Disclaimer: I do not own anything from The Walking Dead. I only own this story idea.

A/N: This story is M. This chapter is dedicated to Carol's thoughts exclusively. Daryl's point of view will be next. I hope it does not suck, first person is harder to write.

Chapter 2

In my head...

I can't. I can't do this. The words swirl in my brain like a little chant. My heart is literally pounding with every press and thrust he makes. It's too much. Now that it is a reality and not some dream, some fantasy, it was just too much. I am losing control. I know it. It is almost comical how scared I am in this moment, how much I fear the loss. Surely no one in the group would every believe it. Meek, Carol. Controlled, Carol. But this was so much different than the control Ed had exercised over me for fifteen years; this was for control of my heart and soul something I locked away years ago. I needed to stop this. Now.

"Daryl," I whispered. God, did I really sound like that. My voice was so low and breathless that even I barely recognized it.

His mouth lingered, hovering just over mine. His breath was coming into my mouth in quick, heated pants. I dared to lift my eyes to his, immediately regretting it. His eyes half closed and all glazed, locked on mine. Oh, God, it did little for my resolve. Daryl Dixon was above me, looking all kinds of flustered. Flushed. Hot. Hard. That last one, I could feel pressing rather insistently against me.

"Carol," he whispered.

I don't think my name ever sounded as good as it did now slipping from his lips in an incredibly huskier version of his normal southern tinged drawl. I loved it. Loved the unbridled lust that dripped from each syllable, unrestrained. I closed my eyes, trying to gather some semblance of strength, of control.

"Did I hurt ya?"

I shook my head. How was I going to do this? I didn't want him to stop. Not really. Not at all at least my body didn't. My head was another matter constantly interrupting the pleasurable buzz that was deliciously running the length of my body. I wanted to turn off my brain surrender it to this moment but I couldn't shake my nagging fears, fears of what was next. Was I really going to give up this moment, this time with Daryl because of fear?

"Look at me." His voice low but demanding broke through my reverie.

It wasn't a request. I opened my eyes to his once again. His eyes dark with arousal so dark, it was almost impossible to discern the color. "I..." I stumbled with my words. So damn unsure, I hated it. Why was I always like this, timid?

He sucked my upper lip between his and I felt it all the way to my toes. "Gawd. Woman. Ya taste so good."

And so did he. Amazingly, so. His lips were soft as they hugged and tugged at my own lips, his mouth continuing it's gentle assault on mine. His hips began to rock slower but harder against me in a blissfully grinding rhythm hitting just the right spot even through our layers of clothing. "Carol...Carol...Carol."

Jesus Christ, it felt better than good, better than anything before. His chants of my name into and against my mouth made it nearly impossible to think. If I gave this to him, surrendered to it, I would never find my way back. This was different for him. I knew it had to be. Sex always was for men. It always meant more for women. Like most women, I had never been one to be able to separate sex and love. My feelings for him were so deep, growing with every day. Like the roots of a tree, he had wound inside my heart, deep into my heart and that was the problem. One day, he would decide or this crazy life would decide it was time to pull those roots and I would not survive it, of that I was certain.

"Wanted ya so long. So much...Mmmmm."

I felt his tongue rub and glide over my own. It felt so good that I wanted to cry. His hand had found the hem of my shirt playing with it for several minutes with a hesitancy that I could not understand. Maybe, he thought I wanted it slower, gentler. Or maybe he sensed my intent to stop.

"Gawd. Carol. Baby."

Groans and his hand finally sliding underneath the hem of my shirt punctuated his words. My stomach tightened and trembled at the roughed texture of his palm as it slid slowly over my side. His fingers moved across my skin at an agonizingly slow pace as if he were savoring every inch. Each fingertip gliding against the surface of my skin leaving a trail of scorched skin in its wake, my resolve to stop this was getting more and more weak as his touch grew bolder and his words seeped into my heart and head.

"Oh. Carol. So soft. Baby."

Baby. I could hardly believe this was Daryl Dixon. The very same Daryl Dixon who if you were lucky managed to grunt out more than twenty words or so a day. Daryl Dixon who hated and constantly complained about all the unnecessary talking everyone did.

"Feels so good. You feel so good. So good," he cooed into my mouth.

Right now in this moment were more words than he typically said to me in a whole day even as close as we had become over the last year. Words whispered with reverence into my mouth, words whispered between the wet tangling of our colliding tongues, and words whispered with heated intent. I could feel the wetness pooling in my eyes. I was going to do this. Give it all up to him.

His hand slipped over my rib cage, stroking. His fingertips traversing my abdomen in a slow, sweeping rhythm moving higher each time until I felt his hand just under my breast.

A/N: Daryl's thoughts if you want them, next. In first person, if you would like? How much does this mean to him?