Tessa Ever After (14 page)

It’s not an unreasonable request. He’s been up-front about the fact that he’s actively looking for someone with whom to get
serious. And that’s what I’ve been looking for, too. Someone in it for the long haul. I think about what he said, and he’s absolutely right. By this time, I should know whether or not I want to move forward with this guy. And the thing is, I
do
know. I’ve known since before we went on our second date; I was just too stubborn to accept it.

Because the truth is so much scarier than this safe, secure man sitting across from me.

“You’re a great guy, Greg.”

He must hear my apology in my tone, because he expels a deep breath and offers a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

“No, don’t be.” Repeating my words from earlier, he says, “This is all on me. I tried to make this work, even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to.”

“I
have
enjoyed spending time with you.”

He offers me a genuine smile, and not for the first time, I’m frustrated with myself that I’m not attracted to him. “Same here.”

The rest of our dinner is filled with stilted conversation and uncomfortable pauses, and when he drops me off at home, saying he hopes we can stay in touch, I lie and say I’d like the same thing.

The windows are dark as I walk up to the front door, and I slip into the house, listening for signs of life. When I hear none, I take my shoes off and hook them on my fingers as I walk down the hall toward Haley’s room. Carefully, I push open the door, and what I see inside stops my heart and makes the butterflies lying dormant in my stomach burst to life.

Jason and Haley are both asleep on her bed, my little girl
curled under his arm, her body fitting perfectly into the nook of his side. She’s in full-on princess gear, the tulle of her play-dress bunched up by her knees, her pretend high heels discarded below her small feet. The tiara I’m sure was once perched on her head now sits on Jason’s shoulder. And while seeing that would warm any mother’s heart, that’s not the part that’s making mine skip a beat. No, that achievement is because of the too-tall man whose legs are falling off the sides of Haley’s twin bed. He’s wearing one of Haley’s tea party hats with a bright pink feather boa wrapped around his neck, and I almost can’t breathe.

Seeing something like this isn’t anything new. I used to come home from working a late shift or a date or a night out with Paige to find Haley and Cade curled up the same way. And I remember thinking then what I wouldn’t give to find a guy who would do that with my daughter. Who would forget about being a manly man for an hour and play dress-up with a little girl who thinks he hangs the moon.

And all this time while I’ve been searching for him, I’ve been looking in all the wrong places. Trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Because while Greg was safe and steady, someone who looked great on paper, I could never see him doing something like this. The realization that this has been in front of me the whole time—that
he
has been in front of me the entire time—is jarring, and I stumble over some toys lying on the floor as I make my way out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I press my back against the wall outside Haley’s room, my eyes closing at my epiphany. I don’t have enough time to process it, though, before her bedroom door opens and Jason comes out, now free of all dress-up gear. He shuts the door again, then leans
against the wall opposite from me, arms folded across his chest and ankles crossed.

His pose is casual, just like how he was when I left him earlier, but his eyes are appraising, searching for something. They travel the entire length of me from my head all the way to my bare feet, darting up to see the shoes hanging between my fingers. And just like earlier, his eyes, the way they seem to almost caress me as his gaze travels over my body, light something inside me.

“How was your date?” His voice is low and raspy from sleep, and I don’t want to admit what the sound does to me, that it sparks something deep when touches from other men haven’t evoked even a quarter of the response.

I could lie. I could tell him it was wonderful, that Greg took me to a beautiful restaurant and I had a good time, but I don’t feel like pretending. Not tonight. “Not great.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “We just didn’t click.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he says, “Why do you keep going out with guys like him, Tess?”

After a pause, the truth tumbles out of me. “Because he’s what I thought I needed.”

“And what about now?”

I look at him, take him in, from his carelessly mussed hair to his dark butterscotch eyes to the jaw sharp enough to cut glass, only marred with a slight shadow of stubble, and my knees go weak. “Now I’m not sure.”

He pushes off the wall and moves to stand right in front of me, so close I can feel his breath ghosting over my exposed collarbone. “Were you ever sure about him?”

His nearness has stolen my voice, and all I can do is shake my head.

With his voice dropping even lower he asks, “Did he ever make you feel good?”

And he could mean a dozen different things. He could mean intellectually or emotionally or physically, but it doesn’t matter which one he’s talking about because the answer is the same regardless.

“No.” It comes out raspy and breathless, and when did I become
that
girl? The one who loses all composure at the nearness of a guy. A hot guy, sure, but a guy nonetheless. Apparently allowing the tension to build up so much that it has no choice but to explode wasn’t my brightest idea.

He reaches out, his fingers tracing along my shoulders, and I shiver, a wave of goose bumps erupting all over my skin, my nipples tightening into hard points against the satin material of my dress. “I could,” he says, his voice so quiet I barely hear him. But I do. I do, and I want exactly what he’s suggesting. “I could make you feel so good, Tess.”

Of that I have no doubt. Jason’s competence in that area has never been in question, not since we were in high school.

“Do you want me to? Just say the word, and I will.”

He leans forward, his lips brushing against my neck, and my head hits the wall, my shoes forgotten and thudding on the carpet by my feet. I can’t seem to make my arms go around him, to press my fingers into his hair and pull him to me, so instead I flatten them against the wall behind me.

“Tell me, Tess.” His voice is low, gritty, and the desperation in his tone is what finally breaks me.

“Yes,” I whisper, finding my voice.

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.

THIRTEEN