Page 2 of Manhattan Heart

That if I admit I need help with my mental health, I will somehow be less of a superwoman who can do it all.

I talk a lot of self-deprecating crap to myself sometimes.

Isn’t that the way with females?

We’re our own worst critic.

No one can hate on me like I can hate on me in the right—wrong frame of mind. When anxiety speaks, that bitch expects me to jump through manic hoops.

Therapy continues to help my mom in big strides, she’s a new woman almost and I couldn’t be happier for her. And for the last year, it’s helped a lot with my own issues, to the point that it’s been a while since I’ve had an anxiety attack.

We stand outside of the office, with Gray’s hands bunched in my dress holding my ass cheeks, sometimes pulling apart in that hot way he does that turns me on so fast with how obscene and delicious he can be.

My nose nuzzles along his jaw.

He does this. He holds me for as long as I need, even without me having to say a word. He’s good at anticipating my needs long before I can rationalize them into words. He also knows I’m still coming to terms with dealing with those shitheads called emotions and after a session, I’m usually wide open and unsure how to process them all battering my brain for attention.

I never in a trillion years thought I’d be a woman who is dependent on a man. Oh, not in an unhealthy way, but having someone there, at my back, a support no matter what.

My heart needs Gray.

My whole fucking being in fact needs Gray and I know he feels the same way about me. We have a delicious dependency on the other and we are like two big dumb idiots who just love hard.

Sometimes when we’re out or even just relaxing at home, I see his eyes find me. He does that from time to time, he likes to stop what he’s doing just to make sure I’m okay. I always smile as soon as his gaze hits me.

It’s just one in a million reasons why I will always be in love with Gray.

Marriage has had the opposite effect on him in that he’s become more possessive over me as time has gone on and it doesn’t wane.

I can’t say I hate it. At all.

As for me, marriage only makes me greedier, hungrier for him. I savagely lap up every Gray second that I can.

“My clit is throbbing,” I share licking his stubble. Just a little bit.

I still remember we are on the street.

A private street with next to no traffic, but still, a public walkway with a lot of windows pointing our way.

Gray chuffs a throaty laugh and draws back to show me his twinkling gray eyes I love looking at, especially when he’s churning on top of me.

Three years of marriage and we are at the stage of me telling him my body parts throb.

Ah, who am I kidding?

Gray and I have always been open about everything.

Too much probably if we listen to the statistics of how married people should act with each other.

We don’t need rules, thanks.

“Should I be worried what you talked about today if your little clit is hurting?” He brushes the hair from my eyes and kisses me again.

Showering me in his Gray essence. And like a premenstrual woman on a chocolate binge, I soak him in.

I want more than little pecks, but he’ll get to that eventually.

I poke my tongue in the side of my cheek and grin. “I told her how youaccostedme last night, the minute I was home from work. Didn’t even let me kick off my heels before you were diving under my skirt to fuck me against the hall table like a starved animal.”

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