Redemption of a Sex Offender

“You have to file charges,” he said, squatting in the open door so he wouldn’t loom menacingly. “Think you’re okay to do that tonight? I understand it gets worse if you wait.” He watched her swallow convulsively.

“I – I guess so.” She looked at the ground. “Will you come with me?” she asked in a small voice, a lost-little-girl voice. “I’ve never had to do anything like this before.”

“Whatever you want, Erica,” he reassured her, using her first name for the first time out loud. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her until she stopped shaking, but that was the last thing she needed.

Suddenly she looked up at him, her eyes dark and fierce in the weird light from the sodium lamps. “I don’t care what you think, you’re nothing like he is. Nothing. I could tell that you wanted to kill him, and you didn’t even rough him up.”

“He hurt you,” Eddie said for an explanation. “He needs to learn that it’s wrong. A little jail time will teach him that far more effectively than anything I could do.” He closed his eyes. “And he’s a student. I can’t assault a student.” He’s also smaller than I am, weaker than I am, and dumber than I am, and it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

“I can’t stop shaking,” she said about the time he opened his eyes again, her voice so matter-of-fact it had to be covering up something approaching hysteria. “I don’t think I can drive safely.” And all he had was the Harley.

“Get in the passenger seat, and I’ll drive you,” he suggested. Her grateful look was all the reply he needed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was describing what he had seen and done in the parking lot to a guy in a cheap suit with the beginnings of a beer gut who didn’t seem to be impressed by his appearance. What was it with school parking lots and violence against women that seemed to mix the two in his karma?

“You’re a teacher?” the detective said again, as if he couldn’t quite picture a high school teacher with long hair and leathers.

“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed, “American history and junior varsity football.” He leaned forward and glared at the guy. “I ride a Harley. I have a prison record. I also have a master’s degree in secondary education from Ohio State. Get over it.”

“Prison record? What were you in for?” The detective’s eyes narrowed.

“Stalking. Breaking and entering. Assault.” Eddie folded his arms. “That’s why Johnson came to me when the student started to bother her. She thought I might know what would make him stop. I told her to call the cops. Hell of a job you guys are doing.”

“You registered?” The look of suspicion was deepening on the detective’s face.

“Of course.” Eddie paused significantly before continuing. “Do I need a lawyer, or are you going to take my statement?”

“You got something going with this woman?”

“No, I don’t. I told you, she came to me when the Tanner kid started on her.”

“Right. She goes to a convicted stalker for help when she’s being stalked.”

“Maybe she thought I was an expert on the subject.” Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know what she was thinking. I told her to go to the police. Period.”

“And you just happened to be at school at 6 p.m. on a Friday night.”

What a schmuck. “I’m always at school late. I live for my job. It’s not like I’ve got a great life to go home to.” Although it wasn’t bad, it was peaceful and uncomplicated – or it had been before she had shown up at his door one night.

“Right. I’ll get this typed up and compare it with Ms. Johnson’s statement,” the detective said, finally letting it drop. Eddie sat back in the uncomfortable chair, stared out the window, and wished he were someplace else.

Someplace hot and dry, with no people around that needed to be taken care of, someplace with no Erica Johnson to distract him. Someplace he could find the still center of and draw it back into himself, to find the calm again. He couldn’t leave again until the end of the school year. And he still had to take her home tonight.

Finally, it was over. The police had wanted to take her to the Emergency Room for a rape examination and she had gently protested, reminding them that the attack hadn’t gotten that far, thanks to one Edward Hilliard. He could feel himself going a little red from the looks of speculation several of the cops threw at him after that statement.

Jesus, what was he supposed to have done, ignored her screaming? Eddie stared at the floor until they weren’t looking anymore, but this time when she wrapped her arms around him and held on, he let her – she needed the comfort after what she’d been through. He was very, very careful, though, not to touch her back in any way.

When he pulled up in front of her tidy little house, she looked at him in the darkness. “How are you going to get back to the school?” she asked softly. He shrugged. “It’s cold,” she said in a practical voice. “You want a cup of coffee before you go?”

