alone as she’d been in years.
It was amazing and exciting. It was absolutely terrifying.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah. You?”
His grin was sexy and sincere. “I’m fuckin’ terrific.”
She chuckled, trying to ignore the whirl of emotion spinning in her head and tightening in her chest.
Gently, he released her leg and wrists. “Shit, I hope I didn’t mark you,” he said, staring at her hands.
She brought one close enough to see the dark red rings surrounding her wrist. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”
One sexy eyebrow shot way up. “Don’t blame me if I remember that for the next time.”
The next time.
He reached between them and withdrew from her, one hand fisting around the condom. “Lemme get rid of this.” Sean pushed off the couch and crossed to the bathroom. It was the first time she’d seen his body fully naked, and he was every bit as impressive as she thought he’d be. The broad shoulders. The way his ink-covered back muscles flexed. The taut roundness of his ass.
And oh, man, that ass. Dead. She was dead.
She heard the sink run, and then he was returning to her, comfortable with his nudity and feeling quite fine if that newly returned swagger meant anything. So she enjoyed the opportunity to ogle him. Because he was really freaking fine. “Wow.”
“I know. It looks like shit, doesn’t it?” His hand went to his chest. “Doesn’t hurt as much now though.”
How could he think that she’d meant her exclamation as anything but appreciative? And it wasn’t the first time he’d been so self-deprecating. “Sean Riddick.”
Her stern tone had him looking at her, his expression full of confusion. “What?”
“Sit.” She pointed at the couch.
“Ooh, I like this game already.” He hurried to sit.
She straddled him, one eyebrow arched. Those big hands cupped her ass, and they felt so good on her that she had to swallow hard. “This isn’t a game, asshole.”
His eyes went wide. “Wait, how did we go from orgasm to asshole in under two minutes?”
His way with words nearly made her smile. Gently, she laid one hand against his chest. “This isn’t ugly to me. It’s an injury. One that means you survived when that fucking truck hit you and scared the shit out of me. I was expressing admiration for your body, not criticizing your appearance. I would never do that, even if you hadn’t just been inside me two minutes ago.”
“Oh.”
“Uh huh.”
His gaze dropped somewhere between them, fanning his long dark lashes against his cheek. “You were scared for me?”
Dani huffed. And then she grasped his face in both of her hands. She wasn’t sure what was happening between them. Or what they were to one another. But she knew this. “I’m not better than you. I hated that you said that, and I hated that I made you feel that way. And of-fucking-course I was scared for you. You’re my friend, and you’re a good man. Someone who risks himself to help other people. I know I give you a hard time sometimes—”
“Sometimes?” He smirked at her, though he didn’t quite pull it off, and it was obvious to her that he was trying to inject humor to deflect from the seriousness of what she was saying. Jesus, he was freaking Deadpool.
But just then, she wasn’t having it. “I’m being serious.”
“I know. You’re not the one that made me feel that way, D. Okay? It wasn’t you.” There was a vulnerability in those dark eyes that nearly stole her breath and emphasized the gravity of the admission he’d just made. Someone had told him or taught him that he was less than, and it was a lesson that seemed to have stuck. Something in the center of Dani’s chest squeezed.
Sean blinked and glanced away, and suddenly he looked just like she’d felt a few moments before—too seen.
So she changed the subject. “Before the amazing sex, you said you wanted to ask me a favor.”
His smile was sheepish. “Can we focus on the ‘amazing’ part of your comment first?”
Dani rolled her eyes. “Ask me.”
He heaved a breath. “My eye doc follow-up is tomorrow and I wondered if I could twist your arm into going with me.” She inhaled to answer, but he rushed on. “It’s just that you’ll be able to decipher the doctor-speak and you’ll think of questions to ask that I might forget.”
All of that was totally understandable. And it felt nice to be needed, wanted. “You don’t have to twist my arm. What time?”
“It’s at eleven. The office is on