Page 59 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director

All right, so they were an unusual combination, but they …

gelled. And for all the weirdness that the past few months had thrown at them, they’d somehow only grown closer.

Under all those doom-and-gloom trappings, Mort was as sunny as she was: always willing to help out or lend a hand.

He was funny, in his sharp, dark way, and something about him made Lily feel … at rest. (Not in a dead way.)

‘Earth to Lily,’ said Mort, pulling back to regard her. There was a flush to his usually fair cheeks, and Lily momentarily felt all-powerful – there was something to be said for being able to affect another human in such a way.

Well and in other ways, too, she thought, as she scooted backwards onto the plush softness of the coffin’s interior, pulling him towards her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just thinking about furniture definitions. Does this really count as a coffin? It’s more of a sectional, if you ask me.’

Mort shook his head. ‘Oh to be so poorly versed in basic furniture types. Did you not read the IKEA catalogue as a kid?’

‘Of course!’ Lily pretended to be offended. She raised an eyebrow and sucked suggestively on her finger. ‘I had two Billys in my room. Scandalous.’

Mort, to his credit, did not roll his eyes. ‘All right, all of your sins are absolved.’

‘I thought you were a funeral planner, not a priest?’

‘It’s a multifaceted role.’

‘How multifaceted are we talking?’ murmured Lily, drawing him close and drinking in the scent of him, the heat of him. She loosened his already shambolic tie, then set to work on the stiff buttons of his black shirt.

Mort let her work, watching her from beneath heavy eyelids.

His hands slid the length of her body, catching on her waist, then holding there for a moment as though in awe of her form.

The feeling went both ways: she was fascinated by the strength that hid beneath his trim, formal clothes – the bulge of his forearms that occasionally peeked out from behind his rolled-up sleeves, the shape of his chest. In his lifelong effort to outrun death, Mort had become quite the gymbro.

But in a Mort way, not in a posing on the internet way.

His shirt finally unbuttoned, the black fabric sliding aside to reveal a taut stomach and well-muscled obliques, Mort was the sexiest harbinger of death Lily had ever seen (and she’d watched Meet Joe Black several times).

She pushed him back onto the silken lining of the coffin, pinning him there with the palm of her hand as she straddled him.

The moonlight streamed in through the sunroof of the hearse, cloaking her in a gentle white light that ran the length of her arms, hands, fingers, drawing a connecting line between the bright pink of her fingernails and Mort’s skin.

‘I think that’s the sexiest anyone has ever looked,’ Mort breathed, his eyes shining from where the moonlight struck them.

Lily grinned. ‘The sexiest anyone has ever looked yet .’

She drew her shirt over her head, dropping it in a puddle of pink lace to Mort’s left.

Abdominal muscles straining, he rose up to cup his hands around the frills of her bra – the one with the layers of varyingly pink satin, the one with the straps so thin she feared doing any kind of energetic movement in them.

The one that had made the woman in the bra shop nod approvingly and say, ‘Yes, yes, that’s the one.

’ (Then, in an undertone, ‘ lucky bitch .’) The one that she’d almost tossed aside this morning in favour of her less sexy but more comfy grandma bra.

Good job, past Lily. Your pride continues to treat you well.

Mort’s thumbs traced her bra, then the soft skin of the tops of her breasts. Lily fought the urge to swoon.

‘May I?’ he whispered, his breath hot against her neck as he reached behind her back to unhook the bra. His fingers were electric against her skin … for what felt like several minutes. ‘Holy fuck, did you get this from the straitjacket department of the upstairs section of the local hospital?’

Lily grinned. ‘Behold, a deep, feminine magic.’

Returning Mort’s hands to her breasts, she reached a hand behind her back, then with a quick pinch of thumb and forefinger released the lacy fabric.

The bra dropped, and Mort’s hands caught the softness of her breasts, holding them gently as he devoured her, his mouth exploring one nipple, then the other.

