Page 49 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director

‘You look sexy in tie-dye,’ Mort whispered, his fingers tracing the loose outline of the pyjamas, which did an exhilaratingly poor job of shielding Lily from his hungry gaze.

His thumb slipped beneath the tie-dyed hems and over the soft skin masking her collarbone, the warm and inviting curve of her shoulder.

‘Almost as sexy as you do in fluffy slippers.’

‘I love that you love my slippers,’ said Lily, unbuttoning the remaining holdouts on her pyjama top, giving Mort a teasing glimpse of bare skin shadowed by the too-soft light of the stippled Moroccan lamp.

‘Because I have an entire basket of them. We’ll put them on rotation, and you can drag a different pair off me each time. ’

Mort chuckled, amused, and also honoured that Lily was thinking ahead, was thinking of a future with him , with him of all people.

‘I can think of nothing I want more than being part of your slipper rotation,’ he said, sliding a hand lower, where the solidity of her collarbone gave way to the gentle curve of her breasts, the stiff nub of her nipple. As his thumb grazed it, Lily moaned softly, biting at her lower lip.

He let his hand slide over her body, marvelling at the warmth and softness of it – the dips of muscle, the gentle curves, the endless undulations he could explore forever.

‘You know I’m not a patient woman, right?’ asked Lily, squirming as his fingers wandered over her hips, then down to the warmth between her legs.

‘You know what they say about patience.’

‘It’s hyped up beyond belief?’

Lily’s hand found his, and she guided him to the warmth between her legs, her fingertips soft on his knuckles as she enticed his fingers to part her, to explore the slick heat of her, to attend to the hooded part of her that made her moan.

Over in the next tent, a couple giggled, and Lily clapped a hand over her mouth.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Am I that loud?’

‘I’m pretty sure someone now has very solid proof that Bigfoot exists, and he has a very distinctive mating call.’

Lily smacked him on the arm. ‘Stop being funny during sex. I find it very alluring, and I don’t want to give the Bigfoot people more fodder.’

‘It’s the flat-earthers I’m worried about,’ said Mort. ‘What if I push you over the edge?’

‘Challenge accepted,’ said Lily, eyes sparkling. ‘Two edges, though.’

Mort bit his lip. Oh, but she was witty. And gorgeous. And wonderful in every way. He desperately wanted her. In fact, he had for so long . But he couldn’t deny himself anymore. Couldn’t deny that every moment he was close to her was a moment he’d replay for the rest of his life.

Mort hesitated. First, the administrative stuff. Then the fun.

‘Do you have … um.’ He pantomimed a condom.

‘A balloon animal?’ Lily grinned wickedly.

Increasingly wickedly as Mort grew increasingly red.

‘Mort, you know I never disappoint. I am an incomparable planner.’ In an exceptionally mermaid-like move – and an impressive demonstration of abdominal strength – she stretched to the right, returning with a lidded basket that she plunked in her bare lap.

‘Debauchery basket,’ she explained, opening it to reveal an assortment of goodies more fit for Burning Man than a wedding: airport bottles of alcohol, nitrous balloons, protein bars, questionable-looking organic matter – and of course several packets of condoms. ‘May I do the honours?’

The time it took for her to tear open the packet was some of the most brutal anticipation in Mort’s entire life. Her blue eyes staring into his, she unrolled the condom, her fingers gently working down his length, one hand cupping him from below. Cruelty. Sheer, exhilarating cruelty.

Mort pressed a hand gently to her shoulder, pushing her back into the maelstrom of pillows.

Damn, she was dazzling in this light, surrounded by this ridiculous bright decor that looked somehow like an aura extending from her.

Mort ordinarily didn’t believe in anything of the sort, but when it came to Lily, he believed in anything. In everything.

Arms flexing beneath his own weight – it turned out there was a benefit to all those push-ups beyond the additional life expectancy – he kissed her hipbones, so soft and inviting, then followed the light lines of the muscles in her belly upwards, to the slope of her ribs, to the soft mounds of her breasts.

She quivered beneath him, biting back a giggle.

‘That tickles,’ she whispered, trying not to alert the Bigfoot hunters next door.

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said, his lips grazing her nipples. She squirmed, knitting her hands around the back of his neck and holding him there as he licked, sucked, his hand cupping the curve of her breast.

‘It doesn’t tickle anymore,’ she breathed, eyes clenched shut as she gave in to him.

Then, momentarily, the tension from her fingers increased; she was drawing him upwards, so that their eyes met and their hips were aligned. Mort reached a hand down, parting her legs, parting her lips, and revelling in her wetness.

Lily swore, cursing his name in invitation.

‘May I?’ he asked, wanting more than anything to hear that affirmation.