Coffee wouldn’t hurt anything. Coffee was safe, and she probably wanted someone else around for a while.

“Sure,” he responded. He got out of the car and handed her the keys. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he suggested. “Is there anybody you can call to come and stay with you?” She didn’t say anything, but walked up the driveway to unlock the front door. Eddie felt himself frowning as he followed her. It was too much like the house he had envisioned himself living in someday.

When they got inside, she threw her coat on a chair, dropped her purse on the little table next to the door and planted her hands on his chest. He closed his eyes to steel himself against the touch.

“Kiss me,” she whispered imperiously. “Now.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze, falling into their blue depths so full of female heat, full of desire – for him. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently, delicately – don’t hurt her, Hilliard, she’s so vulnerable.

“Johnson,” he tried gently, “this isn’t a good idea.” Her hands came up to his face, yanked his head down with amazing strength and her mouth was against his, hot and sweet. It was so much better than the fantasies he’d been trying to ignore that his mind went blank and instincts took over. His hands moved down her arms and slid around her waist to pull her closer and he licked into the soft heat.

She made a noise deep in her throat and sort of melted, fitting herself against him like she’d been born to be exactly here, right now. Her arms wound around his neck as he deepened his penetration of her mouth, kissing her the way he’d wanted to for a long, long time.

It was so good, but he needed so much more. He licked his way down her throat and bit softly into that perfect curve at the base of her neck, making her knees buckle. Instinct said to get her horizontal, now, so he picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, still nibbling the sensitive neck and throat, feeling his way.

He laid her on her bed and stretched out beside her, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, this time gentle and slow. She sighed and softened more against him, moving one hand to his bicep and curling the fingers of the other into the fabric of his t-shirt. His skin tingled and burned from every place she was touching him, even through the clothing. The heat washed through his body and made him want to push up that sensible skirt and take her exactly the way Tanner had tried to. He pulled away, fear tightening his gut, and she tried to follow him.

“Eri – Johnson, no!” he said roughly. “I wanted to hurt you. You’re not safe with me.”

“What did you want to do to me?” she asked breathlessly. God, she even sounded hot.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at her and confess. “I wanted to . . . pull up your skirt and fuck you,” he whispered, agony in every word. “Hard. Just pound into you until – until . . .”

“Until what?” she asked, still breathless, still excited. Good question. He tried to think, to remember, to feel the heat and the want – until she came. Yes, God yes. Bucking and shuddering under him, contracted tight around him, gasping for air or screaming, it didn’t matter, but he wanted to feel her body spasm in ultimate pleasure, knowing he was the cause.

“Until what?” she repeated, her voice thick with frustration.

Something snapped and he pulled her back against him, curling his fingers into that glorious mane and pulling her head back.

“Until you come, screaming ‘yes,’” he growled as he took her mouth, kissing her hard and deep and endlessly, not stopping to think, not stopping to breathe, not stopping for anything. He got the rest of her clothes off without ripping anything, but it was a struggle, although not as much of a struggle as it was to remain passive while she stripped off his shirt and clawed open his jeans so he could kick them off and feel her naked skin against his.

He buried his face in her perfect, incredible breasts and sucked until she was crazy, writhing against him. She wriggled harder when he kissed down her body to lick into the soft, soft folds and wet, slick warmth between her legs, struggling as he held her down and forced pleasure on her until her entire body went rigid, then relaxed bonelessly back into the mattress.

He was halfway inside her when the sensation of flesh against flesh cut through the fog in his blood-deprived brain and made him realize there wasn’t a condom in between them. He stopped and felt her tense under him, even heard her make a small noise of protest while he fought to think. Did he even have one with him?

“Don’t stop,” she said, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. For punctuation she wrapped her legs around him to prevent him from pulling away from her.

“I’m not –” he tried, fighting for language against every instinct.

“Yes you are,” she hissed back, arching to rub softness against him. His hands tightened convulsively on her hips as he fought for control. “Don’t you dare do this to me again.”

