Page 39 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Lena

I wake to darkness so absolute, I can’t tell if it’s been an hour or a lifetime. My eyes flutter open as my mind slogs through the haze of deep sleep. It takes a second to remember where I am and why I’m here.

Wes’s room.

His bed.

His scent is clinging to my skin.

When I instinctively reach out, the sheets beneath my palm feel cold. Frowning, I sit up with my heart pounding in my chest before I slip off the bed and walk barefoot down the hall.

Half of me still buzzes with leftover desire from earlier. My body is sore yet satisfied, and my mind is nothing but a jumbled mess of feelings.

At Rosie’s doorway, I peek inside, and my heart stumbles at the sight.

Wes is on the floor, sprawled on his back like he tried to stand but never quite succeeded.

One arm is stretched out, hand dangling between the crib bars.

Rosie’s tiny fingers are wrapped around two of his, clinging tight even in sleep.

An aching warmth blooms under my ribs. Something about this scene—his big, rough hand in her little one, the floor too small to contain him, yet there he is—makes me want to melt.

I crouch beside him, placing the lightest touch on his shoulder.

“Wes,” I say softly.

No reaction. I try again, a little firmer, and he groans. His head rolls in my direction, one eye cracking open. For a long second, he stares at me in bleary confusion, like he forgot I existed in the time he dozed off. Then recognition hits, and he sighs, shifting with a tired grunt.

“She woke up again,” he explains, voice rough with sleep.

I glance at Rosie. “Looks like she’s good. Come on. Let’s get you off this floor before you break something.”

He carefully unwinds his fingers from hers and rises to his feet with another pained noise.

I stifle a smile and poke him. “You’re getting too old to be sleeping on the floor.”

He squeezes my waist in reply.

He’s half-stumbling, half-limping as he follows me back down the hall.

“I’ll go back on the couch,” he mumbles, but he’s still following .

“Or you could sleep in your own bed,” I insist.

Inside his room, he removes his shirt in one fluid motion and tosses it aside.

The sight is… glorious. Even half-asleep, he’s all muscle, with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and sweatpants riding low on his hips.

My stomach clenches, recalling just hours ago how that body felt pressed against mine.

Heat surges through me, but I force myself to climb into bed before I do something foolish, like sink to my knees in front of him.

A second later, the mattress dips under his weight, and he slides in beside me. There’s no hesitation this time, no question about whether I should be here or not. He reaches out, palm curving around my jaw, thumb stroking over my cheek in a gentle, tentative caress.

My heart races. I can’t help but lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to my mouth as his thumb glides lightly over my bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

“I’m amending your contract,” he breathes out.

I blink, dizzy from proximity. “What?”

“My T-shirts. They must be worn at all times.”

A breathy laugh escapes me, but it’s quickly swallowed when he leans in, capturing my mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss that seeps through every muscle. His fingers tangle in my hair at the nape of my neck, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss.

I moan, and that’s all it takes to pull a ragged noise from his throat. In one smooth motion, he rolls me onto my back, settling on top of me with the weight of his body pinning me to the mattress.

God, yes.

A drowsy heat blooms in my belly as he kisses down my neck, his lips dragging over the sensitive spot below my ear. My back arches, pressing my chest into him as his hands move lower, gripping my hips and urging me to grind up against him. I eagerly oblige.

Exhaling harshly, his mouth returns to mine. His tongue sweeps in with deep, hungry movements. It’s like we’re still half-lost in that dreamlike haze, but now it feels darker and hotter, fueled by the memory of how perfectly we fit together last time.

His thigh slides between mine, and I swear I see stars. The friction sends a coil of arousal tightening inside me.

Too much, not enough.

I hook my legs around his hips, wanting more contact, more of everything.

His breath is ragged, his body solid and warm between my thighs. “Lena.”

It’s just my name, but it resonates within me, an electric current that makes my toes curl. His fingers skim over my jaw, down my throat, pausing at the neckline of the T-shirt I’m wearing. He watches me closely, searching my face for any sign of doubt.

All I feel is need.

“If we do this... ” His voice trails off, but I know what he’s asking. He wants to be sure we’re not about to regret this.

And maybe we will. Maybe we will regret every decision that led us here, or the aftermath we might not be able to resurrect from. But right now? In this minute? In this second? I will gladly crumble under the weight of it.

I nod, voice shaky with want. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he rasps, thumb dragging across my bottom lip in a soft, tantalizing stroke .

My heart’s about to explode from my chest. “I want this.”

A shudder courses through him in response.

He leans over, pops open the drawer on the bedside table, and rummages inside. I hear the crackle of foil, and a fresh surge of heat floods through me. Thank God he’s prepared. I ache for that moment of connection, to feel him inside me, but without the frantic rush this time.

His mouth slants over mine again, a deep, heady kiss that wipes away any leftover caution. He tugs at my shirt, pushing it up enough to expose my stomach, his palm skimming my ribs, then my breast.

I let out a needy whimper when I feel the hot, hard length of him nudging my entrance through the thin barrier of my underwear.

“Wes… please,” I manage, voice quivering with urgency.

All he needs are my pleas because in the next breath, he hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging my underwear down and off, discarding them somewhere behind him.

A moment later, I feel him press the head of his cock against me.

My lungs seize with anticipation.

I mutter something that’s half-laugh, half-moan.

He grins, the expression dark and confident. “Still with me?”

I nod, eyes locked on his. “I’m here.”

“Good girl.”

Slowly, he guides himself in. A strangled gasp tears from my throat as he stretches me just as he buries his face against my neck with a low curse.

“Christ, Lena,” he mutters. “So fucking tight. ”

My legs wind around his waist, urging him deeper until he’s fully seated. We both let out ragged moans, the sensation dizzying, the stretch deliciously intense.

When he finally starts to move, his hips roll in lazy thrusts, each one drawing a shocked whimper from me.

It’s slow and deep, too intimate for my scrambled mind, but I cling to him anyway, meeting each stroke with a lift of my hips.

My body winds tighter with every breath, the coil of pleasure building fast.

“Oh god, Wes—”

“I know,” he says with a groan, burying his face in my hair as his pace intensifies, every drag of his cock hitting someplace devastating inside me. “I know.”

He cups my face, brushing a thumb over my cheek, then crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that steals my breath. Our tongues meet in a messy dance while his hand slips between us to find that bundle of nerves. A startled cry escapes me as he circles it.

“Look at me,” he orders. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” His thumb presses harder. “Falling apart under me.”

The tension in my core snaps, and I cry out, my walls pulsing around him as ecstasy detonates.

“That’s it. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

He plunges deep, once, twice, then buries himself fully with a guttural sound.

My body is still shivering with the aftershocks when he lets go, pleasure ripping a throaty groan from his chest as he pulses inside me, his forehead pressed to mine .

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just breathe, our hearts pounding in sync, his weight a warm, heavy comfort above me. When he finally shifts, he presses a tender kiss to my temple.

I don’t know why, but I feel a laugh bubble up from my chest. “I think you just fucked the nanny.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a shaky laugh of his own. “I think I did.”

For a second, I see something like vulnerability in his eyes, a quiet acceptance that this line is long gone.

We’ve detonated. The aftermath is currently falling around us.

We can’t pretend it never happened.

I tighten my legs around his hips, anchoring him to me, not ready to break the moment.