Page 56 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Ten years later

Wes

I ’m pretty sure I’m running late. The sun’s been up for a while now, painting the yard in warm gold.

But I don’t care. Not when Lena’s face is buried in the pillow beneath me, her voice coming out in muffled, breathless moans as I drive into her over and over.

It’s been ten years, and I swear I want her more every single day, especially when she arches her back and presses that perfect ass against me like she can’t get me deep enough.

“Oh God,” she gasps as her fingers claw at the sheets. I see her knuckles go white with the tight stretch of her arms as she tries to brace against the pleasure.

“Fucking perfect,” I groan, keeping a hand on her hip, guiding her back onto me. Our bodies meet again and again, an unspoken rhythm that’s part desperation, part devotion. The mattress squeaks under our weight, but I don’t give a damn.

Paint me a saint, but I love it when she’s loud. Except she’s trying not to wake the house while trying to keep her scream buried in that pillow. I’m torn between letting her keep quiet or coaxing her into waking the whole damn neighborhood.

Her entire body trembles, thighs quivering, back shining with a thin film of sweat. I lean down, whisper filth against her shoulder, biting and kissing where my teeth meet her skin.

She whimpers something unintelligible, a choked cry muffled by the pillow. Her hips circle back, meeting my thrusts with a frantic demand. I can feel the tension gathering in her body, every muscle tightening as her breathing goes ragged.

She’s so damn close.

I slide a hand over her lower belly, pressing in just enough to amplify the sensation of me inside her.

“Come for me,” I rumble, shifting my angle, giving it to her harder. “Right now. I’ve got you.”

A shuddering moan tears from her throat, her entire frame locking up. She quivers around me, walls fluttering in violent pulses that drag a guttural growl from my chest.

She’s so fucking beautiful when she breaks.

I hold her through it, working her orgasm until she’s nearly limp.

Then I finally let myself go, chasing that burst of white-hot bliss that leaves me groaning against her neck, pressing her into the bed as my pulse thunders in my ears. The world collapses to just me and her.

When we both come back down to earth, she sags against the sheets and lets out a breathless laugh. “You’re—” She pauses for air. “—going to make me late for work.”

Yeah, me too.

“Fuck it. You’re the boss. You make the rules, remember?” I remind her, slapping her ass.

She shoves my arm. “Not the point.”

The corners of my mouth tug up in a lazy grin as I roll onto my back. “Worth it.”

Tossing me a halfhearted glare over her shoulder, she stands and reaches for the robe draped on the chair. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction she’s trying to disguise. She’s not really mad.

Her footsteps retreat down the hall toward the main bathroom.

I fight the urge to join her in the shower because if I make the argument that we’re conserving water once more this week, she’ll drown me.

So, I lay there, heart still pounding, staring at the ceiling.

Almost eleven years. That’s how long it’s been since she walked into my house as Rosie’s nanny. Well, the old house. We’ve moved since.

A decade of love, madness, heartbreak, and healing followed. A decade of building a family I never knew I wanted, or ever thought I deserved. Everything I had before feels pale in comparison.

I drag myself to my feet and ignore the slight ache in my back.

Not twenty anymore, Turner.

Still, I grin .

I can keep up with her.

That thought alone propels me out of the bedroom and into the other shower.

When I’m done and dressed, I head to Rosie’s room.

I ease the door open, and sure enough, she’s still sprawled under the blankets, a tangle of long limbs and curly hair half-covering her face.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I brush curls from her face. “Hey, princess,” I say quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Time to get up.”

She stirs, letting out a dramatic groan. She’s not even a teenager yet. God help me.

“Daaaad,” she fake cries, rolling onto her stomach. “School sucks.”

“ Yeah, I know, but you need your education.” I only say it because I know she hates that argument.

She pushes herself up, eyes still bleary but immediately narrowing with determination.

“Education?” she says, her voice gaining that sharpness that tells me I’m about to regret opening my mouth.

“Dad, we’ve discussed this. The current education system is fundamentally flawed.

It caters predominantly to a standardized testing model, completely overlooking the needs of independent learners like myself. ”

I hold back a sigh, knowing I’ve unleashed something I can’t easily contain.

She continues, each word articulate and precise beyond her years.

“Studies have consistently shown that self-directed learning fosters critical thinking skills, adaptability, and a greater capacity for creative problem-solving. All of which, I might add, are skills more valuable in today’s rapidly evolving economy than memorizing state capitals or the periodic table. ”

She pauses for breath, crossing her arms defiantly. “Yet, here we are, forced into an outdated classroom model that prioritizes conformity over actual learning. Explain to me again how exactly that’s beneficial?”

I rub a hand over my face, internally cursing every time I spoke to her in complete adult sentences when she was a toddler, terrified she’d end up struggling with speech.

I should have just stuck to baby talk. Now I’ve created a pint-sized debate champion who argues me under the table every chance she gets.

“Rosie,” I start weakly, already knowing I’ve lost, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but—”

She shakes her head firmly. “No buts, Dad. It’s not enthusiasm. It’s logic.”

Yep.

Definitely in trouble.

