The Righteous and The Wicked by April Emerson

needs. He takes her bottom lip between his own. Just enough to taste her. He opens his eyes and looks at her. She’s begging him to continue, and he cannot resist this temptation.
    He presses his lips to hers with definite purpose. The feeling that rises and courses through his veins is unfamiliar to him. When he kisses her, he doesn’t sink into the blackness of his sickness. He’s not falling into the all-consuming void. Instead, her goodness flows into him. The passion he feels is not a desire to use her body and discard it, but to treasure it. She pulls him closer, and slides her hands up his neck and into his hair. She explores his lips, his tongue.
    She tastes so sweet, her kiss so sensual. Her initiation excites him further and he cradles her face, with a tenderness he has never shown to anyone. She’s breathless, and he is savoring her. She melts against him and he slips his fingers through her thick, soft hair. She moans, and at that sound the tenderness leaves him, replaced with fire and urgent passion. He deepens their kiss and she meets him. They clutch at fabric and flesh, trying so hard to get closer. The heat of their bodies melds together. They burn foreach other. The crescendo of this first kiss rises and weaves like a symphony through their souls. Every wound that they have ever had is erased with this kiss. It is beautiful.
    Emma drowns in the depths of Eric. She submits, surrendering to his taste and his powerful touch. Mosaics of color flash behind her eyelids. She’s overwhelmed with the pleasure of feeling his skin against her own, but an alien entity is trying to enter the sanctity of this moment. Emma can’t put her finger on what it is. Then she places it. It’s smoke.
    Emma pulls away from Eric’s viselike grasp. “Something’s burning.”
    Eric smiles at her. His face is flushed and he licks his lips. “Yes. Something’s definitely on fire.”
    They run into the kitchen. The pasta water has bubbled over and it’s frothing and dripping down the stove. The sauce has burned and congealed to the bottom of the pan. Eric removes it from the heat in a swift motion and waves the smoke out of his face. He throws the pan into the sink and runs water over it. It releases a searing sizzle and steam encircles him. Then the kitchen is quiet.
    Emma opens a window and cool air rushes in, dissipating the gray clouds of smoke. Eric stands at the sink with his back to her. Not sure what to say, she begins to walk toward him. She reaches her hand out to touch him, but withdraws it before she makes contact, letting it rest at her side.
    Eric looks down at the thick, black liquid that was once Emma’s dinner. His body is still possessed by his need for her, but his mind is uneasy. He doesn’t regret kissing her; it was so intense and intimate. It felt so good to touch her, so different . . . but he’s walking too close to the edge of the cliff. If he goes any further with her, it will open the door to his darkness. If his demon is released, it will attack her. It will gorge itself, and then it will crave more. He will not be able to stop with just her and will acquiesce to his addiction again. If he allows himself to indulge with Emma, he’ll be violating his pledge to leave her untainted, to be the source of her joy, not sorrow. If he touches her again, it will leave her hurt once more.
    He won’t do it. He turns around and finds her tiny body standing right behind him. He smiles at how timid she is, and his resolution flounces. It would be so easy. He could do it right now. A voice beckons from the shadows for him to touch her, to take her. Desire hangs in the air like the thick smoke above them. He wrestles with the temptation to satisfy their mutual need. It would feel so good, he could give her such pleasure . . .
    “Looks like the food is ruined,” she says.
    He reaches up to brush her hair from her shoulder. When he touches her, her eyes close for an instant, and then open again. He can