‘You’d fucking better,’ she whispered, her eyes hooded now, their lids lowered in anticipation.

He entered her gently at first, waiting for her to accept him, which she did, warmly, hungrily, her legs rising up to lock around his hips. He couldn’t help himself: he let out a groan that would certainly grab the attention of the Bigfoot fans.

‘Fuck, you feel good,’ Lily whispered, her fingers twining around his wrists. ‘I’ve been thinking about how you’d feel for so long.’

Mort was too aroused to be surprised. He’d known it, on some level, as much as he’d tried to deny it. ‘How long?’

‘Since you came to me bearing my business cards, like a dark prince of nerdiness.’

Mort tried not to laugh. ‘I’m glad I do it for you.’

‘Goddamn do you do it for me.’ Lily’s heels were tight against his back; her gaze was locked on his. ‘There. Like that.’

She reached down to touch herself, her eyes widening as she found her own rhythm – one that she moved to until her tightly wound desire unravelled.

‘Holy fuck,’ she whispered, over and over, so breathless that she seemed to be hyperventilating.

Her fingers dug hard into his arms, then his shoulders, leaving shallow crescents from the pressure.

Mort had only the one tattoo – a tiny Milton quote – but if he were to get another, he knew exactly what it would be: the outline of her frenzied nails against his skin.

The gentle waves of her orgasm against him pulled him towards his, and moments later he joined her, tumbling over the edge of pleasure into something bright and perfect and then peaceful.

He collapsed against her, positioning himself slightly to her left so that he could bury his face in her neck, stroke the sweaty perfection of her hair.

Mort sighed contentedly, then rolled over slightly so that he could regard her.

The soft light of the Moroccan lamp painted her almost as beautifully as his mind’s eye did, and he wanted nothing more than to shout to the night sky that she was the most stunning creature to have ever graced the world, and that she was his – well, not his, because he’d never presume something like that, but she was here, in this moment, with him, as opposed to with anyone else on earth.

Lily cuddled into the curve of his bicep, squirming so that she had adequate neck support from the cushioned floor. ‘You mock the cushions, but I couldn’t do this on a regular bed without getting a crick in my neck.’

‘Next time we’ll have sex in a foam pit,’ promised Mort, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.

In fact, all of her curls were wayward right now, but he wasn’t about to let her know that.

He like dishevelled Lily; it reminded him of the Lily from the day of the switcheroo, when they’d both hid out beneath her awning, drenched from the magical rain that had brought their businesses – and them – together.

‘Next time, huh?’ Lily considered this. ‘Well, I do have a circus wedding coming up. Just so long as you disinfect it first. Those things are vectors for norovirus.’

‘Of course. As much as I love having sex with you, even a moderate norovirus risk is unacceptable.’

Lily chuckled. ‘Fair.’

‘In fact, I’d choose celibacy over a moderate cold.’

She bit his bicep lightly. ‘Oh, shut up.’

Mort did.

After a moment, Lily propped herself up on one elbow. ‘This is something , right? Us. All of this.’

It’s everything , Mort wanted to say. It’s everything, and that terrifies me more than you could imagine .

But he could feel the words sticking in his throat. All he managed was a nod.

‘I think,’ he managed finally, ‘that the switcheroo knew what it was doing when it brought us together.’

‘Hmm,’ said Lily thoughtfully. ‘I like that.’

She lay back down. Between the night-time wind rustling around the tent, the distant twanging of the folk band still intrepidly earning their overtime, and Lily’s calm, measured breathing, he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

But it was not to be.

‘Mort, are you in there?’

A blue-rinsed head adorned with a familiar pair of cat’s-eye glasses and painfully dangly earrings poked through the tent door. At least Reba had the good form to pretend to cover her eyes.

‘We’ve got a body,’ came Reba’s sing-song voice. ‘I know, it’s like my wedding night all over again. But with less weed.’

Mort sighed. Could the town of Mirage-by-the-Sea, which prided itself on its healthy ocean air and active lifestyle, go a single day without someone heading off into the unseen realm?

‘Oh wow, speaking of bodies.’ Reba gave Lily a cheerful wave.

‘Told you the debauchery boxes would come in handy, didn’t I?

There’ll be plenty of time to bump uglies later.

For now, there’s a corpse out there with your name on it.

Not literally. I know you’re not a serial killer.

Although you never know. I knew this lovely Australian gent back in Brooklyn – turned out he’d been chopping up people in a coffee roaster.

Anyway, it’s one of the marketing team. Happens all the time with these corporate types.

Too much cocaine, too much stress, a minor fist fight and bam, you’ve got a brain bleed. I’ll wait out here, shall I?’

She did, but she didn’t stop talking.

Mort threw his trousers on. He had to get moving before Reba inspired some additional violence.