Page 117 of If Love Had A Manual

He slides two fingers inside me with devastating ease.

My hips buck, but he holds me in place, mouth working in tandem with his fingers, tongue circling and sucking, fingers curling just right. My entire body is a live wire, tension coiled tight in my belly.

“Wes—I—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he demands. “Let me taste you fall apart.”

And I do. I detonate, crying out, body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over me. He doesn’t stop until I’m whimpering and wrung out.

Only then does he crawl back up, mouth slick, eyes ablaze.

He fumbles for the condom, not even bothering to hide how badly he needs me, and when he slides into me, it’s a slow, ruthless stretch.

I wrap my legs around him, anchoring him to me, helpless against the onslaught.

“More,” I beg.

Because all at once, it’s never enough and always too much.

He gives it, driving into me with punishing precision, whispering filth in my ear between kisses that are all teeth and tongue and possession.

“I think about this all fucking day,” he pants. “About your moans. About the way you beg. About how tight you squeeze my cock when you come.”

I unravel again, body shaking as another orgasm crashes through me. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just rides it out until he finds his own release.

We gradually drift back to earth with tangled limbs and ragged breaths.

He withdraws and lies down beside me, but I’m trembling, and my mind is spinning with everything unsaid. It’s not just sex; we both know that. It’s something else, something deeper.

Yet the fear lingers.

What if we can’t keep this going?

Whatarewe even doing?

He rolls onto his back, one arm draped across my waist as he pulls me into his side. I rest my cheek against his shoulder, allowing the cool air to waft over our overheated skin. For the longest time, the only sound is our combined breathing settling into a calmer rhythm. I try to lose myself in the moment and ignore the prickle of anxiety that creeps in.

But if I don't say something, I’ll spiral.

“Wes?”

“Hmmm?”

My insides twist with nerves. “What are we doing?”

That catches his attention. “What do you mean?”

I push up on one elbow, dragging the sheet to cover my chest. My heart’s pounding again, but this time with worry, not lust. “I need to know where we stand, because if you wake up and decide this is over…” My voice quivers. “I love Rosie. If this ends, then I lose her. I can’t take that risk if this is just some fling for you.”

The moment those words fall, I regret them, but I need the truth. Every day I sink deeper into this, it makes the potential fallout even worse.

His jaw tightens, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “Lena—”

“I’m serious,” I push on, ignoring the lump in my throat. “Do you even do casual? You keep your emotions guarded, Wes. So if this is temporary, if you—”

His hand cups my cheek and cuts the words from my tongue. “You’re notjustthe nanny.”

“What am I then?” I whisper, hating how vulnerable I sound.

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