I sigh. “Okay. Our sex life is… He’s into BDSM.”
She nods, not looking surprised at all. Has she heard this kind of stuff before? She’s a counselor, yes, but she’s a young counselor from Liberty, Kansas. How much could she have come across in her brief professional life?
“How do you feel about the BDSM in the bedroom?” she asks.
My cheeks are full-on blazing now. They must be fire engine red. “I resisted a little at first. But just a little. I actually”—damn, my cheeks are on fire!—“really like it.”
“All right. That’s good. He’s not coercing you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s been very respectful. I was surprised how much I like it, though.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’ve always been pretty type A, and submitting in the bedroom takes all my control away.”
“Not necessarily,” she says.
I widen my eyes. “What?”
“Some say it’s the submissive who has the control in that kind of relationship.”
“How can that possibly be true?”
“Because the submissive—at least in a healthy Dominant/sub relationship—gets to choose how far they want to go. The sub is the one with the safe word. The sub can stop what’s going on at any time. Therefore, the sub has more control than the Dom.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Hmm. I never looked at it that way.”
“Most people don’t, but it has merit.”
“It does. But here’s the weird part. I wanted to do something, and Braden said no.”
“What did you want that he wouldn’t give you?”
I bite my lower lip. Here goes. Rosa is a professional, and she may have an answer. “I wanted him to choke me.”
If she’s shocked, her face doesn’t show it. “Why did you want that?”
“That’s what I need to find out. I don’t know.”
“When did the idea come to you?”
“We were in a BDSM club, and I saw another Dominant do it to his submissive. It… I want to say it turned me on, but that almost seems too tame. It lit a fire in my belly, if that makes sense. The idea of being completely at Braden’s mercy, with my life literally in his hands… It sparked something inside me.”
“Why do you think you wanted it so much?”
“I wish I knew. Braden refused to do it, said it was his only hard limit, but he won’t tell me why. Yet he wants me to tell him why I want it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want his reason to affect yours.”
“Yeah. He said as much.”
Rosa jots down a few notes. “He sounds like a smart man. Of course, he wouldn’t be where he is today if he weren’t smart.”
“He’s brilliant, yeah,” I say. “But he’s also really private, you know? He’s opened up to me a little bit, but I don’t have any idea why he enjoys the darker side of sex so much.”
“There may not be a reason for that, Skye. Some people like kink, and they’re perfectly normal people psychologically. I’ve seen a few studies that show them to be psychologically healthier than people who practice solely vanilla sex. Though another study could show the exact opposite. That’s the problem with studies. You can find one to pretty much say whatever you want.” She smiles.
I return her smile and nod. “Yeah. You’re right about that. How do you know so much about all this?”
She laughs then, but not in a rude way. “I wouldn’t be a very good therapist if I didn’t know about various sexual lifestyles.”
I laugh as well. “I suppose you’re right. How long have you been practicing?”
“Just under a year. But I did a three-month internship with a sex therapist while I was getting my masters, so I’ve heard it all.”
“Can you help me, then? Can you figure out why I wanted the choking so much?”
“Only you can figure that out, but I can help point you in the right direction.” She checks her watch. “ I’m sure I have some time tomorrow. Check with Mary, and she’ll set you up.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Rosa.”
“My pleasure. See you tomorrow.”
I leave Rosa’s office, and after setting everything up with Mary, I walk back out onto Main Street.
And I feel pretty darned good.
Chapter Nineteen
Mom is out in her flower garden when I get home. “Hi, honey,” she says.
I crouch down next to her and smile. “Can I help?”
She shakes her head. “Dinner’s in the Crock-Pot, and I’m about done here.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Where do you think? Out working.”
I nod. Of course I already knew that. I want to broach the uncomfortable subject that we talked about this morning, and I’m resorting to small talk.
She sighs and meets my gaze. Her eyes are brown like mine. I look a lot like her. I always have. My dad’s eyes are blue—dark blue, though, not like Braden’s bright, fiery blue. My mother is pretty and looks great for her age. Hardly a line on her face, but her gaze tells a different story this afternoon. It reeks of resignation. Of something she doesn’t want to face but must.
“You’re not going to let this go,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question. She already knows.
“I can’t, Mom.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m trying to figure some things out about myself. About my relationship with Braden. About my relationship with everyone, honestly. And it all seems to come back to those few months when Dad left.”
“Would it surprise you to know that him leaving wasn’t his idea?”
My mouth drops open.
She blows out a breath. “I guess the answer is yes. You’re surprised.” She stands and removes her gardening gloves. “We didn’t have a lot of money in those days, but that year we had a bumper crop and we needed extra help. We hired a hand. His name was Mario.”
I cock my head. “I don’t remember anyone by that name.”
“Think, Skye. That day you ran off, chasing a praying mantis. It was Mario who found you.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “I don’t remember anyone finding me. I just remember waking up later in my bed.”