Tessa had to grow up way too soon. After dealing with the aftermath of her parents’ deaths, then becoming a teenage mom, she knows the meaning of responsibility. Which is why, at twenty-two, she’s looking for so much more than a party boy. She’s looking for someone who can stand by her and her daughter…forever.
A relationship between them is doomed from the start, but who says they can’t have a little fun? But as Jason gets closer to Tessa—and her daughter—fun starts to turn into something else… Something Jason’s not sure he’s ready for.
3.5 Stars
Tessa Ever After is a fun addition to this series. This time, it's Cade's little sister, Tessa and she gets to share her story!
This book drove me nuts (yes, Jason!) and made me smile. I loved Tessa and her daughter! Their relationship is beautiful. Tessa, is a young Mom, but is a determined and will do anything to take care of her daughter. But having Cade leave to live his own life and dream, Tessa is out on her own.
At times, she felt she was failing as a Mother. Life sort of just gets in the way in everyday situations, but I felt like she handled it well. Jason is Cade's best friend and been with their family for so long. Tessa was always viewed as Cade's "lil' sis" to watch over, but until she really grew up and he took noticed, it all changed.
Jason drove me insane. He was a bit immature. He's 24, still in college and pretty much living off his wealthy and snooty parents, who runs his life. I loathed his parents, I wanted him to stand up to them, but he just seemed to back down.
Tessa relied on Jason to help her out. He was great with her daughter and was always there for when she needed help. And the attraction between slowly started to build up. But there was one big issue for Jason and Tessa to move forward---Cade.
Tessa Ever After is quick fun read. It's hot and the chemistry between these two is off the chart. I can't wait to read more in this series!
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Jason
The word isn’t out of her mouth before I lean down, her
face cupped in my hands as I press my lips to hers. And her lips—Jesus, her
fucking lips. They’re soft and warm, and she doesn’t hesitate to move them
along with mine. With a groan, I press into her farther, trapping her body
between mine and the wall, and Christ, she feels good. Her hands finally come
away from the wall and press into my sides, her fists bunching up the material
of my shirt, and I want more. I want to feel them against my skin, all over my
body. I want her gripping and grappling and scratching. I want her teeth marks
on my shoulder and scratches from her nails down my back. I want her moaning
and writhing and panting and crying out my name. I want to sink into her, to
feel her pussy pulsing around me, to see what she looks like under me as I fuck
her.
I pull my mouth away from hers and kiss my way across her
cheek to her ear. I trace the shell with my tongue, loving her moans of
encouragement. “How much, Tess? How much will you give me?”
“What?” And I can’t deny how much I love the raspy timbre
of her voice, the breathless and almost confused way she answers. Like her mind
is focused only on the responses from her body. Like I got her so worked up,
she can’t comprehend a simple question.
I pull back to look at her face. “How far do you want this
to go? Can I take you to your bedroom?”
Her eyes go wide and panicked for a minute, and I rub my
thumb along her jaw, soothing her.
“All right, no bedroom. It’s okay. I won’t push.” I press a
quick kiss to her lips. “I can do a lot in a hallway.” With a smile, I duck
down, sucking on the skin of her neck, and her head falls back against the wall
again, her hands pulling me to her.
“No sex,” she says, and I don’t know if it’s my ego
imagining it or not, but it seems like she has to force the words out, as much
to warn me off as to remind herself of it.
“No sex,” I repeat, nodding, already leaning in for another
kiss.
She mirrors my efforts, her tongue searching for mine even
before I can coax her mouth open. The sounds she makes, the way she moves her
body against mine gets me harder than I can remember being in a long time. And
I don’t know if it’s the taboo of this—if it’s because I’ve finally got someone
who’s been off-limits for so long in my hands—or if it’s simply Tess.
Our height difference makes it awkward to kiss her and
grind up on her in the way that makes her moan, so I reach down and grip the
back of her thighs, lifting her up and against the wall as I guide her legs
around my hips. With one hand gripping her ass to hold her up, the other trails
up her leg, not stopping when I get to the material of her too-short dress now
bunched around her hips. Knowing the only thing keeping me from her pussy is
the thin scrap of lace I feel against my fingers makes me groan and press
against her harder, my hips swiveling and trying to find the right rhythm that
gets her exactly where she needs to be.
This is what I’m good at, what I’ve always been good at.
Finding what makes a girl moan, scream, melt into a boneless heap under my
hands. What gets her off. And while I want to do all that with Tessa, too,
before it always felt like a duty. Like the least I could do for these women
who agreed to spend nothing more than a night in my bed was to make sure they
had a good time while they were there.
But with Tess . . . with her it’s so
different. For one thing, I want so much more than a single night. I think I
could spend days studying her body and not grow tired of
it . . . not grow tired of her. And for another, I want to get her off. I want to give her pleasure, to see her
come apart in my arms, to know I’m the only one making
her feel like this.
I want to feel her soft and warm and wet, slip my hand
under the material of her panties and make her come around my fingers. I want
to pull the top of her dress down, put my mouth on her tits, suck her nipples
until she screams, but I don’t want to push her too far. Instead, I grip her
ass in both hands and press my cock against her, moving until she gasps against
my mouth, her eyes heavy and sleepy-drunk as she stares into mine. She’s
restless against me, her rhythm long since lost, her body seeking the release
it desperately wants.
Against her mouth, I say, “Come on, baby. Let go. Just let
go. Let me make you come.”
And even though I had it in my mind that I wasn’t going to,
that I didn’t want to push, I move my hand up to the top of her thigh and slide
my thumb over until it slips just under the material of her panties. She’s wet
and smooth and Jesus Christ, I’m going to come in my goddamn jeans like I’m an
inexperienced teenager again.
She tenses, gasps, then moans, and it doesn’t take more
than a brush of my thumb against her clit before she comes, her head thrown
back, her neck exposed, her chest heaving.
The complete and utter satisfaction I feel at being the one
who was able to do that for her should embarrass me, but I can’t seem to muster
up any shame. I love the fact that I got her off with little more than a swipe
of my thumb against her and a few kisses. The thought of what she’ll be like
when I’ve got a bed to work with, when I’m able to use my fingers and my tongue
and my cock, sets my head spinning.
This is usually when I start thinking about my next
conquest, already bored with the girl I’d just made come, but the thought of
not doing this with Tess again makes my chest twist. And I realize with panic
that I’m not bored. Quite the opposite.
I could see myself doing this for her every day for a month
and not tiring of it. And that’s scary as hell.
About the Author
Brighton Walsh spent nearly a decade as a professional photographer before deciding to take her storytelling in a different direction and reconnect with writing. She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children.
Brighton Walsh spent nearly a decade as a professional photographer before deciding to take her storytelling in a different direction and reconnect with writing. She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children.
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