Page 36 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

It’s a flicker. A stutter in my breath. But he notices, I know he does.

My mouth opens. Shuts. My brain makes a sputtering sound like it’s been unplugged and booted back up again.

When I finally look at him, he’s got that infuriating, cocky little curve to his mouth that says he knows exactly what he did.

Bastard.

I attempt to glare at him, I really do, but my lips betray me and twitch upward because what the hell do I even say to that?

I don’t know when this shifted from casual to something more, but it’s humming beneath my skin now, and it’s impossible to ignore.

By the time we reach my apartment building, I half-expect him to stop on the sidewalk, but he doesn’t. He walks me all the way up. No hesitation. No distance. Just his shoulder brushing mine, steps in sync, like we’ve done this a hundred times already.

It feels easy. Familiar. Yet the air between us is anything but. It’s electric, buzzing with unspoken energy.

“Thanks for the escort,” I say once we’re outside my apartment.

I reach to grab my bag from him, but just as I pull it over my shoulder, the loose strap of my dress slides down my arm.

I don’t even get the chance to fix it because in the next breath, Wes’s fingers are there.

Rough, calloused, yet somehow gentle, he hooks the thin strap with his thumb and slides it back into place.

I stop breathing.

I can feel everything.

The heat of his fingertips lingering against my skin.

The way his touch burns in a way that has nothing to do with the warmth of the night.

The way my pulse slams against my ribs when his fingers graze my collarbone before he pulls away.

His gaze flickers up, locking onto mine, and for the briefest second, neither of us moves. We hardly breathe. The air between us is thick and charged and dangerous.

So, so dangerous.

The moment stretches.

I don’t know who leans in first. Maybe both of us .

It’s just a fraction.

It’s just enough.

Enough for me to see the war in his eyes, and the way they flicker between want and restraint. The way his jaw tightens, like he knows this is a terrible idea.

And it is.

We both know it.

But his thumb grazes my bottom lip like he’s testing something he shouldn’t be.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasps, and I feel it against my lips. “But fuck do I want to kiss you.”

My breath catches.

“And that’s a crazy idea,” he adds, yet his eyes haven’t left my mouth.

“Crazy,” I agree, even though my body aches for his touch. Even though my fingers itch to grab onto his shirt and pull him closer.

For a second, I think he’s going to do it anyway. For a second, I think we’re about to cross a line we can’t uncross.

With a fractured exhale, he takes a step back, and the air feels cool in his absence.

Voice thick with restraint, he finally says, “Goodnight, Lena.”

The air rushes out of my lungs as disappointment slices through my chest. “Goodnight, Wes. See you Monday.”

He’s right, of course. Walking away now is smart.

Safe.

I rummage for my keys, turn on my heels, and unlock the door as he steps away.

“Fuck it.”

The growled words barely have time to reach my ears before his hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me back to him and spinning me into the warmth of his body. I suck in a breath just as his mouth crashes onto mine, fierce and possessive, so damn perfect that I can hardly breathe.

A startled cry slips from my lips, but he swallows it whole, his kiss deepening and desperate. He tastes of everything forbidden and all I’ve tried not to crave.

Without pausing for even a breath, we stumble into my apartment, where he shuts the door above my head and traps me against it.

God, the sensation of his body pressed hard and hot against mine sends sparks ricocheting through me.

He kisses me like he’s been starving for this, for me. Like he’s been holding back so long, he doesn’t know how to stop anymore.

I press closer, parting my lips under his, my body aching for more.

With a sound that sends heat pooling between my legs, he slides his tongue into my mouth, and my soul leaves my body.

This kiss is messy and wild.

It feels as if we’ve shattered some invisible boundary, and there’s no turning back now.

Possessive hands slide down my sides and grip my hips so tightly, I know there will be bruises tomorrow.

I don’t care. I welcome it.

A low rumble slips from deep in his chest when I arch into him, pressing my hips against his unmistakable hardness.

“Christ, Lena,” he groans. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I whisper breathlessly. “I want you.” A flicker of hesitation flashes in his eyes, but before he can second-guess himself, I fist his shirt and yank him back. “Shut up, Wes. ”

I kiss him, claiming him, branding him, owning him right back.

