The Righteous and The Wicked

by April Emerson

  Eric watches her saunter toward him, his lust at its zenith.

  “Hi.” She fidgets as she greets him. She clenches her thighs together; her fever for him owns her entire body.

  In his mind, he’s already doing dirty things to her, though he has yet to touch her. He gazes at her legs, her breasts . . . her face, and her eyes. He doesn’t answer her greeting, but opens the door to the backseat of his Jeep. It’s her last chance to walk away, but instead she swallows the lump in her throat and gets in the car.

  He follows behind her and shuts the door. The interior light goes out and they are submerged in almost total darkness. Emma should feel conflicted, she should feel remorse or fear, but she doesn’t. She feels alive. The wind whistles around the parked car, the air charged with electricity from the approaching storm. She feels his body heat beside her, though she barely sees him. There is no sound but their breath.

  “Get on your knees. Turn around.”

  Emma obeys and faces the window, with her back to him. He pushes her hair off her shoulders and slides his hands over the fabric of her dress. She savors the sensation of having him touch her this way. He slips his fingers around her and they ghost over her silky, stocking-covered thighs. He runs his hands up her body and under her dress, but they freeze when he feels she’s not wearing anything underneath.

  He curses when he finds her uncovered flesh and slides his fingers over her wet lips, teasing her. She moans and presses herself against his hand as he pulls her dress up over her hips, her bare ass on display for him. He brushes his lips and tongue against her lower back and grips her, pulling her toward him. He cups her breasts and luxuriates in the feel of her supple skin. “What do you want me to do to you?”

  She knows the answer he needs to hear. The answer she’s now ready to give to him. Her hesitance to engage in the profane has faded away. Words she thought she would never say flow with ease as she looks at him over her shoulder.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  Overcome, he tugs at her hair and turns her around to face him. He unzips and removes her dress and she kneels before him in nothing but stockings and heels. He fondles her bare skin and then tangles his hands in her soft hair once more.

  “Are you sure? Say it again.”

  He rubs his lips against hers, but holds her hair in his fist so she can’t kiss him back.

  She is silent.

  “Say it again, Emma. What do you want me to do?” He licks her parted lips with the tip of his tongue, and then pulls her face away from him again.

  “I want you . . . to fuck me,” she says, with unfaltering emphasis and purpose.

  Eric didn’t anticipate the emotion he’s feeling. Fierce, uncontrollable want; but for someone who sees him as he is. All the others were victims—trophies. Their total purpose was to provide him with satisfaction. He has never been with a woman who knew about his secret. The wall has come down. Hungry, he covers her lips with his and tastes her soft, sweet mouth. He fills it with a raging and passionate kiss and outside, the rain begins to fall.

  She touches him everywhere: his arms, his hair, his neck. She presses her naked body to his as they kiss, desperate to get as close to him as she can. Then, she dares to touch where he wants it most. She runs her palm along his hard cock, where it’s confined in his dark jeans.

  He breaks the kiss. “Shit.”

  She rubs him, and his eyes roll closed in the darkness. His breaths are deep and heavy. His reaction makes her brave and she opens his belt. His hands rest on either side of her neck and he looks down at her fingers; he watches as she unleashes him. She lowers the zipper and slips her hand inside his briefs. Finally, she touches his thick hardness—it’s full and throbbing—waiting for her. She retrieves her purse from the floor of the car and pulls out a condom. She opens it, and slides it all the way down his hard cock.

  “Eric . . . I want you to fuck me.”

  He flips her thin body around again and she presses her hands against the cold window. She sees tiny rivers of rain run down the glass. The soft sound of falling water whispers against the car as Emma rests her forehead against the window and braces for what he’s about to give her.

  He’s obsessed with filling his void and feeding his hunger. The same as it always is when he’s with a woman this way. He can hear her uneven breathing. He wants to make it faster, he wants to make her breathless, he wants to hear her scream. He rubs the head of his cock between her legs, luxuriating in the way her body responds to him. She stiffens and he feels her getting wetter as he rubs himself against her. He thinks of Emma’s secret.

