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She lets out soft moans as she moves, and as good it feels, I can only take so much before I grab her hips and start pounding into her hard and rough. Those soft moans turn into loud cries of pleasure as I slam into her.
I know some women don’t like doggy style for many reasons, but Jenna loves it. And it’s hot as hell. The woman is always surprising me.
Reaching around, I rub her clit again and bring her to two more orgasms before I finish inside her.
When we both collapse on the bed, breathless, she says, “Holy shit.”
“Uh-huh,” is all I can manage to get out.
“Glad I showed you the book.”
Propping myself up on my arm, I look at her, “Sunshine, remind me to buy you as many of those books as you want.”
Chapter Forty-one
Jenna
“Well, Doc, am I crazy?” I ask the doctor sitting in front of me.
It’s been about a week since I had my talk with Momma about her mental health demons, and after much deliberating, I decided to see a doctor of my own.
I’ve spent the week reading books and hanging out with Shane when he gets off work, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to do much else. Ever since my last bout with my depression, I still don’t feel back to normal. The fact that it’s lingering longer than it ever has before convinced me to at leasttryto do something to make it better.
Still not wanting anyone around town to know what I’m up to, I opted to drive to the nearest city to get away from all the prying eyes of the local small towns, which brings us to right now.
Dr. Ferguson gives me a warm smile as she tucks a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “No, Miss Mitchell, you’re not crazy.”
“So, what’s my problem?”
“Well, it sounds like you’re struggling with depression and maybe even a little bit of anxiety. A myriad of different things can cause this, but usually, it’s because of some sort of chemical imbalance in your brain.”
That’s what Momma’s doctor told her too.
“How do I fix it?” I ask.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that it’s something that youfix.But we are certainly going to do our best to try to manage it.”
She writes me a prescription for an anti-depressant, but before handing it to me, she says, “I need you to know that treating this is mainly a matter of trial and error. We will try this one and see how it goes for a few weeks. If you feel like things are getting worse or have any bad thoughts, I want you to stop taking them immediately, and we will try another medication. When I see you in a few weeks, we can adjust the dosage if we need to.”
I take the small piece of paper out of her hand and look down at it. Part of me wants to immediately walk out of here and throw it in the trash. After all, I’m not good at accepting help.
But something stops me. For years, I used volleyball as a crutch to help me get through my dark days. It was the one thing that helped me when the walls came closing in on me.
Now, I don’t have that anymore. My crutch is gone. I have Shane, but I refuse to use him as my crutch. Our relationship should be a partnership, not one person constantly struggling to keep the other afloat. If I’m going to use something as a crutch, it might as well be something that’s actually intended for that use.
So, when I leave, I make my way to the pharmacy located inside the building and get the prescription filled. Once again, I don’t want anyone in Grady to know anything about my health issues. It’s none of their damn business.
When I’m done, I head back to Grady and decide to make a pit stop in town before heading home. The label on the orange bottle of my new medicine says I shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach, so I opt to run into Dena’s and get a pastry. Carbs always make me feel better.
Five minutes, a bear claw, and an iced coffee later, I am back out on the streets of the small town. Walking around, I devour my sweets before noticing a book shop on one of the corners. It must be pretty new because it wasn’t here before I left for college.
I decide to duck inside and browse for a few minutes before heading home. A bell on the door chimes as I walk inside.
A curvy blonde woman appears from the back and comes to greet me. She’s got thick black-rimmed glasses and a tiny little stud in her nose. She wears a tank top which shows off all the ink up and down her arms.
“Hey!” She says, walking toward me. “I’m Gwen.”
I shake her hand and say, “Hi, I’m Jenna.”
