The train left Lyon at dusk. Petra had booked a first-class compartment with a sliding door and a very long way to go.
She was not alone in it, and that was by design. In the dining car at lunch, a man in a gray sweater had spoken to her. His name was Anselm, and he sounded quite formal.
“May I ask you something unusual?” he had said. “I would very much like to sit across from you tonight and only watch you enjoy the journey. No touching, and no talking unless you want it.
Say no and I will say good evening. I will never mention it again.”
She had laughed. Then she had thought about it for the length of a coffee. “Yes,” she said. “My rules.
You keep your hands on your book. Say stop and I will say stop, and you leave. You may say stop too, and that is fine.”
“Agreed,” he said, and he meant it.
Now he sat across the narrow space with a paperback open on his knee. Every so often he glanced up at her over the top. She let him.
She wore a wrap dress the color of plums, with nothing under it but a lace thong. The train rocked her gently, endlessly, against the seat.
She had been thinking about this all afternoon. A glance, held a half-second too long. The heat rising from her neck.
She crossed her legs slowly and felt her lips slide against each other, slick and warm. A bolt of pleasure went straight through her.
He looked up again. This time she held his eyes and let her lips curve into a small, private smile. “Still yes?” she asked softly.
“Still yes,” he said. “Is it still yes for you?”
“Very much.”
The train swayed. She pressed her thighs together and released, together and released. She had practiced this rhythm, and only the two of them in the world knew about it. Each squeeze lit her up a little more.
Her button swelled against the lace. Her breath came shallow. She turned to the black window. Her reflection looked back at her, flushed and bright-eyed, a woman at the edge of something.
He did not touch her. He did not say a word. He only watched the color climb her throat and her lashes flutter. With a quiet look of wonder, he knew exactly what was happening in that seat across from him.
She gripped the armrest. Her whole body tightened and held. Then it flowed over in a long, shuddering wave, silent and perfect, while the countryside slid past in the dark.
She opened her eyes. He had gone very red, and his book was upside down.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Anselm, and he meant that too.
She smoothed her dress and went to find the dining car. She felt like the queen of France.