Page 104 of If Love Had A Manual

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.

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