A way of mourning

Karina Shay wears black silk to her husband's grave. She leaves roses on the stone, remembers the touch of age and money, and feels the emptiness between her legs. James Brossman waits at the gate. She lifts her skirt, steps over him, and he kneels without a word. His tongue finds her cunt still warm from grief. He laps slowly, sucking each fold until she shivers against marble. When she’s wet enough, he stands, frees his cock, and drives it up into her. Karina braces on the tomb, takes every inch, and rocks back to meet him. He grips her hips, thrusts harder, the headstones silent witnesses. She comes with a low cry, milking him until he spills deep inside her, another kind of offering.