Chapter 10
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Naked Apron Breakfast
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"Men don't meddle in kitchen work."
"Hoo..."
My ragged breathing gradually steadied.
"......"
"......"
Silence.
But it wasn't awkward.
Just a pleasant languor.
Elma lay limp in my arms.
Drained of strength, or savoring the afterglow?
Her tiny back pressed snugly against my chest, rising and falling rhythmically.
Sticky fluids.
On her belly, thighs, and even clinging to me.
We needed to clean up.
"Elma."
"...Yeah."
Her eyes were unfocused.
No trace of her usual sharp tongue.
"Time to wash up. You'll catch a cold."
"Too much hassle..."
"Still gotta do it. You planning to go out covered in this?"
Elma squinted down at herself.
The tips of her ears flushed pink.
Embarrassment finally hitting her.
"Ugh..."
"Leave it to me."
"......For real?"
"You scrubbed my back earlier. My turn to return the favor."
Elma nodded.
Her lips twitched—she was inwardly thrilled.
"Fine... Be gentle."
"Got it."
I rinsed my hands and grabbed a towel.
Wet it with warm water and lathered it up.
Bubble bubble.
I sat Elma on the edge of the tub.
"Arms up."
"Mhm."
Elma obediently raised both arms.
Handled her like fine porcelain.
Collarbone, underarms, then breasts.
Soft.
Springy.
The sensation at my fingertips was dangerous.
Memories from earlier stirring.
But I held back.
Push further, and this little professor might actually faint.
"That tickles..."
"Hold still."
I meticulously wiped away the traces.
Slim waist.
Hip lines.
And the most important spot.
"H-Here, I'll do it myself!"
Elma panicked and grabbed my wrist.
Her face beet red.
"Even from you, hubby... It's still embarrassing!"
"You showed me everything earlier."
"That was the heat of the moment! Sober, no way! Absolutely not!"
She snatched the towel and scrubbed furiously.
Clumsy motions.
Adorably so.
I couldn't help but smile.
"All clean? Rinse time."
"Yeah."
I ladled warm water over her.
Whoosh-.
Bubbles washed away.
Pale barley-toned skin emerged.
Moist and gleaming.
Freckles sharper now.
"Feels refreshing..."
Elma shuddered, shaking off droplets like a puppy.
"Let's head out. You must be hungry."
"Right. Time for my five square meals."
"That damn five meals..."
I shook my head with a wry smile and scooped her up.
Familiar weight.
And that floral scent tickling my nose.
This married life.
Might adapt quicker than I thought.
==========================
"Hold up."
As I stepped out of the bathroom, Elma stopped me.
"Gotta dry off first."
"Towel?"
"No need."
Elma snapped her fingers.
Snap.
Whirr-.
[We shall serve Her Majesty the Queen.]
"Her Majesty... serve... Pfft..."
"Hey! Don't laugh!"
"N-No, not laughing, khh..."
"Tch! Gotta reprogram these golems already!"
Elma huffed and smacked my back.
"S-Stop laughing and arms out, hubby."
Elma spread her arms wide in demonstration.
Fwoosh-.
Warm air blasted from the golems' mouths.
Mechanical arms diligently patted her dry.
Pat pat, rub rub-.
"Whoa..."
Delicate touch belying their rugged look.
Like a luxury hotel's 'bath butler' from the internet.
Fluffy dryness in no time.
"Impressed? My invention. Perfect when you can't be bothered to lift a finger."
Elma snorted proudly, showing off her sleek body.
"Laziness is the mother of invention, huh."
"Efficiency."
"Yes, yes. Your Majesty."
"Quit it!"
"Sorry, but you programmed it... Ow!"
Smack! Smack!
Elma walloped my back repeatedly.
Her face flushed crimson.
Maybe teased too much.
Her small hands packed a punch—narrow impact, sharp sting.
Keep this up, my back won't survive.
I feigned sternness and slipped a hand under her arms.
"Gotcha."
"Eek?! What the—?!"
Whoosh.
Elma shot into the air.
Feet off the ground, punches stopped.
Short legs flailed wildly.
Flap flap.
Just like a fish on a line.
"Put me down! How dare you lift... No, not that! A undergrad picking up his professor?!"
"Stop hitting. It hurts."
"That's the point! Damn it!"
Eye level matched.
Her pouting face inches away.
Flushed cheeks.
Lips twitching in frustration.
Too cute—I grinned and pulled her into my chest.
Squish.
Her breasts mashed against my sternum.
Soft.
Springy.
And warm embrace.
"Calm down."
"Ughhh..."
Elma grumbled resentfully.
But no more swings.
Just meekly nestled.
Cozy.
Freshly bathed, her nutty scent stronger.
Like freshly baked bread.
"Better now?"
"......Hmph."
She snorted.
Yet her arms around my neck tightened slyly.
So dishonest.
==================================
Moments later.
"Put me down."
Elma tapped my shoulder.
I set her on the floor.
Her fluffy body gleamed under the lights.
"Time for clothes."
"Wait. You go to the table first, hubby."
