It takes letting go of her for Eames to shed his jacket, which he is, admittedly, reluctant to do, but he's practiced enough that it takes only a moment, his hands on her again even before the heavy mass of fabric hits the floor. He doesn't care about it staying there. To bring organization into play at a time like this would be pointless, probably borderline sick, and anyway, he's too distracted for that, the press of her hips against his enough to draw a faint noise from the back of his throat, muffled against her mouth as he leans into the kiss. That's the part that really matters now, the physical. Even figuring her out has been put on hold, though he finds it as curious as ever to map her speed and the steps she takes. He'll have to get her out of that dress, flattering as it is, eventually, but for the moment, he figures he still has her at a disadvantage; he'll let her even the score a little first.