  “You liked listening to me fuck those women, didn’t you? It got you hot . . . it made you wet. You wished it was you, didn’t you?” He teases her with his words and his body. “Did you dream about this? Did you touch yourself and think about me? My cock inside those girls . . . inside of you . . .”

  “Eric, please . . .”

  “Please? Please what?” He places just the tip of his hard-on inside her.

  “Yes. Yes, I liked it. I wanted it to be me. Please, Eric . . . please . . .”

  The fact that she’s almost as desperate as he is makes him clench his jaw and grind his teeth. He feels himself begin to sweat as he grips her shoulders and enters her. His ears ring with the bliss only an addict can know—the unparalleled relief of getting what is so needed. The bones of his hips meet the flesh of her ass, and Emma’s whole body shifts forward. He’s filling her, and she’s taking it. He pulses against her, and holds her waist. His thrusts are rough as he pulls her body into his. The frenzy has begun. He can hear her breath quicken, every moment he gets closer to making her scream.

  “Ahh . . .” He sees her fingers clenching into fists.

  He quickens his pace, plunging in and out of her, deeper and harder. She whimpers and the blackness falls over him. He’s falling. He is free. He’s merciless. He is fucking her.

  The glass is cold against her palms, but the rest of her body’s on fire. She’s been dead inside for so long, but right now, she feels more alive than she ever has before. Her blood pounds in her ears and the initial sweet sting and burn of him entering her have dissolved into extreme pleasure. Emma basks in the glory of submitting to her lust. He fills her and she struggles to balance herself. The way he commands her makes her feel like clay being molded.

  Emma knows his hands have walked this path before on all kinds of women. At first, she relishes the sensation, but she senses the Storm taking over. He pounds against her and she knows he’s losing himself. This is the same way it’s been with all the others. She lets him take what he needs, but she wants this to be different. She wants to make him hers somehow. She needs to see his eyes. She breaks his rhythm and turns to face him. The precious gratification of being so close to him is enslaving her. The fire that Eric lit in her is raging out of control. She looks over his body and in a moment of abandon, she takes control. She pushes his shoulders until Eric settles into the seat, then she straddles his legs and pulls his black T-shirt off his body.

  Eric is disoriented. He never allows his victims to dictate how his ritual will unfold. But Emma is fucking turning him on. She hovers her wetness where he wants to feel it and her bare breasts are so close to his lips. He reaches up to push the waves of hair from her face. She strokes him and guides him inside her, pressing her hips into his. She lingers there and moans with eyes closed, just relishing the sensation.

  “You feel so good.” He cradles her face.

  The kiss they share is amplified by the intimacy of him buried in her so deep. She lifts up as they kiss, and he rises to meet her. Their bodies create a slow, steady cadence. Beads of sweat roll down Emma’s bare back and he cups her breasts and adores her pert nipples with his lips.

  “Do I feel as good as all the others?” she asks.

  He can’t believe his ears; he never thought she would meet his darkness this way.

  He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Better. So much fucking better.”

>   She rides him harder now and he can feel it resurfacing, the demon raging at the gate, ready to be unleashed. He touches her in every place he can and licks the skin between her breasts. She’s so sexy, he can’t hold on much longer, but if he’s going to be satisfied, he will have to take her his way.

  He grabs her waist and lays her body back down onto the seat. Her hair splays out over the leather and her pale skin contrasts with the dark interior of the car. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths as he brings her legs up onto his shoulders. He braces himself against the window and forces himself back inside her, taking her the way that he must. She cries out, but he shows her no tenderness as he surrenders to the black. In the back of his mind, he wants to stop, but he can’t. She deserves better than what he’s doing to her now—she deserves slow and gentle adoration—but his thirst only allows for primal and carnal debauchery. She grips on to his thrusting hips and Eric watches her beautiful breasts move in rhythm. He’s fucking her the way he needs to—rough and selfish—raw. He feels himself boiling, and soon he will come; he will get what he needs. Sweat drips from his chin onto her flat, satin skin. He leans back and fucks her even faster now, incomprehensible profanities falling from his lips.

