Page 62 of Edge of Secrets

Dread was heavy in my gut. Something shining and precious was slipping away from me, and I didn’t know how to stop it. I massaged the muscles in her shoulders and back, but she couldn’t relax—and I couldn’t blame her.

I coaxed her over to my bed, stripping off what remained of her clothes, and turned off the light, tugging her close. She hid her face against my chest, and I stroked her back in long, soothing strokes—my hand gliding over the perfect, fine texture of her skin, all the way down to the curve of her ass. My dick rose up, hot and hard, prodding her thigh, but I gritted my teeth and ignored its throbbing demands.

Patience. This time was all about Nell.

I slid my hand down the cleft of her bottom. She didn’t recoil or stiffen, just nuzzled her face to my chest with a wordless murmur and parted her thighs, letting my hand slide lower, delve deeper. I slowly, tirelessly apologized for what I didn’t have to offer her by showing her what I did have. My other hand joined in, caressing her clit from the front while I thrust two long fingers into her slick, hot pussy from behind, petting and stroking. Long and slow. I drove her higher until she was squirming, panting, thighs clenching, fingernails digging into me. Finally, a sharp, desperate gasp—and her tight little hole pulsed hungrily around my hand. She flopped onto her back, limp.

I rolled on top of her and filled her with a relentless thrust. I wanted to chase away the pain and unease of our last conversation. This was the only way I knew—to lose myself in the heavy rhythm of my body jolting against hers, her gasping cries, my harsh breathing. Somehow, I waited on that razor’s edge for her climax—and my own release followed a split second after, her tight spasms prolonging my pleasure.

Then she burst into tears.

I was appalled. She disentangled herself and curled up with her back to me, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her from behind until her sobs quieted. She fell into an exhausted sleep.

I lay there with her for hours, until the pressure inside me built up to the breaking point. I crept from the bed, tucked the comforter around Nell, and pulled on some sweatpants, wandering into the living room.

The ache of impending doom in my gut kept growing. I went out onto the terrace and stared out into the endless skyscrapers while the chill raised the hairs on my bare skin. It was almost dawn. The city below would wake up soon. I just stood out there, staring. Thinking, feeling. Afraid.

I was losing her. I was killing this somehow, and I was desperate not to. I put my head in my hands, trying to think it through. The weirdness had started when I’d asked her that stupid, ill-considered question about marriage and kids.

Marriage. I examined the concept. Was that what she wanted? Because if it was, well, hell.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t such a crazy idea. Not looked at from a logical standpoint.

I ticked off the positive aspects. Protection. I would have a God-given reason to stay stuck to her if we were newlyweds. There was work, too. If we were married, our relationship would not be fodder for rumor and scandal in the office. No one would have any right to judge or criticize. I would have a further claim upon her undivided attention and expertise for my company. I could easily pay enough so she could quit her other job and have more free time.

She was so smart, I knew I would never get bored with her, as I sometimes had with other women I’d dated. Sex was an important element for both of us, and we certainly had no problems in that area.

I would be faithful. No question about that. I would wake up every morning and find her there, beside me. The thought gave me a wonderful, spine-tingling sense of rightness.

Yes, marriage was the logical culmination of a partnership that worked. It was a win/win. So logical, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. I could hardly wait for Nell to wake up so I could tell her what an excellent idea this was.

I hoped it would make her feel better. That she’d see that I was trying to meet her halfway—as far as I possibly could. And this was pretty damn far. I mean, marriage, for Christ’s sake. How much further could a guy go?

The ache in my gut had vanished at the idea. I was floating again.

I went back inside, intending to creep into the bedroom, lie down beside her, and watch her sleep. Then I saw the eerie blue glow of a computer monitor emanating from one of the couches. Nell sat there cross-legged, wrapped in one of my bathrobes, tip-tapping on her laptop. She must’ve felt the breeze from the door, but she did not look up. She just worked on, utterly absorbed.

I must’ve stared for ten minutes before she took notice of me. Her smile was brief and wan. “Hi. I woke up,” she said. “Couldn’t seem to get back to sleep.”

I stepped in. “What are you doing?”

“I had an idea for the last level of the game,” she said.

The freaking game was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but I wasn’t sure of a smooth way to shift topics and get from here to there. And a proposal of marriage had to be a segue as smooth as oil.

I swallowed, closed the door, and strolled across the room toward her. “What’s the idea?”

Her voice was strangely businesslike. “As it is now, the player rescues the princess only if he garners sufficient points and collects all the magical weapons necessary to defeat the Sorcerer. If the player is clever and ruthless and forgets nothing, he gets the princess. It’s a very simple, banal, mercantile sort of exchange. It’s cold.”

The tension was back in my gut again. This was one of those conversations with undercurrents where a phrase like “pass the butter” could blow up in my face.

“Hardly simple,” I muttered. “You have to sweat blood to make it through all those levels.”

“I propose something different,” she went on. “These tricks should get the player through the Sorcerer’s defenses and to the door of the enchanted tower, but no farther. I propose one last barrier, at least, and maybe one at each level, too, with escalating intensity for each level. To win the game, the player must learn to make leaps of blind faith. He has to go against everything his senses and his past experience tell him. To break the last spell, he has to leave his weapons and spells behind. Dive headfirst into a pit of snakes. Jump into the mouth of a dragon. Walk into a wall of flames. He has to sacrifice everything for love.”

My fingers bit into the couch cushion. So Nell was still pissed. And fucking with my head in this weird, oblique way. I fought with my anger. I had to be careful.

“I’ve been playing with a short text that could be inserted,” she went on. “Something like ‘Only empty hands and a full heart shall pass through the wall of flames unburned.’ This way, it’s not just cleverness that wins the game. It’s faith, courage. Love.”

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