The Righteous and The Wicked

by April Emerson

  Eric lifts her up and presses into her. She wraps her legs around him and moans. He breaks the kiss, pushing her hair from her eyes.

  “Do you forgive me?” He wants nothing more than this.

  Emma remembers a time when he had to work for her forgiveness. She smirks at him. “No.”

  He grins and carries her into the house and up the staircase. When they reach her bedroom door, he presses her against it and then pulls her nightgown over her head. He stands there looking at her as if she’s a treasure, a gift. He pulls off his shirt and takes both of her breasts in his hands. He massages them, eyeing them with yearning. Then his mouth descends and kisses her small, pert nipples.

  “I was so sure that I would never see you again,” she whispers.

  His mouth is so warm and so welcome. Her skin tingles and prickles with electric desire. She thought she’d never feel his touch again, and now that he’s here, her body and her heart are so grateful.

  “I could never stay away from you, Emma. I love you too much. I could never stay away.”

  His adoration of her is relentless and her body responds to him with intensity. Her breasts tremble as his tongue encircles her pointed pink flesh and she starts to feel faint. Her legs quiver and she threads her fingers into his hair in an attempt to keep herself steady. He slides his hand between her legs and sucks at her breasts harder. He slips his long fingers into her and she grips his arm. She can feel his muscles ripple.

  “God, I missed this.” Eric moves his lips away from her breasts and up to her delicate neck. He breathes in her sweet perfume and licks just below her ear. He kisses her neck, down to her collarbone. He freezes for a second when she unzips his pants and he feels her hands encircle his swollen hardness. She strokes him and he presses his lips to hers. They both pant and gasp for breath as he opens her bedroom door and lays her down on the bed. He looks at her with adoration as he rubs his thumb across her parted lips.

  There’s a moment of exquisite suspense as Emma guides him inside her. When he enters her, a blossoming burn radiates through each of their bodies, beginning where they are joined. There is no distance between them now; the love they feel ebbs and flows. He slides his fingers down her neck and over her breasts, he grips her hips in his rough hands, and they melt against each other as he pushes deeper inside. He grazes his lips over her delicate jaw, kissing her once again. In this kiss, they drown.

  “Each second without you was torture.” He holds her body to his and looks into her eyes. He wants to know she feels the same.

  “I dreamed about you. I dreamed you never left,” she whispers.

  She grips his shoulders and he watches the way her eyes beg him for more. He’s ecstatic to feel her body against his and it’s what he wants, not what he needs. He’s triumphant. He won the battle. He has defeated the darkest parts of himself.

  “Tell me that you forgive me, Emma.”

  Eric may have beaten his demons, but Emma has embraced hers. “Make me come. Then you’ll be forgiven.”

  He moans as her tongue meets and tangles with his, binding them together even further as he cradles her face. He slows his pace and they kiss and rock together, their hearts swollen with gratitude and joy. He pulses his hips against her harder, pulling her against him, forcing his cock deeper inside as his lust courses through his body. There is no shadow of his darkness, no compulsion, just his desire to be with her. To please Emma—just Emma.

  There are so many things she wants to say, but no words feel right. She speaks to him with her body, pulling him closer, touching him everywhere, relishing the pleasure of having him inside her once again. She has been lost and left, and she has learned how to live without the crutch of another. She has learned how to be alone. That knowledge was a gift she didn’t ask for, but it has made this moment so much sweeter. She doesn’t need him to make her whole. She is whole without him.

  Both Eric and Emma feel it at the same time, like a page turning. Their lovemaking becomes a greedy frenzy and they grasp at each other’s flesh, gasping and moaning and cursing. They move together with haste, each approaching the threshold of pleasure.

  “Eric, kiss me, please.”

  He licks at her lips and then presses his mouth to hers. The kiss causes her to tighten around him as she comes and his whole body jolts. He feels his own release speeding toward him. His thighs burn; he feels himself tightening and constricting before he unleashes himself. His cock convulses and he cries out with pleasure and then rests his head against hers. Dizzy with satisfaction, he collapses beside her.

  Emma lies on the cool of her sheets, naked, next to the man she loves. Exhausted, but satisfied, and in awe of him. In awe of the way he makes her feel and that he has returned to her. Her heart couldn’t be more full than it is right now. She runs her hand through his sweat-soaked hair as they struggle to catch their breath.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” he says, with eyes closed.

  “Why did you sell the house?” She fears his response.

  He opens his eyes. “Because that house wasn’t my home.”

  She looks away from him, hurt that he doesn’t dream of a life together the way she does. Eric grips her chin and pulls her gaze back to his.

  “Emma, that house was not my home. My home is with you—wherever you are.” He touches her heart and presses his ear to her chest. He listens to it beating and speaks the truest words that have ever left his lips. “This is home.”

  She closes her eyes and lets his words sink into her soul.

  “I’m so sorry for hurting you.” He places his head beside hers on the pillow and strokes his hand along her face. “I know how much pain you have been through. You have to know that I never wanted to make you feel that way.”

  She nods. “I know. I know you had to leave, and I forgive you.”