  The windows are covered in fog from their hot breath. He watches her purity fading from her and something inside him feels different. He gets lost in her gaze, and once again, pleasure is something he wants to give to the angel he’s corrupting. He shifts his hips back, forcing the head of his cock against the inside of her body in a way he knows will make her come harder than she ever has before. Her body jolts and trembles as her back arches and feverish euphoria spreads across her face.

  “Oh! Eric! Oh, yes! Oh, God!” Her body writhes in the cramped backseat. She screams and moans and shrieks and comes, and Eric’s release is unfathomable. It feels like a revelation, a rapture. He’s dizzy from the pleasure, and she’s screaming his name, and it is so fucking unbelievable. His cock thunders inside her, and he watches her lovely face in the tumultuous throes of the devilish ecstasy he has made her feel. His satisfaction is unspeakable. It has never been this good . . . and he has never felt so evil.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The agreement Eric and Emma made should have been simple: when Eric felt he needed to feed his addiction, it would be Emma who gave herself to him. What neither of them accounted for was the way this arrangement would affect them, the way it would change them, the way it would make them feel.

  They couldn’t have known that being together that way would awaken Eric’s long dormant heart and Emma’s untapped lust. The arrangement should have been simple, but nothing ever is.

  The morning after Eric was with Emma in the Jeep, he climbs a ladder with his tool belt heavy at his waist, but it’s not as heavy as the sinister burden he carries in his soul. Everything that felt good in the night is repulsive in the harsh light of day. He feels the familiar pang of shame and regret that floods through him after every seedy tryst he engages in, but this time it is unbearable. The haunting truth that he used a beautiful, innocent woman to satisfy his loathsome sickness is crushing him.

  He will not allow himself to see her. He cares for her, and because of that, he must leave this place before he damages her further. He rolls up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and begins work on the roof of the house. He’s glued to his task. Creating, not destroying. The sooner he gets this house completed and sold, the sooner he can move on. This house is not his home, it will never be his home, and he was a fool to think it could be. He punishes his body as he toils beneath the hot sun, imprisoning himself in his work. This is not what he wanted to do. He took advantage of a lonely girl and made her an accessory to his crime. He’s beyond reproach and beyond forgiveness. He wipes the sweat from his brow and makes a weak vow to never, ever do it again.

  Days pass, filled with silence. Her car rumbles by and he looks up from his book for just a moment. Trying to ignore her has been challenging, and forcing his obscene fantasies from his mind is next to impossible. He has labored to forget the things they did that night in the rain, but the memories are stubborn and refuse to budge. To sleep with a woman and have her not be just a victim has made him question everything he thought he knew about himself, but his inevitable inability to treat her well has shown him he can’t be better than what he is.

  Emma deserves more. He has tried so hard to survive his nights without her, resisting the temptation to call or go to her has been a daunting feat. An itch that he can’t scratch. Just as much as he craves her body and what he can take from her, he also feels a pull to her in a way that is more than just physical . . . and it’s terrifying. He would love to kiss her and hold her, to pick up the phone and call her, to hear her voice. He would love to be healthy enough to share what he’s feeling with her. Paralyzed by his shame, he knows every second that passes takes her further away from him. He hates this truth, but this is how it has to be.

  Emma comes home from a brutal, long, and exhausting day of work. Eric’s trailer beckons to her as she drives past and she suppresses the impulse to knock on his door. She opens her mailbox. A delicate envelope is addressed to her.

  You are cordially invited to the engagement celebration of

  Danielle and Sean, to be held at La Luna Restaurant

  Saturday, May 24th at seven o’clock in the evening.

