Page 63 of Manhattan Heart

He sweeps right inside the waist of my shorts and cups me directly between the legs.

My entire body, that I’ve kept under horny lockdown for five long weeks, rushes back online, all system go.

My eyes ping open.

“Grayson, what…?”

“Swear to god, if you stop me right now.” he warns low. Rubbing me.

Oh, god. My eyes fly into the back of my head because it feels… good isn’t the word. It’s ecstasy. Gray’s touch is ecstasy itself.

“I don’t understand this sex ban you’ve imposed on us, we need sex with each other like air, but I get it, you want to wait until my all clear. But if you dare stop me from making you feel good right now…”

That’s two threats in the space of twenty seconds he lets drop without finishing.

“It’s not fair to you.” I whine… only half hearted, because already he’s pushing a finger deep inside me and curling it up, touching the mothership that has me jolting in his arms. “Oh, god,Gray.”

“Not watching my wife come for five long weeks is unfair. I need this.”

Immediately my hand goes to his chest, like I can gauge if he’s about to fall apart just from the steady beats under my palm.

Call me weak, call me a selfish bitch, but I don’t stop him and Gray is an expert on how to work my pussy. He kisses the side of my neck, rasping the filthiest, loveliest things about how wet I am for him and how he can’t wait to rail me against every surface in our new house.

I can’t believe we haven’t christened one room yet.

It takes no seconds at all, because did I mention how goddamn primed I’ve been for him all these weeks?

My body contorts and my cry gets trapped in my throat when I press my mouth to the side of his neck.

“There we go, that’s my good girl. Did I rub some of that crazy talk out of you about your birthday?” He’s amused and I’m too blissed to even reprimand him with my best arched eyebrow.

I soon crash land back to normality when my hand registers his chest and I sit up on his lap, rubbing his left side. “Okay, big guy, you need to calm down before this thing pumps out of your chest.”

“I’m fine, India. Turned on.Aroused, wanting to fuck you, but I’m fine.”

My panic has already taken flight.

This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, isn’t it?

I slip off his lap and offer my hand. I can tell by the resigned look on his face that he knows where my thoughts are. He holds his grumpy at bay.

“Come on, let’s grab a nap before dinner.”

He takes my hand but then slides it low around my waist, his fingers splay against the swell of my ass. “Forewarned. I’m probably going to break your hips because I’ll go at you so hard when you lift this stupid ban.” He moans in an un-Gray like manner. Bringing a smile to my face.

I’m doing it for him, he doesn’t realize.

I want him around for decades.

I cuddle him with his head on my chest when we lie on top of our bed, legs and feet tangle around each other and when I stroke his hair back from his forehead, I watch his eyelids flicker closed.

I love this part. When I can put him to sleep. So often he’s rocked me to sleep and I took it for granted. He deserves sweetness too. So I hum one of his favorite songs, I do not sing, I don’t want to deafen him. And I lull him into sleeping for a while. Humming and stroking his hair.

When we get up two hours later for dinner, my Italian sauce is perfection.

Just as I knew it would be.

C H A P T E R 18

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