Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
TESSA
The door to my townhouse clicked shut behind us. The sound was a loud, solid conclusion to the day’s public performance, sealing us into a bubble of intoxicating heat. My back hit the wall, my lungs expanding with the knowledge that he was mine.
Braden cupped my face, his thumbs brushing the corners of my mouth, already slick from the kiss he’d stolen on the porch. He held my gaze, his eyes dark with unrestrained greed.
“The main event, you said?” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise.
“It’s about to start.”
His smile was slow, a wicked echo of my own from the doorstep. “You’re a shark, Dr. Donovan. A shark with a passion for the ocean.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Now I want to see that passion directed purely at me.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head back down, slamming my mouth against his.
I tasted the smokiness lingering on his skin from the bonfire, the faint citrus of his beer, the sheer, intoxicating Braden of him.
Every strategic, professional thought I’d had all day dissolved under the pressure of his lips.
Moonlight filtered through the cheap blinds, painting pale stripes across the wooden floor. He dragged a hand down the side of my body, his fingers snagging the zipper of my dress. He didn’t ask. He just pulled. The sound of the zipper splitting the fabric down my spine was loud in the quiet room.
“Bedroom?” he asked, his voice thick, his gaze still holding mine.
“Let’s go.”
I grabbed his hand and we stumbled, walking while we kissed, down the hall and into my room.
Braden’s hands moved over me like he was memorizing my topography, mapping every place he’d touched before and discovering new ones.
Every touch was slow, unhurried, deliberate.
I wanted to give him everything. I wanted to show him with my body what my heart was already screaming.
I pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his bare chest—hard, warm, familiar—stole my breath.
Reaching behind me, Braden slid the fabric off my shoulders.
He followed the path of the dress, sliding the fabric down my hips until it pooled at my ankles.
My bra followed quickly, unclasped with a confidence that made my belly clench.
He kept his gaze locked on mine as he hooked his fingers under the band of my panties. He didn’t yank them. He teased the cotton down, tracing my shape with his thumbs, letting the material drop, until I kicked them away.
I pushed him onto his back on the bed and straddled his hips. His hands immediately found my waist, and I leaned down to kiss him.
He groaned into my mouth, his hips lifting slightly beneath me. “Tessa.”
I loved the way he said my name. Like it was the only word that mattered.
Like it contained everything he couldn’t quite say out loud.
I kissed my way down his chest, taking my time.
His muscles tensed under my lips, and I felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath my mouth.
When I reached the waistband of his jeans, I glanced up at him.
His eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
I undid the button and zipper, then pulled his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion.
He kicked them off the rest of the way, his hands fisting in the sheets beside him as if trying to hold onto his control.
When I wrapped my hand around him, he hissed out a breath.
Then I leaned down and took him into my mouth.
The sound that tore from his chest was a raw, guttural groan.
His hand found my hair, not pulling, just anchoring himself to me.
I took him deep, moving with slow strokes, then sped up, adding light pressure with my tongue and teeth.
The way his abs flexed with each movement, the sharp intakes of his breath, the frantic flutter of his eyelids as his head fell back against the pillow—it was all the feedback I needed.
I focused entirely on the texture and heat of him, increasing the pressure and rhythm until he made small, desperate sounds he couldn’t keep inside.
When I pulled back for a moment, he was breathing hard. He sat up, pulled me into his lap, and kissed me with bruising force.
“My turn,” he murmured against my mouth.
He flipped us over and settled between my thighs. His hands roamed—tracing the curve of my hips, skating up my ribs, cupping my breasts. Then he kissed his way down my body, taking his time, and I melted into the mattress beneath him. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
When his mouth found me, I gasped.
He was slow. Maddeningly slow. His tongue moved in deliberate, measured strokes that made my thoughts scatter like startled birds.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.
My hands gripped his hair, holding him to me, and he groaned against me, the vibration making my entire body shake with wanting.
“Braden, don’t stop.”
He explored with his tongue and lips, building a deep, centered ache in me that quickly became unbearable.
When he increased the pressure, settling into an intense, sustained rhythm, my vision swam.
My body arched off the mattress, desperate for more, desperate for release.
He answered with a low, animalistic groan that vibrated through me.
My tension became a blinding, unbearable need.
Then, with a single, deep, masterful sweep, he broke my control completely.
Pleasure exploded through me, a white-hot wave that started deep in my belly and radiated outward, making my muscles clench and my toes curl.
My body locked in a violent tremor that seemed to last forever, my vision filled with dazzling, incoherent light.
I cried out his name. It was a ragged, untamed sound, the sound of my emotional walls finally crumbling.
He kissed his way back up my body, then grabbed a condom from my nightstand drawer. He settled over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and I wrapped my legs around his hips. The position was intimate and familiar all at once.
“God, what you do to me.” His whispered words sounded like a confession, like something he’d been carrying for a very long time.
“Yessss. We’re so good together.”
He slid inside me slowly, and I closed my eyes against the overwhelming rightness of it.
This wasn’t just sex. It was connection in the most primal way.
We moved together, unhurried, our breaths mingling.
His hand found mine and laced our fingers together, pinning them to the pillow beside my head.