  Formal attire.

  It’s been almost a week since she’s seen Eric. She’s afraid to call him, and he has not contacted her. After the night they were together, she assumed he would come to her again, but he hasn’t. His absence in her life is profound. She’s not what he wanted—she wasn’t able to give him what he needs. That night was amazing for her, but it’s obvious that Eric doesn’t feel the same. Too nervous to walk down that path, she’s frightened of what will happen if she crosses the invisible boundary he has drawn.

  Emma has become almost obsessed with thoughts of Eric’s naked body. She once pushed those thoughts away, but not anymore. She remembers the beauty of that night, lying together in the backseat of his Jeep, silent except for the sound of the falling rain . . . the things he did to her, and she to him. The pleasure he made her feel, the way he pushed her to the edge of everything she has ever held to be true. She let herself go, and for a few precious moments, she was set free from the bondage of her faith and her past. She remembers the tenderness he showed her after the deed was done—zipping up her dress and slipping her shoes back onto her feet. She thinks of him walking the short distance to her car with his coat held over her head to shield her from the rain. She remembers the lost and distant look in his eyes when he leaned in to plant a restrained kiss her on forehead . . . and then he said goodbye.

  Since then, there has been empty silence. She has heard him hammering every day; the banging almost speaks to her, forbidding her from coming near.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Stay. A. Way.

  Every night, Emma makes more food than the she needs to and plays records louder than she should, in the hope that he will come. She lies awake listening for the sound of her phone vibrating or his Jeep leaving. She’s waiting for him to break down again and hunt, but he has not yet done so, and she hasn’t slept. She fantasizes about him, his eyes, his voice, his body. His face has taken up sole residence in her mind’s eye. Heavy breaths, naked flesh and the taste of his mouth. She wants him so much.

  She’s sure that he’s struggling, and she’s selfish in her lust for him. She feared that after she enabled his sickness he would reject her out of shame, and her fear has come true. She’s sullen and bitter, but giving him space is something she will do with reluctance. Once again, Emma is doing what she does best—putting someone else’s needs before her own.

  Sean and Eric walk out of the bar into the night. “I know you don’t have a mailbox or anything, so I’m just gonna hand this to you.” Sean lights a cigarette and digs in his backpack, then hands Eric an envelope.

  “It’s an invite to our engagement p
arty. Danni wants everyone to meet each other before the wedding, you know, the bridal party and the family. It would mean a lot to me if you were there. You can even bring a date, if you want.” Sean pats his best man on the shoulder.

  Eric thinks of how much he would like to ask Emma to accompany him. He wishes he were normal; that he could have a girlfriend. He imagines an alternate universe where he would be satisfied with just one woman, and could treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But that will never be.

  He puts the envelope in his back pocket. “I’ll be there.”

  Weeks pass and Emma still hasn’t seen Eric. She distracts herself by spending time with her friends. Today she walks beside Abby, whose mouth gapes open like a goldfish.

  “I think I need to sit down. Yep. Yes, I definitely need to sit down. How can you drop a bomb like this at the damn mall, Emma? Let’s go to the food court before I pass out.” Abby jerks Emma’s elbow, dragging her past the busy shops.

  Emma has finally confessed her sins to Abby, but she doesn’t feel absolved. More than guilt, Emma feels fear. Fear of never touching him again. Fear of not having the chance to sin again. She parts from her friend and gets two coffees. When she returns, she finds Abby with her head down, resting on her folded arms. She looks back up as Emma approaches.

  “Sex. You’re serious? You had sex with this guy? In the backseat of a car? Wait till Danni hears this shit. She’s gonna die.”

  “I’m not telling you this so you can tell Danni and Jeff and Sean and everyone else we know. I’m telling you this because I need some discreet advice. I’m not, like, an expert on seducing guys.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you had to work too hard.” Abby sips her latte.