I trace his lips with my thumb. They’re full and soft. We meet in the air between, his lips fitting around mine in a light, sweet kiss. I hold his head close. His lips move in lazy indulgence, unhurried in their pursuit to pluck every drop of pleasure from mine.
I open my mouth a fraction and run the tip of my tongue across his bottom lip. I don’t know what possesses me to do it. I don’t know anything right now. Oliver presses me into the grass and dirt and fits his hand around the curve of my hip. He slants his mouth across mine, and I let him taste me. His breathing isn’t shallow anymore. It’s labored and noisy against my cheek.
My hand runs down his back. He always looks so calm, so cool, but I can feel the perspiration beneath his shirt. There’s a satisfaction knowing it wasn’t the heat that finally got to him, but me. My lips. My hips and short dress and the bare leg he’s stroking with strong fingers.
Our kisses become faster, needier. I hold his face in both hands as he touches every exposed part of me. His fingers skim the cotton over my ribs, and I move against him, desperate for the feel of his hand on my breast. He cups me there, groaning quietly against my mouth.
He drags his lips from mine; his forehead drops against my neck. But he doesn’t remove his hand or take his weight from me. I arch back, glimpsing dust in a ray of yellow sunlight behind us. His shoulders move beneath my hands as he breathes in deeply. I bring my eyes back to his and see that they’re full of need.
He doesn’t ask, and I don’t say a word. We stand and walk hand in hand, out of the cemetery and back on the gravel path, the one that leads to my car. I reach for the driver’s-side door when we get there, but he pulls me away, back to him, and kisses me slowly. When we part, and the air conditioning is again crisp and cool on our skin, we drive to the hotel in silence. There are no words for this, for what each of us needs.