The Righteous and The Wicked (18 page)

Emma’s phone buzzes and her eyes widen when she reads what Eric wrote. Nervous, she paces about her bedroom, trying to make an irreversible decision. She types a response to Eric.

I’m coming. I’ll see you soon.

She flings her closet open and has no idea how to do this. Frantic, she crawls across her bed and rips open her top drawer. She pulls out thigh-highs and rolls the stockings over her legs, remembering the way Eric’s hands rubbed her when he carried her down the path to his house. Her fingers touch the silver cross around her neck, and she removes it. Its charms won’t be needed tonight. She pulls her nightgown over her head and stands in front of the mirror topless, in nothing but black thigh-highs and panties. She musses up her hair. The woman standing before her looks like a stranger—and she likes it.

She opens her closet, flips through the hangers, and finds a dress that she’s never worn, tags still on, purchased on an impulse. It’s tight, short, blood red, and perfect. She steps into the highest pair of heels she owns, then hurries to the bathroom and sprays on perfume. Her shaking hands swipe on a few coats of mascara. Her reflection is mocking her.

“
These women I’m with . . . they’re not like you . . .”
She hears his voice in her head, but the vixen she sees in the mirror says something else. The small spark within her has grown into a searing flame of unapologetic lust, and tonight she will let those flames consume her. She’s going to get what she wants. She slips off her underwear and tosses them on the floor.

She drops her keys in the dirt of the driveway. The wind has picked up and it tosses her hair around her face. Her hand trembles as she puts the key in the ignition and begins the journey to the lake.

She wonders why he didn’t just come to her bed, or she to his, but then it dawns on her . . . that would be too personal . . . too intimate. Each time she has eavesdropped on him, the one thing missing is intimacy. Intimacy is not what Eric hungers for, and this realization makes her stomach flip and burn. It’s her body that he wants and her skin tingles with anticipation. The world blurs by as she drives. She fears she won’t be able to do it the way he needs her to—that she won’t be good enough. Her thoughts of inadequacy are leftover from her relationship with Aaron, but she shakes them off. She pushes her foot to the accelerator, and leaves all the old fears behind her.

He leans against the Jeep. Alone, he’s parked on the bluffs overlooking the black water of Pine Lake below. The waves roar and retreat as they crash against the pebbles that cover the moonlit shore His phone buzzes in his pocket and he experiences a moment of terror before he reads her response and gazes up at the sky with gratitude. His already overpowering desire increases and he feels a twinge of guilt when he thinks of what he’s going to do to sweet Emma, but his demon forces that reluctance away. He lets out a breath and imagines all the obscenities he will unleash on her; how he’ll show her what his need really is. He thinks of all of the ways he’s going to fuck her.

Her car approaches and, although he hasn’t had to wait long, it has been long enough. Her tires crunch against the rocky terrain and Eric fights the urge to run to her when she pulls up next to him. For a moment, he’s unsure that he’ll be able show her the monster, to treat her how he treats all the others, but that changes the instant she opens the door. His instincts take over and his need to feed his addiction overrides his need to keep her pure. He’s floored by what he sees. Emma’s endless legs are covered in sheer black stockings. A red dress, untamed hair caught in the cool wind, black shoes adding to the length of her legs, the thin straps crisscrossing and holding them to her delicate ankles.

Emma shuts the door and stands motionless before the dark villain she craves. This time the black is meant for her and her alone. No trace of Eric in sight, just Stormy Eyes in all his glory. His muscular body will soon be within her grasp. She can almost taste the sin that’s about to take place, and she is not sorry.

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.