ready to be washed tomorrow," she announced.

He took her hand in his own, pulling her by his side into the room and twirling her around playfully. "And with that, I'd say the consequences of my fall in the stream have all been taken care of – so there's no need for you to fret over it anymore, darling."

"I assured you many hours ago that I was done fretting over it! All I was fretting over now was your clothing."

Harold shrugged. "Just making sure."

"Well, today has been perfect," the librarian sighed happily, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the tip of his nose. "I think we more than made up for any little mishaps that might have taken place earlier..."

"No objections to our celebrations remaining so very private?" he asked, and though his tone was light, he truly wanted to make sure that she was still comfortable with everything. Maybe she'd prefer to just read or talk in the parlor for the rest of the night...

But Marian shook her head before he'd even finished the sentence, smiling brightly. "Just that it's a little difficult to figure out what to tell my mother when she asks how I spent my day off! You may think that I'm foolish for thinking that people can tell when we've been making love, but I assure you, she can – and it amuses her so."

"Hm, well, I think the picnic should be a good enough cover story for today. Unless you'd like to add something else to the agenda, to preserve your fragile respectability? Maybe it wasn't fair of me to insist that we stay cooped up in the house on such a lovely day... I could always take you out to the Candy Kitchen for dessert," he teased, knowing that she would refuse and very happy that she would, too.

"Oh, no. For one thing, it would take about two hours before I could get myself looking fit to appear in public," she laughed, shaking her head. "And you know I'd still worry that people would be able to tell – but even putting that aside, I am quite comfortable with our current plans for the evening."

"Yes, staying in will be much more fun," Harold proclaimed with a charming grin, and he pointedly pulled the curtains closed before turning back to her and allowing his voice to drop to a low, smoldering register. "Sweets have their appeal, but they can't give you even one-half the enjoyment that I'm going to give you."

At that, she rolled her eyes, leaning back against the wall with arms folded and shooting a challenging gaze at him. "Getting cocky, are we, Professor?"

Her question struck him as hopelessly amusing in a rather obscene sense, all things considered, and in the moment Harold simply couldn't resist taking advantage of her innocuous words, if only because he so loved to watch her blush. "Your phraseology intrigues me, Miss Marian," he crowed as he strolled across the room toward her. "Was it intentional, given the situation?"

Her reaction was as charming as he'd expected, her mouth dropping open in utter shock and hazel eyes widening tremendously, but he felt a twinge of guilt as she seemed almost ready to fall backward into the wall, catching herself at the last second before her elbow hit. "What – I didn't – really, Harold –"

The music professor already had a heartfelt apology on his lips, knowing that he'd gone too far. Marian certainly never would have used the sort of language that he was implying even when they were in the midst of lovemaking, never mind standing in their parlor – and even on the occasion that he said such things, she could only manage to blush furiously in return. The last thing he wanted was to make her angry at him when all he'd been trying to do all day was make her happy...

But as shocked as she'd been at first, the librarian refused to be so easily thrown off-balance by his bawdy reply, and she stood up defiantly, hands planted on her hips. "Well, I think it's a bit arrogant that you failed to mention the enjoyment that I could give to you. Have you forgotten so soon our little discussion about how I'm such a wonderful lover?"

"Not at all," he replied in earnest, taking a step closer until he could slip the sleeve of her bathrobe down her arm, tracing his way up in a path of open-mouthed kisses as he did so. "You're sweeter than a thousand hot-fudge sundaes, a million strawberry phosphates –"

"I think you've made your point!" Marian laughed, breathless and wriggling pleasantly beneath his increasingly heated caresses.

" – and every bit as delicious," he concluded, nibbling mischievously on her neck. "So I'd much prefer this sort of dessert over anything they'd serve at any ice cream parlor in the world, my love."

As he slid the second sleeve down his wife's arm and tugged on the sash, her lavender robe pooled at her feet, leaving her completely and perfectly bare before him, and Marian returned the gesture at once, her hands spreading across the open expanse of his muscular chest as his own robe fell away. She watched him with avid eyes to see what he would do next, lips parted as she took in gasping, uneven breaths.

Harold had made love to her several times over that afternoon, and yet he was still so hot for her now that he wanted nothing more than to pin her against the wall and have her right there, the same impulse that he'd had that day when they'd gotten out of their shared bath. And he'd promised himself "later" then, hadn't he? Well, "later" was right now, he decided as he swept her into his arms...

As he pressed her to the parlor wall, his dear little librarian gazed at him in near breathless anticipation, her face flushing with mingled shock and desire.

"I thought you wanted to go upstairs so – so we could look at that book and I could put on a nightgown – "

"Later," he assured her and himself, already positioning himself so the slightest motion of his hips could bring him deep inside of her. "I want you right here, right now, and there's nothing to get in our way this time." Then, just before it was too late, he stopped himself, realizing that he had not ascertained her comfort level, praying that he had not offended her with this daring, new expression of passion. "That is – as long as you – "

"Yes, yes," Marian gasped between deep, hungry kisses. "I want you, too, Harold – please."

The music professor's heart swelled with relief and joy at her enthusiastic assent and at the reminder that his beloved wife's passion was entirely equal to his own. "Then you have me," he promised, capturing her lips with his own as he entered her once more – and, free of worries and obligations, husband and wife let pleasure carry them away into the perfect evening of their perfect day.