I eagerly kissed him back while he reached for the button on my jeans. Moments later, I was naked, and his clothes were on the floor next to mine.
I straddled his lap, my hips resting on his thighs as his hands worked their magic on my body.
“I missed you,” he murmured against my lips, before his mouth trailed kisses down my neck, then lower.
It was hard to concentrate on his words. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
He didn’t answer. He just kept touching me, pushing me higher and higher. When he finally slid inside me, I was more than ready. We moved together hard and fast, like neither of us could get enough, and it didn’t take long before we both fell apart.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against his, trying to catch my breath. Sex had never been like this with any man before him. I’d tried to blame it on our precarious situation—the danger we were living in had heightened our senses—but I knew that was a lie. At least for me.
His fingers trailed down my back, soft enough to raise goose bumps.
I lifted my head slightly and smiled down at him. “You sure know how to make living on the run exciting.”
He didn’t smile back. “I’m sorry.”
I shoved his chest lightly. “Are you serious? At the risk of boosting an already too-large ego, sex with you is the best I’ve ever had.”
He made a face and scoffed. “Please. There’s no way Limp Dick Kemper could have satisfied you.”
I laughed. “I’m not sure anyone has ever called my former partner that.”
He gave me a sardonic look. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That he has a limp dick or that he couldn’t satisfy me?” I made a face. “I never knew what being truly satisfied meant until I had you.”
Embarrassed by my admission, I nodded to the bag on the coffee table. “Your steak’s getting cold.”
He lifted a hand to my face and smoothed back my hair. “Give me a moment.”
“To recover?” I teased.
His gaze held mine. “To look at you.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. I started to pull away, but he held me in place.
“Don’t look away,” he murmured. “Why does it bother you that I want to look at you?”
My gaze found his again as I tried to figure out how to answer. “I don’t know. A lot of reasons, I guess.” I drew in a breath and made myself hold eye contact. “I know I’m not beautiful. You could do so much better than me. Hell, I’m sure you have.”
His face tightened. “Who told you that you’re not beautiful?”
I tried again to get off his lap. “I need to get cleaned up.”
He rolled us, pinning my back to the sofa as he loomed over me.
I could have felt intimidated or threatened, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Not physically, anyway.
“You’re not gettin’ out of this. Why don’t you believe me?”
“I’ve looked in the mirror, James. Many times.”
He stared down at me as if I’d spoken a language he didn’t understand, then shook his head. “You really don’t see it.”
“No, and that’s okay.”
“I do,” he said in a husky tone, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “Your eyes are—dark and intense. Like you’re two seconds away from calling bullshit.”
