Page 27 of Homebody (The Long Road Home #21)

Chapter Twenty-Six

T essa didn’t know what had inspired her, but she was making progress on her thesis like never before. Riding that rare but amazing adrenaline high, fueled by accomplishment.

Maybe it was spending those couple of hours sifting through Doctor Walsh’s— Liam’s —amazing research.

Maybe it was getting the unbelievable dream position working alongside Liam, the man who’d published the papers she’d been reading for months, poring over them, word-for-word, for her own research.

Or maybe it was the sofa that now graced her formerly nearly empty living room. Used, but new-to-her and oh so comfy.

She couldn’t discount that last item. Having a comfortable place to sit (that was not her bed), having a change of scenery from all the places where she’d struggled to hone and distill her thesis idea up until now, seemed to have done something to her brain.

Ideas coalesced. The myriad jumble of potential pathways that had seemed impossible to choose from before had somehow untangled in her mind.

A plan was now clear. So obvious it boggled her mind she hadn’t seen it until now.

Before, it had felt as if she’d been wandering aimlessly. Lost amid too much research. Bogged down by too many citations. Confused by an abundance of knowledge and information with little to no focus.

Now she was laser focused.

Everything was coming together. She could barely work fast enough to keep up with her brain.

To get everything down and organized in the order in which she wanted it presented.

A clear and concise order that just hours ago she never thought was possible.

Or if it were possible, she would never be able to attain it.

She must not have heard the first knock, because by the time the noise broke through her intense focus, someone was pounding on her door.

Then she heard Dean calling out to her, “Tessa? You in there?”

Giddy with what she’d achieved so far, at what she knew she could achieve going forward, she hopped off the sofa.

Her socks slipped on the hardwood floors and she nearly fell, only catching herself by grabbing onto the back of the sofa. That wonderful, beautiful, unfashionably nubby, brown upholstered sofa that might have saved her future. Or at least her thesis.

And banging on her door was the man who brought it to her.

Tucking away the knowledge that she should really buy a rug now that she had living room furniture she ran for the door and flung it open.

“Dean!”

“Are you all right?” he asked. Concern drew his brows low. “I saw the lights on but you didn’t answer.”

“I am absolutely wonderfully fabulous and it’s all because of you.” She felt drunk, even though she’d only had water.

She was high on life. Or at least high on achievement and the adrenalin coursing through her veins.

Before she even considered what she was doing, she flung her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss on what she’d meant to be his cheek.

The smallest of adjustments on his part as he moved to maintain his balance after she threw herself against him, combined with incredibly bad aim on her part, meant her lips didn’t land where she’d intended.

Instead of a thank you kiss on the cheek, Tessa’s lips landed fully on top of Dean’s.

He didn’t pull back. He didn’t hesitate even a second. He reacted to the ambush of a kiss by taking control of it.

His hand cupping the back of her head tangled in her hair, while his other hand pressed low and hard against her back, holding her tightly against him.

She didn’t complain. Not that she could have as his tongue took possession of her mouth.

The door slammed closed. Only then did she realize he’d backed them up enough he could kick it shut behind him, all without her noticing.

Not a surprise. She was having trouble focusing on anything except the feel of his hand sliding down to cup her butt and his tongue stroking against hers in an erotic dance like she’d never experienced.

Finally, he broke the kiss and pulled back just a few inches, gasping for breath.

“What brought this on?” he asked, his eyes focused on hers.

She let out a maniacal-sounding giggle. “The sofa.”

His dark brows rose before the corners of his mouth lifted. “I should have brought over my parents’ old basement furniture long ago.”

Then his eyes narrowed and she could swear she heard him let out a low growl.

Tessa didn’t have the opportunity to respond to any of it because his mouth was on hers again. And she didn’t mind one bit.

Dean’s hands on her body, his mouth covering hers, the sounds of desire and approval that rose from his chest to his throat, it was like every romantic fantasy she’d ever imagined. Romance novel worthy. Like a scene out of a chick flick movie… and she loved it.

If this was the kind of attention bad girls got when they kissed a man out of the blue, she should have done it a week ago.

Her body responded to his and for once her mind didn’t get in the way. It didn’t matter her thesis waited on the table for her. She didn’t let herself worry he was leaving in just days. She forgot this whole thing had begun with a lie.

All she cared about was here and now and Dean’s unfocused gaze on hers when he said, “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

“Don’t stop.” Feeling brave she added, “The bedroom is right through that door.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He hoisted her up against him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he walked, carrying her to the bedroom where she didn’t even care that the bed, the room in general, was a mess.

As Dean tossed her onto the mattress and followed her down, his eyes solely on her, she figured he didn’t notice the mess or just didn’t care either. They had more important things to focus on.

Her body craved this man, needed him, wanted him. As much as her mind and her heart did.

She could blame the delicious friction of his leg between hers, sending tingles through her overly sensitized core.

Could blame the fact it had been much too long since that area had gotten any attention at all.

She could even blame the fact he’d barely slipped his hands beneath the waistband of the stretchy pants she wore before she was writhing beneath him.

Gasping to regain the breath he stole as he pushed her through to a second orgasm.

But why did she need to blame anyone or anything?

She was a bad girl now. And it felt so good.

So when he pulled those pants off her and tossed them to the floor. When his hands paused on the button of his own pants and his gaze met hers as he asked, “You sure?”, her answer was clear.

“Yes.”