Page 43 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Wes

T his was not how tonight was supposed to go.

The plan was simple. Sit Lena down after Rosie fell asleep and finally untangle the mess we’ve made. Define clear boundaries. Have a calm, mature discussion.

Yet here we are, miles past calm and dangerously short of mature.

I stand at the kitchen entrance, watching Lena lean against the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

With her arms crossed and eyes wide, there's a subtle challenge in her stare.

It feels like someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room, leaving us both breathless, edgy, and painfully aware of the few feet separating us.

Her mouth parts to say something, but no words come out. Instead, her gaze travels slowly over me, lighting every nerve ending along the way.

This isn’t talking. Talking wouldn’t make my hands ache to touch her or my chest tighten with this reckless need.

“Wes,” she breathes, a whisper that’s half warning, half invitation.

I shove a hand through my hair, attempting—and failing—to steady myself. “I know. We should talk.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, we should.”

But neither of us moves, both frozen in place, afraid to step toward or away from whatever this is.

“Fuck,” I rasp, shaking my head as if that might clear away the fog.

Her eyes flash, daring me to move, taunting me for hesitating.

That look shatters every ounce of self-control I have left.

One step, then another, and suddenly I’m in front of her, bracing my hands on the counter, boxing her in.

Lena’s chin tilts up, stubbornness bright in her eyes. “I thought we were talking?”

My gaze dips to her lips, and every coherent thought just fucking evaporates. “Yeah, that was the plan.”

A long second ticks by.

Then my mouth slams into hers, and every single rule bursts into flames.

She gasps into the kiss, her initial stiffness melting away as her hands curl into my shirt.

She tastes like chaos and clarity.

Warm and perfect .

The answer and the question wrapped together.

My hands find her waist and effortlessly lift her onto the counter.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. We had a plan, remember?” I murmur roughly, trailing kisses down her jaw, savoring every gasp and trembling breath.

“I hate plans,” she says between gasps, nails biting into my shoulders.

That’s all the permission I need.

Clothes vanish in seconds, shirts hitting the floor, leggings following close behind. We’re a mess of impatient hands and fumbling fingers. It’s frantic, and I don’t care, because within moments I’m buried deep inside her, chasing sanity and losing it simultaneously.

“Upstairs,” she pants desperately, eyes wide and wild. “Bed, Wes.”

I stumble backward, mouths locked together, bodies still tangled and clumsy, colliding gracelessly into the furniture along the way. Lena laughs against my lips, and that sound—the pure joy of it—almost brings me to my knees.

Almost.

Clothes scatter like confetti from the kitchen to the bedroom, leaving a messy trail behind us. By the time we fall onto the bed, we’re skin on skin, stripped bare in every sense.

Now Lena’s straddling me, her hands braced firmly on my chest. She’s wild, relentless, riding me hard with each roll of her hips, a heated fuck-you to every sensible boundary we thought we’d set.

I grip her hips tighter, savoring the bruising pressure of her movements, matching the fierce rhythm she sets.

Until I can’t hold back anymore .

I slip a hand between us, pressing my thumb exactly where she needs me most. Her rhythm falters.

“Wes—”

“You started this,” I say, voice gravel-thick. “Now finish it.”

She trembles. “I—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” I demand, capturing her lips again. “Show me.”

She breaks beautifully, trembling apart in my arms, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer. Her pleasure drags me dangerously close, but I’m not finished yet.

I flip us, pressing her beneath me, thrusting harder and deeper, completely consumed by her.

“You’re not done,” I rasp into her neck, chasing her pleasure mercilessly.

She meets my gaze. “Then don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes. We tumble over the edge again together, mouths colliding and hearts racing. Lena grips me tightly, shattering every last bit of self-control as I come with a guttural groan.

When reality eventually returns, we’re a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and racing heartbeats. Her fingertips trace lazy circles down my back, easing the marks she left there.

“So, about that talk?”

I lift my head, a lazy grin forming as I press a lingering kiss against her swollen mouth. “Later. I’d say this was more productive.”

She laughs gently, and something warm unfurls inside my chest.

For now, the chaos quiets.

For now, words can wait.