Lying on your back on the grass in the garden in the mddle of the V&A Museum. I've never been here before. There are children running through the fountain in the middle of the garden: carefree, vibrant, liberated. The water splashes up and stains their dresses and jeans. And you are lying on your back and I am lying next to you.
I turn over, leaning my head on your chest. My hair feels soft and tickly on your neck. My face is between your stunning breasts and your beautiful face. And I want you. This is the sun on my back, the sun that makes me fall in love. This is the sun that we indulged ourselves under in St. James' Park, and the sun we battled in provincial France. It is making me want you. It is in my heart and that is making me love you.
An unsteady, but deliberate, kiss just above your cleavage. I pull my bottom lip over your chest, gently caressing your skin with my kisses. I have been kissing you a lot these days. And your skin - your skin tastes beautiful and feels so soft. I kiss it more, I kiss you up your neck. A laugh from a child, a remonstration from a mother, a ray from the sun, and a kiss under your ear. You are smiling. So am I.
I kiss your mouth; you reciprocate. I wrap my arms around you and we are warm.