Whatever high that dribble of blood had given was gone, as swift as a shadow, and he exhaled, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Still clutching her to him, the man was still, just soaking it all in. The gentle caress of her fingertips felt like praise, like he'd done well for her, and he eagerly lapped that up. Turning his head, he would press a dazed kiss to the tip of each finger he caught.
The man didn't grow tired anymore, post-orgasm. Somehow, he'd never learned not to expect it, but as she started to drowse, he grew more and more alert, leaving the afterglow and coming back down to earth. The car smelled like sex and blood, which, to him, were really quite pleasant smells. But he figured she wouldn't like waking up to her little space smelling like an boudoir in an abattoir. Also just fucking... leaving her to sleep in her car? That was kind of fucking unacceptable to him. The thing was still running, after all, so he knew where the keys were, he just...
"Tati, where's your place?" He asked, urging her back to alertness. After wiping around his mouth, he would start to button up his trousers - the front was all a mess, but he wasn't going anywhere else this evening - and then look around for that shawl she'd discarded. This he'd place over her, to keep her decent before pushing the passenger side door open and standing, hoisting her bridal style in his arms. Turning straight back around, he settled her into the seat he'd just been in and then slid the seatbelt across her slender form.
Then he flit off to the driver's side and settled behind the wheel, their positions reversed now. If she wasn't awake enough to answer, he really had no compunctions about digging through her bag for her license, if it had her address on it. Or some mail, maybe.