Her body pressed close to his, she leaned forward, pushing him back down on his back, where he lay, his eyes drinking her in. Lily had never felt so beautiful, so wanted .

‘You’re stunning,’ whispered Mort. ‘The kind of woman I’d write poems about.’

‘But promise me you don’t write poetry.’

‘I don’t write poetry.’

‘Oh thank God.’

Her hands found the button of his trousers, then the zip, and momentarily there was just a thin barrier of fabric between him and her searching fingers.

Mort swallowed as she teased him through the fabric, then dragged down the trousers together with his boxers, releasing him.

‘Now you’re just being cruel,’ he murmured.

Raising an eyebrow, Lily curled her fingers around him and stroked his length. Damn, he felt good in her hand. So strong, so sure, so ready .

‘Still being cruel?’ she asked innocently.

‘So cruel.’

‘I have my flaws, I suppose.’ She dipped down, touching her lips to him, running her tongue around his tip and testing the saltiness of him.

Mort swore.

‘That bad, huh?’ she said, before covering him with her mouth, until her lips met where her fingers were curled around his base.

Mort had a few choice additions for the swear jar.

Lily found a rhythm, enjoying the strength of him, enjoying the strain of his legs and the urgent grasping of his fingers against her shoulders.

‘Come this way,’ he said finally, drawing her back up, higher and higher, until he faced the skirt that just this morning she’d decided was too much (or rather, not enough), before saying fuck it and pulling it on anyway.

His fingers found the edges of the skirt hem, dragging it up until he revealed the wisp of lace essential to preventing an underwear line – comfort be damned – which he pulled aside, finding her slickness with his fingers and opening her gently, yet hungrily.

He slid a finger into her, then another, and Lily could feel her muscles clench. Fuck, she wanted him so badly.

Mort rose up to his knees, following his fingers with his mouth. As his tongue found her, probing her, worshipping her, exploring electric circles around her clitoris, Lily groaned in ecstasy.

‘Now who’s cruel,’ she murmured, her hands knotted in his hair as she pulled him closer to her.

All she wanted was for him to be inside her.

Like this, for now, but then …

Momentarily, she pushed him back down, straddling him and rubbing her wetness against his length. His dark gaze on hers, Mort held her hips to him, grinding cruelly against her.

Now it was Lily’s turn for a display of abdominal prowess. Still straddling him, she reached across to her handbag, pulling out one of the condoms she’d swiped from the leftover debauchery baskets from Venus’s wedding. (Apparently wealth did trickle down, in its own way.)

Fingers teasing, she rolled the condom on, then arched her hips forward, positioning herself so that Mort could enter her. He did, easily: Lily accepted him impatiently, rolling her hips so that she could sheathe his entire length.

‘You take me so well,’ he whispered, his voice low and urgent, layered with animal desire.

‘Like this?’ murmured Lily, grinding her hips even deeper, so that there was no space between the two of them. No room for anything else but the heat of their bodies and the shared, starving look in their eyes.

Mort reached to clasp her thighs, his hands slowly shifting around to her butt, then the small of her back, pulling her into him over and over. Lily bit her lip, focused on the pleasure of him inside her, the slight ache of it where he filled her.

As they moved together, she could feel the waves of pleasure building in her, travelling up through her body, then into her neck, face, hair – all of it tingling as her rhythm grew more determined and her breath grew more ragged.

Her finger found her clitoris, and she could feel her entire body fizz from the pleasure.

‘Are you going to come for me?’ whispered Mort, his eyes daring her to let herself go entirely.

Lily was holding on to her orgasm, revelling in the feeling of the connectedness of their two bodies, not wanting the pleasure to stop.

But the cliff edge was coming, and sooner or later she’d have to back away – or let herself go.

Finally, she relinquished, letting Mort take her over the edge with a final stroke and the touch of her own hand.

Her muscles clenching over and over as she carried herself downwards and back to earth, she leaned into his neck, her teeth grazing the stubbled skin as she coasted back to reality.

Mort followed, his hips rising to hers as he found his own release.

