Page 15 of Wishing Stone

Thank God for modern technology.

Once the little icon had a red slash through it to signal that the mic had been successfully muted, I turned to Alexander.

“It’s been a year since we last used the playroom,” I blurted out. “Why haven’t you wanted to use it? Have I done something wrong?”

Alexander’s eyes widened as his shock registered. “I’m sorry. What?”

“The playroom. Why haven’t you brought me there lately?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

“Well, no. If it were, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“First of all, you were right to mute the computer, Krystina. Our sex life will never be any of Dr. Tumblin’s business.”

“I figured as much. That’s why I did it,” I said with a shrug and looked down at my hands. Despite my best efforts, they were fidgeting in my lap again. I clamped my palms together, focusing my attention on the wood graining of the table. After nearly four years of marriage, I knew I shouldn’t be nervous about having this conversation. But for some reason, I was.

“Angel, what we do in the playroom can be taxing on the body. I don’t want you doing anything too strenuous anymore, especially after your last miscarriage,” he said, then paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he trained his eyes on me once again, those gorgeous, expressive blues were full of turmoil and guilt. “The playroom is a hard limit for me for the immediate future. I just can’t risk it. What happened the night before you miscarried…it was my fault…I…I shouldn’t have…”

My eyes widened as he faltered trying to explain. A horrible understanding crept in. He didn’t even need to finish the sentence. I knew what he was thinking.

The night before I’d lost our third baby, Alexander and I had been in the playroom. I remembered it clearly because it was the last time that we used the room. Goosebumps raced down my spine, igniting an instant fire in my belly as I recalled the way I’d been restrained face-first against the wall with my hands shackled above my head. Alexander had been merciless with the flogger, slowly working me over and bringing me to the brink of ecstasy over and over again.

The cracking sound against my skin echoed in my mind. I’d felt glorious, but I couldn’t ignore what Alexander just said about not wanting me to do anything too strenuous. I had been straining that night, pulling against the binding restraints as I succumbed to the pleasures only my husband could bring me.

Now I knew why Alexander seemed to take the loss of our third baby so much harder. He blamed himself for it. It shattered me to realize he’d been carrying that guilt around this entire time.

No. No. No. It wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault.

I wanted to scream the words but only managed to shake my head in denial before glancing back at the computer screen. Dr. Tumblin was waiting with a curious expression. Leaning in, I unmuted the mic.

“Dr. Tumblin, we’re all set for now,” I said. “Alex and I need to talk about something. We only have about five minutes left in our session anyway. Can we pick this back up next month?”

“Sure, I guess. Is everything okay, Krystina? You look a bit alarmed.”

“Everything is fine. Like I said,” I paused to give a meaningful look at Alexander. “We have something to talk about, and I think it’s best if we go at it ourselves.”

“Alright,” Dr. Tumblin conceded, albeit reluctantly. “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you,” I said with a short nod. Alexander did the same, and I ended the video chat. Then, taking his hand, I led him over to the small leather loveseat on the opposite side of the office. I sat down, then patted the area next to me.

Alex moved to sit beside me, then reached up to cup my cheek and said, “Angel, I—”

“Shhh. It’s my turn to talk.” I shushed him by bringing a finger to his lips. “What happened… it wasn’t your fault. You cannot blame yourself. I won’t have it.”

Taking my finger from his lips, he began to kiss it softly while staring intently at me. The anguish in his eyes nearly gutted me.

“Krystina, I was the one who fastened those leather cuffs to your wrists. I didn’t consider the risks, and you were too aroused at that moment to be thinking clearly. What if—”

“What if nothing,” I said, effectively cutting him off again by pressing my mouth to his.

Our lips moved slowly as Alexander fisted his hands in my hair. He drew me closer to him, deepening the kiss. I wanted the languid movement of our lips and the gentle swipes of my tongue to show him how much I irrevocably trusted him and could never blame him for our loss.

He pressed his mouth harder to mine, almost as if he were signaling that he understood. Our hands roamed in tender caresses of exploration over backs and shoulders, up and down arms, and moving to cup each other’s faces. I moaned against him as the intensity of what flowed between us sent shockwaves through my system. When we finally broke apart, our breathing was ragged.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered. Emotion was heavy in his voice as he stared intently into my eyes. “I wouldn’t survive if something happened to you—whether it be by my hands in the playroom or this godforsaken virus. So, please. Let me do what I need to do to keep you safe, angel.”

The intensity of his words nearly leveled me, and my throat clogged with emotion. Burying his face into my neck, he breathed deep, then began peppering kisses along my jawline. I angled my head, inviting him to take more and relishing the feel of his lips as they traveled down my neck.

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