“Yeah, well,” I say, doing my best to sound authoritative despite knowing I’m already defeated, “logic right now means getting your butt out of bed and to school on time.”

She huffs, flopping back and flinging an arm over her eyes.

“Rosie, come on.”

Another groan before she cracks one eye open, scowling at me like I’m the enemy of all good things. “Where’s Mom?”

“In the shower, and I’m pretty sure she knows your feelings on the education system.” I think Lena got the same spiel yesterday.

“Fine,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

I ruffle her curls gently before standing.

Next stop: the twins’ room—two more lumps under blankets, but these lumps are wide awake and bickering.

“Give it back, idiot!” one hisses, while the other yanks at a sock.

I clap my hands sharply. “Boys! No fighting. Pick your own socks, we have a million pairs.”

They both glance at me, but they drop the poor sock before returning to rummage through piles of clothes.

“Don’t kill each other,” I add, stepping out, trusting they’ll solve it. They always do.

Downstairs, Milo’s waiting by the back door, thumping his giant tail. He’s old now, muzzle sprinkled with gray, but still sweet as ever.

“Alright, big guy,” I say, opening the door to let him out. “Go do your business.”

We moved houses about five years ago, after Lena got pregnant with the twins. We needed more space than that cramped little place could offer. Now we’ve got a yard big enough for a dog the size of a small bear.

In the kitchen, I flick on the coffee machine. The walls are lined with family pictures—Rosie’s first day of kindergarten, the twins with paint-smeared faces, our wedding day. I trace a finger over a photo of Lena in a white dress, smiling so bright I still feel it in my chest.

Grabbing a mug, I set it out as coffee drips into the pot. Moments later, I hear her footsteps on the stairs. It’s a brisk, familiar clip that tells me she’s racing the clock.

Months after we got married, Lena decided to go back to school to get her master’s in music therapy.

I remember those months clearly. Rosie was four, and Lena insisted on studying part-time because she wanted to be there for every milestone.

We argued over it more times than I can count.

Not because I didn’t support her—I did, wholeheartedly—but because Lena has always been the kind of woman who puts everyone else first, even when she deserves to be selfish.

I thought Rosie would be fine. Lena thought differently. She was a mom first, always.

Eventually, Rosie started school, and Lena found her stride. I watched her pour herself into late-night studying, operating on coffee and sheer determination.

Then came the twins, sooner than we’d planned, but that’s the thing about us: nothing about our life ever came with instructions. If our love had a manual, Lena would’ve thrown glitter all over it and skipped half the steps anyway.

I’ll never forget our stunned faces during that first ultrasound when the sonographer announced there were two heartbeats. I swear my own heart hasn’t recovered yet.

Now she has her own thriving business. She built it from the ground up, surrounded by a great team, but Lena still specializes in music therapy for grieving children.

She’s the strongest person I know, the glue that holds our entire chaotic, messy, perfect family together.

She emerges into the kitchen, hair damp and still slightly curly from the shower, dressed in a professional but comfortable outfit, biting her lip in that “I’m late” way. I hand her the mug without a word.

“Thanks,” she breathes, inhaling the aroma. “You’re a lifesaver.”

I slip my arm around her waist. She leans back with a sigh, sipping her coffee and enjoying a brief moment of peace that never lasts long because the kids start trickling in.

The kitchen fills with that typical morning madness. Someone can’t find their homework, someone else is missing a left shoe, and the dog is waiting for scraps of toast.

Lena leans against the counter, just watching them for a second. I watch her, and the way her eyes soften. She’s never needed to micromanage the madness. She just… appreciates it because it’s ours.

I kiss just below her ear as she threads her fingers through mine.

Rosie groans from across the room, looking pointedly at us. “Can you not ?” she complains, rolling her eyes. “It’s too early for gross couple stuff.”

“She tried to debate me this morning,” I whisper in Lena’s ear.

Her shoulders lift with a laugh. “She’s outsmarting us. It’s concerning. She’s teaching the boys now, too.”

One of the twins yells from the hall, “Mom and Dad are in looove!” which sets off a ripple of giggles and shrieks.

She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest. “We’re setting unrealistic expectations for them, you know.”.

“Damn right we are.”

Because why not show them how it’s done?

She just shakes her head, eyes soft as a flush colors her cheeks.

Ten years, and she still looks at me like that.

I… I never thought I’d have this. A home, a wife, kids who fill every inch of my heart, and a dog who’s half dinosaur.

She catches me staring and arches a brow. “What?”

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Nothing. Just happy, baby.”

She leans up on her toes to kiss me in response.

“Oh my God, can you stop it?” Rosie groans with a fake gag as she stuffs her arms in her coat.

Lena pulls away, patting my chest with sympathy. “I’m glad you’re doing the school run this morning.”

Lucky fucking me.

Kissing my cheek one last time, she pulls away.

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” She kisses each of them on the head and runs through a checklist to make sure they’re not forgetting anything.

With one final look over her shoulder, she winks at me. “See you later, Turner.”

I shake my head.

This damn woman.

“Yeah, see you, Turner.”

The End.