"Why?"
"Got prep to do."
"Prep? Breakfast?"
"Yup."
"Let me help."
Elma shoved my back.
Nose in the air.
"Men don't meddle in kitchen work. Sit pretty and wait for your wife to serve you."
"You'll do it yourself?"
"Obviously! Starve my hubby on our first newlywed morning? Even ghosts would complain."
Her eyes burned with determination.
Yesterday's pizza was takeout—this was her first real spread.
Half excited, half worried.
"Understood. Looking forward to it."
I retreated obediently.
==============================
Moments later.
"Ta-da."
Elma stood at the kitchen entrance.
Hands on hips, triumphant pose.
".......!"
I nearly spat my water.
"Well? Proper newlywed breakfast, right?"
White frilly apron loaded with ruffles.
Ribbon tied behind.
And that's it.
Naked apron.
"......"
Speechless.
Seen her bare, but this hit different.
Apron couldn't contain her ample curves.
White flesh spilling sideways.
Heavy sway with every move.
Waist tie accentuated her hips.
Plump thighs peeking below the hem.
And bare, defenseless rear.
"W-Why so quiet?"
Elma twisted shyly.
Glanced at me, face reddening.
"Don't like it...?"
"No."
I swallowed hard.
"It's perfect."
"H-Hmph. Knew it."
Elma's grin reached her ears.
"Dwarf tradition manual said it boosts hubby's morale. Thought it barbaric, but suits your tastes."
Whoever wrote that manual deserved worship.
She hummed, heading to the counter.
Low counter.
Tiny bride.
Dollhouse cute.
"Today's menu: 'Dwarf Hunter's Morning Stew'."
"Stew?"
"Yep. After night duties... Er, couple activities, you need meat."
Night duties? All we did was gorge and crash.
From her view, probably downgraded.
Thwack! Thwack!
Chopping sounds overly loud.
I eyed her back anxiously.
Clatter. Thud.
Something fell.
"Damn."
Elma vanished to the floor, popped up with a potato.
"Rinse and it's good. Picked it up in under three seconds."
She rinsed the potato defiantly.
Grabbed the cleaver—thick as her forearm.
Slice. Slice.
Peeling or cubing?
"Hmm... Skin a bit thick?"
Half the potato flesh clung to the peels.
Won't be much left at this rate?
Elma didn't care.
"Don't skimp on ingredients, right?"
She tossed remnants into the pot.
Next, carrot.
Smash!
"Eek?!"
Chopping sent carrot bits flying.
One stuck to Elma's cheek.
"......Nothing happened."
She peeled it off casually and popped it in her mouth.
Crunch crunch.
"Mm. Fresh."
I winced vicariously.
Fear she'd nick a finger.
Or worse, lose one.
My butt clenched involuntarily.
"Elma, need help...?"
"Sit!"
Elma whirled, cleaver in hand.
Apron strings swayed, flashing butt crack.
"Kitchen's a woman's battlefield! Men bring bad luck!"
"In this day and age...?"
"Shut it! Dwarves are traditionalists."
Back to cooking.
Sizzle-.
Meat frying.
Smell was killer.
Butter and meat aromas whetting appetite.
"Lots of meat. As much as possible."
Brick-sized hunk from the mini-fridge.
All that?
Plop plop.
Meat dived into the pot.
Boiling water churned.
Meats jostling heavily.
Bubble bubble.
No, roiling fiercely.
Stew bubbling like lava.
Elma panted, stirring with ladle.
Steam misted her face.
Sweat beaded on her forehead.
"Hot..."
Elma fanned herself.
Flapped apron hem.
Wind teasing glimpses of white thighs and secret spot.
'Half-hidden is hotter,' they say.
True.
I chanted sutras mentally.
No impure thoughts at breakfast.
This was cooking.
Elma's blood, sweat, and tears.
"Taste test."
Elma scooped broth.
Blew hoo hoo, sip.
"......!"
Her eyes lit up.
"Oh ho ho!"
Girly laugh.
"Delicious! I'm a genius! Nothing I can't do!"
Self-praise.
Hips wiggling in dance.
Frills fluttering, butt jiggling.
Dying of cute, seriously.
=============================
"Here, dig in. Hubby."
No fitting table, so bowls on floor.
Trivets: major textbooks.
...Life's universal.
Steam rose invitingly from the stew.
"Wow..."
Visuals passed muster.
Rich brown broth.
Glassy chunks.
But.
"That's... a lot of meat."
"Not a lot—generous."
Elma puffed her chest proudly.
She was right.
More solids than liquid.
Veggies scarce—probably all nibbled during prep.
Meat, meat, everywhere.
"Protein's best for stamina."
She smiled meaningfully, handing a spoon.
"Say ahh-"
Elma scooped a meat mountain.
"Feeding me?"
"Duh! You fed me pizza yesterday. What goes around comes around."
She pushed the spoon to my lips.
"Careful, hot."
"You eat too."
"Wife's virtue: Hubby first, scraps second."
What era is she from?
Dwarf custom or weird book? No telling.