His control snaps completely. He slides his hand beneath my dress, rough fingertips tracing slow, torturous paths over my trembling thighs. I shiver as his mouth trails searing kisses along my jaw, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“Because you’re torturing me.”

The deep vibration of his laugh hits my skin just as his fingers dip under the fabric of my panties.

I shudder, hips rolling shamelessly into his touch.

Holy fucking shit.

I’m dying. I’m sure of it.

“You always this wet for me?”

It’s not a lie when I gasp out, “Yes.”

His fingers give the faintest brush against my clit, and my whole body jolts at the contact.

“Fuck, Lena,” he groans, his touch torturous as he slides his fingers through my wetness, teasing, never quite giving me what I need, and he knows it.

He’s playing with me.

I let out a frustrated moan, rocking my hips against his hand, seeking friction, but he only smirks, keeping me there.

Lips dragging down my neck, he teases, “So impatient.”

“Wes,” I gasp, but my words dissolve into a whimper when he finally slides a finger inside me, then another, teasing, stretching, coaxing cries from my throat. His thumb traces slow circles on my clit, sending me racing toward the edge.

“Wes…please…” I clutch at his shirt, my nails biting into his shoulders, my body aching for more .

“Is this what you want?” His fingers pump, slow and deep, his thumb stroking just right, and I can’t think, can’t breathe.

“Oh, God…”

A helpless sound escapes me as he picks up the pace, working me open, pushing me closer to the edge, closer to breaking.

My body tenses, my breathing turns ragged, and I know he feels it. I know because his possessive grip tightens on my thigh.

“That’s it. Let me feel you.”

And I do.

With a sharp cry, I come undone. My body shudders, and my nails bite into his skin as pleasure rips through me.

He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m shaking in his arms. Not until he’s wrung every last drop of pleasure from me. Only then does he slow, easing me back down, his fingers still inside me, his mouth dragging over my jaw.

My body is still buzzing, and my heart is pounding against my ribs as I try to find power in my legs to keep standing.

“I knew you’d sound good when you came for me,” he says against my mouth.

My face burns, but I’m still too blissed out to care.

He slowly withdraws his fingers, gliding them over my thigh, and when he brings them to his mouth, he sucks them clean.

I moan again at the sight of it.

Wes’s lips are back on mine before I can catch my breath, his hands sliding over my body like he needs to feel every inch of me. His thumb strokes over my nipples, teasing, rolling them between his fingers, and I thank every damn force in the universe that I’m not wearing a bra tonight.

I can’t think, can’t do anything but let him pull me under again, heat pooling low in my belly as he kisses me harder, like he’s trying to ruin me for anyone else.

I’m in the middle of tugging at his belt buckle when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

You have got to be kidding me!

We freeze, and for the briefest second, we both try to ignore it.

I grab his face and pull him back in, but it buzzes again. We can’t ignore it this time. It’s late. No one would call at this hour if it weren’t important.

He curses under his breath and rests his forehead against mine for one, two, three seconds before pulling away.

“Fucking hell.” He reaches into his pocket before answering with a swipe of his thumb. “Yeah?”

I stand there, panting and completely wrecked, watching this man in my apartment, in my space, still looking at me as if he wants to devour me whole.

I should be mortified.

I should be panicking about what we just did.

But I don’t; I simply watch.

Not enough time has passed for me to regret this just yet, and I’m not sure if I will.

“Thanks, Kate. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” His voice is softer now, but I see the shift in him.

Rosie.

He hangs up and exhales, his forehead creasing.

“Is she okay?” I ask, heart still stuttering.

“Kate said she doesn’t have a fever, but she won’t settle. I can’t leave her there if she’s upset.”

“Of course,” I agree, righting myself in my dress.

He shoves a frustrated hand through his hair and lets out a rough breath.

Then he does something that completely throws me off.

Instead of pulling away, instead of acting distant and cold, he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead.

It’s soft and gentle, and everything I didn’t think Wes could be with anyone other than Rosie.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my skin.

I’m not sure if his apology is for what we just did or for needing to stop.

“It’s okay. I’ll drive.” When he tries to argue, I cut him off. “I haven’t been drinking, and the car seat is in my car.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” I say, already grabbing my keys and slipping my feet back into my shoes. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”