There was a soft body pushed against him. No, he was holding it tightly to him of his own accord. He could feel movement, but no struggling. He could feel flesh, bare, silky skin, the entire length of his body. There was no question in his mind at all what had gone on, and what position he was in now. Deimos smiled with his eyes still closed, as she took a moment to recount the night's activities.
It occurred to him about halfway through his mental reenactment that the girl whom he'd had some of the hottest sex he'd ever experienced was Philotes.
There came a pause in everything. In movement, in thought, in the internal recreation of their exploits. It was just a brief pause though, while he decided if he was going to be freaked out about this. If he was going to worry about his and Lottie's relationship getting harmed by this. The outcome was that he was not going to be freaked out or worried, because they were both adults and while it had been a fairly drunken decision, it was still something they'd both very much wanted.
On top of that, it had not been bad. In any way.
The smile returned twice as large as he recalled what the arch of her back had looked like as he'd bent her over the 1951 Packard 200, the way she'd looked against the color of the car, hair thrown off to one side.
Yes, it had been a very good night, indeed.
Deimos was starting to make a mental note that when he got up he needed to check the car for tell-tale signs of what had gone on and decide how long he could wait before cleaning it when he opened up his eyes and a new startling revelation hit him like a ton of bricks dropped from the top of the Empire State Building.
"This is not my house." His tone was low and startled as his eyes whipped around, trying to find something - anything - that was familiar.