Finally, he pulls back. His mouth is glistening, his eyes are wild, and he looks like a man who just won the lottery and found God and discovered the meaning of life all at the same time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”
All I can do is stare at him while my chest heaves and my legs shake and every cell in my body hums with liquid satisfaction.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—such a casual, crude gesture that somehow makes the whole thing that much hotter—and then he’s rising to his feet and pulling me up with him.
My legs are jello. I fall, and he catches me against his chest.
“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying me. “I’ve got you.”
I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, pressed against my hip. I want to do something about that. If I can make him feel even a fraction of what he just made me feel…
But when I reach for his belt, he catches my wrist. “Not here,” he says.
“But you?—”
“Tonight was about you and your list. About giving you something to remember.”
“Mission accomplished,” I manage breathlessly.
He smiles and nods. “Good.”
He helps me straighten my skirt. I’m very aware that I’m not wearing underwear anymore. If I recall correctly, they’re currently tucked in his back pocket like some kind of trophy.
“Can I have those back?” I ask, pointing at his ass.
“Absolutely not.”
“Bastian—”
“They’re mine now. I told you.”
“I can’t go home without underwear!”
“Sure you can.” His grin turns wicked. “In fact, I’m going to enjoy knowing you’re bare under that skirt for the entire drive back.”
My face flames. “You’re impossible.”
He just winks. Then he bends down and kisses me deeply with tongue. Tasting myself on his mouth is depraved and so hot I can feel myself trembling all over again.
He takes my hand and leads me up the aisle toward the exit. My legs are still wobbly, and I have to concentrate on each step to avoid face-planting into the vintage carpet.
But I can only think of one thing as I go.
If that’s what the Bastian Train is like…
… sign me up for the whole damn ride.
37
ELIANA
af·ter·taste: /'aft?r?tast/: noun
1: a lingering flavor that remains in the mouth after eating or drinking.
2: what you’re left with the morning after your boss makes you come twice in a movie theater: two parts giddy, post-orgasmic satisfaction to one part creeping dread because he hasn’t texted since then.
