Enthusiasm, rated M
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Sex with Daryl is both everything she expected and nothing she expected at all.
He's all teeth and tongue and overeager hands, and Carol can only hold on through the onslaught, her nails biting into the breadth of his shoulders, her mouth open on a moan.
He covers her completely.
The softness of her breasts flat against his chest, the thundering of his heart. Her legs snaked high around his waist, ankles dragging against his firm buttocks with every clumsy thrust. The warm heart of her alive and aching, weeping as he slides down, down, down and makes good on the (unwitting) promise he made so long ago.
He has absolutely no finesse.
But Carol comes undone anyway, her fingers clenched in the sleek softness of his hair, his name and a smile on her lips. She traces the ridges of his spine with the lazy curl of her toes, soothes his scalp with gentle fingers, and shivers when she feels the tickle of his whiskers against her oversensitive skin, the callused imprint of his thumb against her hard bundle of nerves. "Again?" she breathes.
Sex with Daryl is messy, real. What he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for it with his enthusiasm, the way he gives himself completely over to her.
One look into his eyes, and Carol nods. Her skin slick with sweat and passion, she lets her fingers fall from his hair to clutch at the sheets, and her teeth pierce the tender flesh of her lip as she sighs his name, and that's all the encouragement Daryl needs. He buries his proud smile back between the willing haven of her thighs, and Carol starts to lose herself all over again.
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