“Condom,” he forced out in a whisper between numb lips, and Erica stilled beneath him. Then she pushed him off of her and twisted over on her side to reach for the nightstand. He almost didn’t get the whimper of disappointment and loss bitten back and swallowed, but she came back to him in seconds, opening the package and rolling the latex onto him. She took her time doing it, too, kissing and nibbling and – oh God – sucking as she smoothed it into place.

“Now,” she said as she wrapped her legs around him again and pulled him on top of her, “can I have you?”

“You can have whatever you want,” he whispered – it was turning into a refrain with her – just before he gave up on language altogether in order to concentrate on the miracle of being with her, moving inside her. It seemed like only a matter of seconds before she was gasping and moaning underneath him, her body tightening into the rictus of release; time did strange things during altered states of consciousness.

He tried to slow down to prolong the sensations, but it wasn’t much use because it was all so excruciatingly good. Finally, he couldn’t haul himself back from the brink anymore and plunged over, burying his cock in her body, every muscle locked and corded.

Something raked down his back at the peak of it and made it all even more intense, like dying and being reborn, merging souls with this woman, the one woman he would never be able to get out of his system: Erica.

When his brain came back to life, the first thing he noticed was the burning sensation going down his back. The second thing he became aware of was Erica, still twitching underneath him, her labored breathing pressing her breasts even more tightly against his chest.

He had to get off of her before he smothered her. Get rid of the condom. Get dressed. Get out of here before she asked him to spend the night because she didn’t want to be alone. It was a great scenario, except that he didn’t want to move; he wanted to keep Erica wrapped around him like that for the rest of his life.

He buried his face in her neck, drinking in the smell of Erica and sex. It had never been like that before. He felt like someone who had been living in a sea of beige and had suddenly come across crimson for the first time. It hadn’t been gentle, or restrained like he’d always been in the past, either. Erica brought out the animal he’d only recently come to accept in himself and responded to him with an equal ferocity – and it was the most intense thing he’d ever experienced. Even the afterglow was more intense.

After a small eternity, he gathered the strength to roll to one side, but she didn’t let him go willingly, tightening her arms and turning with him, both hands splayed over his back until he pulled far enough away to deal with the condom.

“Oh, no,” she said faintly, staring at her hand. He glanced down at it and noticed the red streaks on her fingers.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worried that she’d been hurt. Except – suddenly the burning sensation made sense, like sweat would feel in scratches deep enough to bleed. Erica scrambled to her knees and pushed him onto his face.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed. “I don’t even remember doing that.” Then she was sliding off of the bed, telling him, “Don’t move, Edward. I’ll be right back.”

He couldn’t help it; he started to laugh, because it was too ironic for words. He’d finally given in to all of his basest, most primitive needs and ended up maimed for it. Well, not maimed, exactly, but he was the one bleeding. He was still chuckling into the pillow when he felt the warm, wet cloth on his back.

“It’s not funny,” Erica said, her voice a little rougher than normal. It could have been from the screaming, or she might be upset. “What if it gets infected?”

“I’ll live,” he said into the pillow. He’d lived through worse. In fact, he realized as she continued gently washing his back, what she was doing felt really good. She was gentle, the warm water was soothing, and the burning was subsiding as she cleaned off the sweat.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” she confessed as she moved the cloth over the injured skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“Next time I guess I’ll have to hold you down when you start thrashing,” he commented with deep sarcasm as she smoothed something cold on his skin, like maybe an antibiotic ointment. It was an oddly tender moment. He could picture her leaning over his back with that long, silky hair drifting forward over her shoulders, chewing her lip in concentration with each gentle dab, trying to fix what she’d broken. It made him want to reach behind him and pull her down to kiss her, cuddle her close and wrap himself around her warm, curved body.

“There,” she said when she had finally covered his back with the cold stuff. “Now for the bandaging.”

“Erica, you don’t have to –” he began, trying to get up, and she pushed him back down.

“Let me at least cover up the scratches that are bleeding,” was how she cut him off.

“Okay,” he subsided, then sighed. He tried to make it sound resigned, but it came out sounding more . . . contented, like a big, lazy lion letting his lioness bring him a fresh kill.

