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Her hand eased between their bodies, guiding him to her heat. A knot of need broke open inside her and moisture flowed freely between her thighs. She opened her eyes into his blurry-eyed gaze.
“John.”
With a hard thrust, he filled her. His length plunged deep, touching her core. They began to move at once, her knees bent and heels gripping his waist, her spine chafing the hard wooden seat, the silence enveloping their lovers embrace. Her nails pressed into his muscled back, driving him harder, faster as her hips rose and fell against his.
The walls of her pussy clenched him, released, poised on the verge of release so great, she felt herself sinking into him, minds meshed, bodies one, hearts beating in time to each other’s.
He sent her over the edge. He fucked her hard as she burst, walls pulsing around his assault. He spurted into her, bathing her with his love cream. He continued to pound her and she rocketed back up the incline for a second orgasm.
The burn grew until Lillian splintered. Her thin, slippery juices shot over his cock, soaking them both. Her scream was swallowed by John’s kiss as he fell forward with a final grunt. His lips found hers at once, kissing her tenderly and slowly.
She felt his chest heave and heard him swallow hard. She drew him closer, stroking the beautiful Celtic knot tattoos on his biceps, seeking to extend their pleasure through this intimate touch.
When he spoke, his voice was a breath against her temple. “Forgive me, sweet Lily. For I have sinned.”
* * *
Lillian huddled into John’s tweed sports coat. The grey light of dusk burned through the atmosphere, obliterating all colors except those which contained purple. Purple-blue shadows kissed the downcast faces of robed women guarding the graves of the dead. Tall, stately obelisks thrust their points into the sky, casting majestic purple shadows. And angels’ wings unfurled to embrace the loved ones gone, drenching the departed in opaque lavender devotion.
The smells of Lake View Cemetery were close and sodden and slightly fecund. A snatch of breeze brought the sweet smoke of burning wood.
She hunched her shoulders to warm her neck in the coat’s fragrant collar, her body stirring at the memory of John’s lovemaking. Her pussy still throbbed and her mouth felt swollen from his kisses. If it was a sin to fulfill their passions in his former cathedral, she didn’t feel it. It felt completely right—as though he had come full circle and laid another ghost to rest.
Her feet grew chill and she stomped them. John stood a few paces off before the monument of his friend and mentor, Father Fontaine. It was too dark to read his expression, but when he spoke, she recognized his sadness.
“Thank you for coming here with me, Lillian.”
She jerked. She hadn’t left his side in years. Why wouldn’t she come?
“I’m sorry about this afternoon. I was selfish.”
“It was pretty amazing.”
His head lifted. “You mean you’re not angry with me?”
She laid a cool hand along his jaw, and he shivered. “Why would I be angry with you, John?”
“I—I should have stopped myself. I should have thought. I hate myself for my lack of control and for being careless with you. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
“You weren’t the only one caught in the moment.” She shuddered with fresh desire.
He seized her upper arms like a man drowning. “Lillian. Lily.” His voice broke on her name and he worked to gain control.
Their kiss was sweet, a connection of their souls. She stepped away and pointed to a row of monuments. “I’ll be there.”
As she concealed herself in the shadows, a frisson of unease traveled down her spine. John could see right through her, she knew it. Every time a new image of her blond man flashed through her mind, he detected her struggle. She needed a place to lock it all up, twist the key and toss it away.
Her favorite monument in Lake View Cemetery was a classical figure, soft and feminine in drapes of cloth. She gazed up at its shadowed face, silhouetted against the velvet sky. A solitary star blinked over her head. Lillian’s eyes trailed over the folds of granite, awed by the skill of the artist. The longer she stood there, the more convinced she became that she could become like this stone woman—coat herself in a protective layer which would keep John from probing too deep.
She sank to the foot of the goddess and took a moment to think of him. Her dream man. Glimpses of him came so swiftly, she gasped. Long fingers curled around a wooden handle, a ringing sound of hammer on rock. And dust. She concentrated harder, wanting more, and saw his skin glinting in the twilight, bare-chested.
With tattoos.
She gulped for air. Immortal tattoos filled his chest, a lightning bolt pattern. Shivering from chill and emotion, she pressed her hands against the granite goddess to steady herself.
A shock of electricity jolted through her.
She saw his house, a studio, tools neatly lining one wall. The blond man perched on a stool, eyes downcast as he stared at a tiny object on his palm. His lashes were dark, his hair pale in the winter sun. And then the images shifted and Lillian was tumbling into the feather mattress, his mouth at her throat, her name spoken in a rough voice.