Lily could feel the pressure of him inside her as he held her close, and she nipped and kissed at him until his shudders subsided.

‘Wow, we might get a noise complaint after that,’ murmured Lily, scooting aside and settling into the crook of Mort’s arm. He was sheened with sweat, as was she, and she loved how he glimmered faintly under the lighting of the moon.

‘I’m sure the great outdoors has heard worse,’ Mort pointed out, his voice hoarse.

‘I mean, I can do worse, if you’d like,’ said Lily, eyes sparkling. Her hand traced his hips, then his length, and Mort closed his eyes, remembering, anticipating.

‘I would love to see what your idea of “worse” is,’ he said, kissing her forehead in that gentle way he always did. The way that made her feel safe, and wanted, and loved.

‘Oh, your poor little heart couldn’t bear it,’ Lily teased. ‘We’ll have to work up to it.’

Mort chuckled. ‘I think I can manage that. Just so long as you give me a little time to recover.’

A banging noise woke Lily from her slumber. Wiping the dried drool from her cheek, she reached for her phone, but it was flat. That last eleven per cent of battery didn’t go far these days.

It was still dark, but there was a tinge of dawn to the edge of the world, and the stars were fading into the velvety sky. The moon had set sail, travelling from one end of the sunroof to the other, and was now making a beeline for the forest.

The banging sound again.

Lily prodded Mort, then upgraded her prodding into a solid elbowing. ‘Mort. Mort! There’s a serial killer outside. He’s mistaken me for Pickleball Candice! Please, I’m too young to die! I haven’t completed my pre-need! I don’t even know if I want a casket or a cremation!’

Mort blinked, groggily sitting up. ‘Don’t be silly. If he chops you up into a million pieces, you won’t have to worry about either. It’ll be a natural burial for you. Or a vat of acid.’

‘That actually doesn’t help me feel better. Oh crap, was that a chainsaw?’

A flashlight danced over the hearse, brightening the spaces where the window tint didn’t quite cover.

Lily pulled her shirt on. If a serial killer was going to pull her out of the car and drag her off into the woods, she was at least going to have the buffer of a thin layer of cotton. (When you were dealing with pine needles and rocks, every bit of protection counted.)

‘Hang on,’ said Lily. ‘Does the sky usually strobe red and blue like that?’

‘Only after an intense orgasm,’ said Mort. ‘Or …’

‘Aliens?’ suggested Lily, who had a solid collection of Roswell T-shirts she cycled through when she hit the jogging trails.

‘We’ll see. On the count of three,’ said Mort, hands on the hearse’s back doors. When Lily nodded that she was decent, he shoved the doors open.

Lily dug in her bag and brandished a wooden cross left over from Desdemona and Ambrose’s wedding.

‘Um, excuse me, folks, sorry to bother you.’ A cop so young that Lily suspected he still had a parental curfew stood there, nervously running a string of garlic between his fingers. All right, so probably not a serial killer. Well, maybe. Hopefully not.

‘We’re not vampires,’ Lily assured him. ‘We’re waiting for a tow truck.’

Mort lifted his collar, hiding the evidence her lips had left against his neck.

The cop tucked the garlic into his pocket. ‘Good to know. Can I help you folks out? I’ve got some jumper cables, and some extra oil in the back. Just saying, you’re causing a bit of a traffic delay here, what with the whole late-night funeral procession thing and all.’

The cop pointed down the road, where about a hundred cars idled patiently, pulled over to the side of the road, as was the norm when they encountered a hearse on its way to a funeral.

Mort, buttoning his shirt, swore softly.

‘How long have they been waiting?’ asked Lily curiously.

‘How long have you been here?’ countered the cop.

‘Um,’ said Lily.

‘I see.’ The cop cleared his throat. ‘Let me grab my tools and see if I can get you moving.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Lily, giving Mort a slap on the butt – and inspiring the car at the front of the queue to flash its high beams. ‘Come on, let’s get this peep show on the road.’