When she came back, he heard the soft thrum of stuff being dropped on the bed next to him. He looked over his shoulder and saw her pick up a roll of gauze. She was still naked, and he felt his pulse speed up. Just like that. He wasn’t a twice-a-night kind of guy, but he wanted her again. He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, wondering what it meant.

He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this since he’d been a teenager and everything was a cause for a hard-on. And he couldn’t fuck her again; this had to be a once-only, heat-of-the-moment encounter, or he’d lied to the police.

In the meantime, Erica was cutting the gauze to length and taping it onto his back, and talking. “We can go back to school and get your stuff in the morning,” she said decisively. “You’re not going out in the cold like this. You don’t even have a decent coat.”

“And how do you expect me to get home without the bike?” he asked, sounding as languid as he felt. The touch of her hands as she smoothed down the gauze and pressed the medical tape to his skin was starting to get hypnotic. She was so gentle. He felt like his body had been submerged in a tub of warm gelatin, everything supporting, soft, infinitely comfortable. He could drift off to sleep with no effort at all.

“You’re not going home. You’re staying here tonight,” she said, and the sensation vanished. Stay here? Was she nuts?

“I can’t stay here,” he said when she finished and picked up the first aid supplies. He pushed himself up to sit and turned to look at her in the bathroom, putting it all away. She didn’t say anything until she came back to the doorway and planted her fists on her hips, so beautiful, gloriously female and clad in nothing but that long, disheveled hair.

“You said I could have anything I wanted,” she reminded him. “You’ve said that several times, as I recall. And every time I tell you what I want, you refuse. Well, not this time, mister.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re sleeping right there, Edward Hilliard, if I have to tie you down to do it.”

Well, Hell. She wasn’t listening. How could he explain it so that she would understand why it was so important for him to sleep in his own bed, alone, tonight? The truth was a start.

“Erica, I told the cops we’re not . . . romantically involved,” he said carefully. “If I sleep here, they’ll think I lied, and then my entire statement becomes suspect. If that gets thrown out, it’s just your word against Tanner’s about what happened, and he probably walks.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t stay here tonight.” No matter how much he wanted to.

He watched the uncertainty play over her expression as she thought it through. Then she shook her head. “I don’t care,” she decided out loud. “You didn’t lie to them, and you’re not leaving.”

“And just how do you intend to keep me here?” he asked. He stood up and advanced on her, trying to look big and menacing; she didn’t look intimidated, though.

“Easy,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked up at him. “I took your clothes. You can have them back tomorrow.” The middle of February was still winter in Idaho; well, it was still winter in the northern hemisphere, but Meredith was a mountain town, much colder than New Mexico or southern Ohio. It would probably get down to the teens before dawn. And he couldn’t go hiking around a small town naked, anyway.

Checkmate; he’d lost. Except – this wasn’t a zero-sum game, he realized. In getting what she wanted, Erica had ensured that he got what he wanted – her. And then there was the whole mess with Tanner and the police.

“I bet I could find them,” he said softly. “Your house isn’t that big, Johnson.” He glanced around. “And you haven’t been out of this room since I took them off.”

“Maybe I threw them out of the bathroom window,” she challenged back, just as softly. She reached up and spread her hands on his chest. That felt good, too. “Are you hungry?”

“What?” He blinked at the change of subject.

“Are you hungry? I didn’t get any supper, and I’ll bet you didn’t either.” She darted away to the bathroom, pulled something off of the back of the door and threw it at him as she continued. “The least I can do is feed you.”

He caught it by reflex. Terrycloth. It was a big, black terrycloth bathrobe. He glanced up and she was pulling something beige and shapeless out of a dresser drawer. She pulled it on over her head and it resolved into a long-sleeved tunic that went down to her knees.

“I have a couple of steaks in the refrigerator,” she was continuing, “and I think there’s a bottle of wine in the cupboard.”

She opened the door and a large, fluffy black cat meowed up at her, then sauntered into the bedroom and wound around his legs as Erica left. Eddie looked at the bathrobe again, then at the cat, and thought what the hell.