  She sits up. Her bare back is to him and her pale skin is illuminated by the morning sun. She hugs her knees and Eric sits up beside her.

  “It was hard. Being without you. It did hurt.” She’s quiet for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “You know, when I . . . lost the baby . . . I was sure nothing could ever hurt more than that. That feeling of loss, grief. I was sure that I would never, that I could never feel whole again. I just couldn’t understand why that had to happen to me.”

  She turns her head so she can look in his eyes. “It didn’t make sense, but now I see. I see why it happened. I have the answer. It had to happen so that I could find you. I never would’ve come back here if I hadn’t lost the baby. I would still be with Aaron and I never would have known you.”

  He wraps his arms around her and lies back on the bed, pulling her down with him, holding her tight to his chest. He holds her close, but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say.

  “Eric, when you were gone, it hurt, but I knew there had to be a reason for my pain. Even though it seemed impossible, I had faith you would return. No matter how much suffering I endured, I kept my faith in God, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it. Knowing that there was a reason helped me to keep my faith, but surviving—living through that pain—that gave me faith in myself. I learned how strong I am.”

  Eric’s in awe of her—her bravery, her faith, her ability to love and to forgive. “I love you, Emma.”

  She looks up at him, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

  He kisses her lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

  She slides her long leg up over his hip and he pulls her body closer to him. “Yes, you do.”

  Their lips touch and they are each possessed by a deep desire to never let the other go.

  “I want this to be forever, Emma. Tell me that you want it, too.” He holds her fragile face between his palms and looks into her eyes, into her soul.

  “I do. Forever.”

  As they lie facing each other, she feels him grow rigid beside her softness. Having no reason to resist their desires, their hips press together and then he’s inside her again. He mov
es, slow and deep. He looks down at her body, at her delicate neck, her supple breasts, and where their bodies are joined together. He slides his hand into her hair, and holds tight, pulling her body down as he rises up inside her.

  “It’s so hard to be gentle with you. I dreamed of your skin, your hands, your legs, your lips. Every night.”

  She knows what he means, and shows him as she moves her hips in tandem with his. He buries his face in her breasts and her neck, fighting against his body, trying to restrain himself so he can make her feel good.

  She doesn’t make it easy for him, her fingernails drag across his skin, leaving tingling trails. Her body meets his again and again, and he can’t help but moan at how good she makes him feel.

  “Do you like that?” she teases.

  “Please, amorcita, if you talk that way . . .”

  She swivels her hips so she’s on top of him—in control. She wants to show him how much she loves this, how much she wants him, always.

  The light from the window bathes her whole body and Eric watches with delight as she leans back, her hands running through the deep, dark waves of her hair. The slight sweat on her body glistens and she almost looks like she is glowing. “So beautiful.”

  He reaches to touch her in places he knows will please her, but she grabs his hands and leans over him. “No. Let me do this for you.”

  She holds him down and rides him faster, her breasts are at his lips, and he kisses her there. Sounds of pleasure stutter from her lips as she slides up and down his stiff shaft.

  Eric wants to throw her down on the bed, but what she wants to give him is more important than his lust. “That’s it, Emma. Just like that . . . you feel so good . . . so fucking good, Emma.”

  His words ignite a blaze in her and she wants nothing more than to make him come. She releases his hands and leans back, arching and bending her body. Her hands on his chest, her skin meeting his as she moves even faster. She looks him right in the eyes as she makes love to him, and the intensity of what she feels pours out of her. She cries out as she reaches her peak and she sees Eric watching her. Then his face and his body constrict as he releases himself deep inside her.

  “Emma . . .” He pulls her down against his heaving chest and she lies in his arms, spent and at peace.

  It seems like a very long time before they’re cognizant of their surroundings again. Emma looks around her room and her eyes stop on her open closet . . . and the wooden box that’s buried at the bottom of it. “There’s something I need to do today and I want you to be there.”

  “Sim, meu amor.12 Anything for you.”

  After lazing in bed for most of the morning, Eric sits, shirtless, on the porch of Emma’s house, surveying the state of disrepair it’s in and making plans in his mind to remedy it.

  Emma emerges from the front door in a robe and slippers, with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She sits beside him and offers him his cup. He sips and watches her take a breath of the sweet morning air. The scent of lilac and honeysuckle waft around them. Eric sees her smile and her beauty overwhelms him.

  “Emma, minha linda,13 your smile changed my life. Come here, you’re not close enough.” He holds his arm out for her to crawl underneath.

  She moves closer, a perfect fit beside him. “One of these days you’re going to have to teach me some Portuguese.”

  He laughs. “No way. I like it like this.” A warm wind blows over their skin. “Feels like it’s going to be hot today.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Eric’s puzzled by her grumble. “What is it?”

  “It’s just funny, now that I look around, summer’s almost over and I didn’t notice it.”

  She looks at the sky and lets the sun bathe her face. They sit in silence before she speaks. “It felt like winter for a long time. Do you know what I mean?”

  Eric squeezes her tight. He knows just what she means.

