Page 42 of Descent
And maybe if Rafe hadn’t brought the shock collar into our marriage in the first place, a bitter voice in my head pointed out, things would be different now. Maybe I’d still be pregnant.
That was a lot of fucking maybes.
“You know the rules,” he reminded me. “I won’t let you hold back your pain.”
“Where in the rulebook does it say you get to buy sadistic shock collars as a means of punishment?” The force of my anger surprised me. I hadn’t realized I held so much resentment toward him.
But he’d known, had sensed it, and surprise was the furthest thing registering on his face. More like resignation as he reached for his belt buckle.
“This isn’t about punishment, babe. This is about you letting it all out.”
I watched him with a familiar sense of wariness as he yanked the belt from the loops of his jeans. He didn’t waste time. Raising his arm, he swung with more strength than I expected, and the thick strap came down on my breasts hard.
I yelped upon the impact, straining against the rope holding me prisoner to the bedposts. Pressing my legs together, I tried making myself smaller, more protected, but he only blasted my thighs in response.
“Spread them.”
Spreading them meant standing up straight, meant being more vulnerable to the coming strikes. The next few burned across my belly and the tattoo of his name there, and just when I thought I had my emotions in check, safe from escaping the box I’d forced them into, the top of that box fractured. Tears hung on my lashes, begging to take the dive onto my cheeks.
Instead of wanting the strikes to stop, I wanted more. Craved it to the point of shame. Sensing the precipice, he shuffled back a foot, arm lowering to his side.
With a single blink, I sent those wayward tears splashing onto my cheeks, marking the end of my emotional standoff. “Don’t stop,” I choked, bracing myself for the next set of lashes but needing them all the same. He delivered each one where I craved the pain the most.
Fire across my nipples.
A sting on my belly.
Streaking agony over my thighs.
“We need to talk about your pregnancy,” he said, following the statement with a lash to my right breast.
My thighs quaked from assuming the position for so long, and I gripped the taut rope keeping me upright and at his mercy. “What’s there to talk about? The baby is dead.” The statement echoed, like a demented symphony of reality that only sharpened more each day. An ache exploded in my gut—the type of grief that was impossible to escape.
There wasn’t a fix for this. A million strikes of his belt wouldn’t staunch the bleeding of my heart. Wouldn’t turn the time back to when I was fifteen and had unknowingly set it all into motion. I shuttered my eyes, salty agony leaking down my face, and felt Rafe untying the binds.
“It kills me to see you like this.” He reached for me, but I warded him off, one palm against his chest.
“Don’t touch me.” Buckling over, I held my stomach and bawled. “How much do I have to lose before I’m forgiven?”
“Baby…forgiven for what?” Defeat tainted his tone, words broken by the pain in his throat.
He was the last person I wanted to hurt, but I couldn’t help it. And I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “For everything…everything since you went to prison. Since I sent you there.”
“Is that what you think? That this is all some grand scheme of payback? That you deserve this?”
“What am I supposed to think when everything is taken from me over and over again?”
“You still have me.”
“And I love you so much, Rafe. So fucking much. But I wanted this—” Another sob fractured my voice. “And I know you didn’t.”
“Jesus, Alex. How can you think I wouldn’t want a child with you?”
“Because you walked away from Will.”
“I had good reason to.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Weak in the knees, I propped myself against the mattress and forced myself to meet his gaze. “I’m saying I understood why you walked away.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
A breath rushed out, carrying a hint of doubt. Honesty was paramount in our relationship, and though I didn’t always tell him everything as quickly as he demanded, I wasn’t in the habit of outright lying to him.
But the truth was a painful pill to swallow. “I was scared you’d make me have an abortion.”
He blinked, disappointment deepening the green hue of his eyes. “I’m not Abbott Fucking De Luca, or Zach. I would’ve stood by you no matter what.” Cursing under his breath, he ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so angry, but you should have told me.”
“I know,” I whispered, studying my feet.
He drew in a deep breath, let it out. Then he lifted my chin. “We can try again.”
