Page 103 of If Love Had A Manual

Half of me still buzzes with leftover desire from earlier. My body is sore yet satisfied, and my mind isnothing 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 downmy 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.

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