The eye contact was steady, unbroken, intimate in a way that was almost more vulnerable than the physical act itself.
He pulled back, then drove forward, setting a deep, intentional pace.
I lifted my hips to meet him, clinging to his shoulders as our rhythms synchronized, the sound of skin-on-skin filling the quiet room.
I focused on the sheer power of his body—the taut muscles of his back flexing under my hand, the rigid strength of his thighs against mine.
Our rhythm naturally built and quickened.
The heat intensified, and the exquisite pressure became too much, then exactly enough.
He pressed his hips down, claiming a deep, impossible space.
I gasped and kissed him harder. Our linked hands tightened until my fingers ached, tethering me to him.
He swiped his tongue over mine, and the coil of tension inside me began to unravel once more.
It was pure sensation, pure presence, a desperate attempt to memorize every detail of our physical joining.
When we finally fell over the edge together, it wasn’t just a physical explosion.
My climax was a tearing open, a simultaneous release of tension from my muscles and my soul.
I tightened around him, a shudder running through my body that was perfectly mirrored by the powerful clench of his muscles against me.
He drove in one final, shuddering thrust and cried out.
When he shifted, he pulled me with him and settled me close until my head was tucked under his chin, his breath ragged against my hair. This was home.
Morning light slipped through the blinds in golden ribbons, transforming the beige walls into something warmer.
After Braden woke, we drifted into easy domesticity as we discussed yesterday’s event, pointedly avoiding my parents’ visit.
Coffee brewed while Braden leaned against the counter in nothing but his jeans, stealing kisses between sips.
“Mayor Delaney’s speech was something else.” He grinned as he handed me a mug.
I laughed. “I know! I didn’t expect that level of support from the community.”
“You earned it.” He traced a finger along my collarbone. “You’ve been showing up for this town every day since you got here.”
My phone buzzed on the counter. An email notification stopped my heart mid-beat.
Florida Coastal Conservation Initiative.
“Oh my God.”
Braden straightened and read over my shoulder. “The grant?”
I nodded, pulse kicking into overdrive. This was the foundation of my entire plan, the financial backing that would transform the conservation center from dream to reality. I opened the email.
Subject: Re: Application #FL-2024-MCG-0447 - Status Update
Dear Dr. Donovan,
Thank you for your comprehensive proposal submitted to the Florida Coastal Conservation Grant Program. After careful review by our selection committee, we regret to inform you we are unable at this time...
The words blurred. My brain caught on that one phrase, repeating it like a stuck record. We regret to inform you.
I read it twice, searching for some loophole. There wasn’t one. The coffee mug now weighed a thousand pounds, and I set it down carefully. This was the foundation of my plan to stay. Without it, the whole structure wobbled.
“Hey.” Braden was suddenly in front of me, his hands framing my face. “Talk to me.”
“What now?” My response came out brittle.
“Tessa.”
The gentleness in his voice cracked something inside me. “I needed this, Braden. The grant would have funded the center, at least to start. Without it, I don’t know if I can make the numbers work.”
Braden took the phone from my grip and set it aside, then pulled me into his chest. Every instinct screamed at me to handle this alone, to process and problem-solve in the tidy, controlled way I’d perfected.
But then his arms tightened around me, and I let myself lean in.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was an anchor.
“Okay.” His voice was quiet. “So the grant fell through. That’s disappointing as hell, but it doesn’t mean the Center is dead.” His touch was firm on my arms. “We’ll figure this out.”
The word caught in my throat. “We?”
“Yes, we.” There was no hesitation. “You’re not doing this alone anymore. You and me, we’re a team. That’s what partners do.”
The tight knot in my chest loosened. He wasn’t dismissing my fear or minimizing the setback. He was standing with me in it.
“But the numbers—”
“Will work,” he interrupted. “Maybe not the way you originally planned, but we’ll make them work. You raised over twenty thousand dollars last night from a single event. The community is behind you.”
A shaky laugh escaped me. “Braden—”
“How much did you need from the grant?”
“Seventy-five thousand for the first year.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s a lot, but it’s not insurmountable. You’ve already got a third of it. We can do another event, apply for other grants, talk to Harper about a resort partnership. There are options.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s going to be work, and it’s going to take longer than you hoped. But Tessa, look what happened yesterday.” His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You think you can’t do that again? This rejection isn’t a failure. It’s just a detour.”
The conviction in his voice chipped away at the panic. He believed in me, in us, with a certainty I couldn’t quite muster. But maybe that was the point of partnership. When one of you faltered, the other held steady.
“This was supposed to be the easy part.”
“Nothing worth building is easy.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “But we’re going to build it anyway. Together.”
The word settled into my chest, warm and grounding. Together.
I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“Damn right we will.”
His arms tightened around me, and we stood there in my tiny kitchen, two people bracing for the challenges ahead.
The grant rejection in my inbox was a reminder that dreams didn’t always unfold according to plan.
And next week my parents would be bringing a lifetime of expectations I wasn’t sure I could meet.
But Braden was here, solid and certain, using we like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was. Whatever came next—difficult conversations, revised financial projections, my parents’ judgment—at least we’d face it together.