  The sound of giggles and little footsteps approach. Eric and Emma are no longer alone. The Driscoll children are making their first appearance of the day. Since they’ve moved in, Jason and Sarah have made a habit of visiting Emma. They’re drawn to her. She’s always happy to see them and her genuine kindness is not lost on the perceptive children. They study Eric, apprehensive of this stranger.

  “Who are you?” Jason asks Eric.

  Before he can answer, Sarah smacks her little brother. “That’s rude, Jason!”

  Emma laughs and interrupts their quarrel. “Sarah, Jason, this is Eric.”

  “Hi.” Eric smiles and waves at the unexpected guests.

  Sarah focuses her attention on Emma and hands her a box wrapped in construction paper. “This is for you, Emma. We made them, me and Jason did.” The small children are bursting with pride and excitement over the gift they have made for their neighbor.

  Emma opens the box, and places the contents in the palm of her hand. “Oh my goodness! These are just beautiful!” She gushes over her treasure.

  In her hand, Emma holds several painted rocks. “I’m going to go put them inside with the others.” She winks at Eric as she stands and goes into the house.

  Eric is left alone with the children. Sarah fidgets with her hair and Jason stamps at the dirt.

  “Where did you come from?” Jason shields his shoulder from his sister’s attempt at another smack.

  Eric smiles and shakes his head. “It’s okay to ask me questions. I used to live where you do. I built that house.” He points down the path that used to lead him to Emma.

  “You did?” The children are in awe.

  “Why did you build it?” Sarah asks.

  Eric looks at the house that he built, then at Emma’s silhouette in the kitchen window, and then at the children. “Well, I think I built it so that you could live there, and be happy, and make pretty presents for my Emma.” He smiles and charms the children.

  They nod at Eric’s answer. It makes perfect sense to them.

  Emma watches from the kitchen window. She places the painted rocks on the windowsill and it makes perfect sense to her, too.

  Later that day, Emma’s car winds up the rocky road. The water of Pine Lake is at her left and the wooden box is on her lap. She feels anxious and some part of her feels sad. This is long overdue, but a chapter of her life is closing, and an array of emotions flow through her.

  A sense of finality overcomes her as she parks at the top of the cliff. There was a time when this scenario would have been tempting to her in a very dark way, but those days are over. Numbness and despair are strangers to her now. The ghosts that haunted her are gone.

  She gets out of the car and stands at the edge of the rocky cliff. His breath is at her back. Eric says nothing, but he’s there for her. She grips the box and opens it one last time. She rubs her finger along the picture, but sheds no tears. She’s ready to say goodbye. She closes the box and drops her memories into the black water below.

  “Hand me the Phillips head.” Eric puts his hand out to Emma.

  She shakes her head. “Okay. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He laughs. “The screwdriver with the yellow and black handle, the tip has a little cross on it.”

  Emma rummages through the toolbox with a furrowed brow, and after several long seconds, she finds what Eric needs. She sits beside him where he kneels on the porch removing and replacing the rotten floorboards. In the distance, Sarah and Jason are playing tag in the too-long grass. Emma loves watching them—their innocence and hope are contagious.

  The children abandon their game and run toward the couple. “Emma, can you come and play with us?”

  “I can’t right now, but maybe later? I have to help Eric.”

  The children hunch their shoulders with disappointment, but then get distracted by Eric’s activity.

  “What’s he doing? What are you doing, Eric?” Jason asks.

  “I’m fixing the house.”

  “Why don’t you just build a new one?” Sarah asks.

  He stops his wo
rk and considers the question. “I could do that. I could make something new, but sometimes it’s better to fix what’s broken, instead of starting over.”

  Eric smiles at Emma and thinks about how hard they both have worked to fix broken things. He kisses her cheek and returns to his work. The sweet summer wind blows through the thick green leaves. The wind chime sings and the children laugh.

  And Emma is happy.

  “You’d better finish that up before Emma comes down. She’ll be mad if she knows I gave you that much sugar.” Eric stands at the sink washing out a blender . . . in a tuxedo.

  “But it’s yummy. Mommy never gives us milkshakes and donuts.” Sarah protests and returns to slurping at her straw.

  Heels click on the wood of the stairs, becoming louder as Emma approaches. She stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips, but she’s smiling. “Seriously? Margie and Tom are going to kill me when two hyper kids return to them.”

  “Wow. You look pretty, Emma,” Jason says.

  Eric turns away from the sink and his eyes widen when he sees her. Her dress is the color of a blooming purple azalea. Ruffles plunge down into a deep V-neck, and shoes a shade lighter than sun-bleached driftwood adorn her tiny feet. She smoothes out her dress and fidgets as his eyes roam her body. Emma clears her throat and Eric remembers there are children present.

  He wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “Okay, meus anjos,14 time to go.”

  The children grumble. “Where are you guys going?” Sarah asks.

  “Our friends are getting married today and we’re going to the party,” Emma answers.

  “Mommy and Daddy are married,” Jason states in a very serious, five-year-old voice.

  “Most mommies and daddies are,” Emma says.

  Sarah ponders this as she kicks her feet beneath the table. “Why?”