He dared me to kiss him again, and I did so eagerly. My whole body was alert, teeming with energy. I hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. I kissed him with passion, running my tongue along the inside of his mouth. The fact that he was a stranger only heightened my excitement. I didn't care that we both smelled of poor hygiene. I didn't care that his mouth tasted like salt and mud. I didn't care about anything except this feeling. I needed more of it.
I dared him to touch my breasts. It was bold, I knew, but I was too impatient. And to my delight, he didn't hesitate. His touch was gentle, and I could tell he was trying to be careful of my injuries. He softly massaged my breasts, his calloused fingertips rough against the soft gauze of my bandages. The jolts of pleasure coursing through my veins made the pain less noticeable.
It went on as such for a wonderful little while, with one of us daring the other to take things a step or two further. But it quickly got to the point when the games were over. I was consumed, and I knew he was too. My mouth moved ferociously on his, kissing and sucking and biting. My hands fumbled with his pants while he pulled his shirt over his head.
Once he was bare above me, and I lay naked below him, we look at each other steadily for the first time since our fervor began. I looked into his hungry eyes, and he peered down at my flushed face, searching, contemplating.
"This might be difficult with your injuries," he mused. "I'll have to be very careful."
"Or," I said cleverly. I pushed him back and sat myself up. Ignoring my protesting joints, I finagled my body around his, pressed him flat on the bed, and positioned myself on his hips, straddling him. "We could do it this way. It'll be easier."
He narrowed his eyes at me, smirking. "You sure you wanna do this?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. It sent shivers through me.
"You talk too much," I said, and kissed him. In the same moment, I pressed my hips down on his, pushing him inside me.
My breath left me in a long, slow exhale. It hurt, which told me that it had been longer than I'd thought since I got to do this. I sat still above him, eyes closed, waiting for my body to adjust. I could hear him moan, soft and deep. In the back of my mind, I wondered how long it had been for him.
After a minute or so, I moved, sluggishly, testing myself. I could still feel the initial hurt, but it was duller, less shocking. A few more tentative movements, and I could barely feel it at all. I raised myself up, and pressed down, a little quicker this time. He moaned again and gripped my hips with his hands. I realized I was more fatigued than I thought, so I was grateful when he started moving my hips for me.
Our bodies danced together, like blades of grass nudged by the same strong wind. Sweat beaded on our skin, mingling where our figures came together. I could hear myself moaning, hissing, sighing. Once, when he ran his hands up my ribs to touch my chest, his knuckles bumped my injury, and he had to cover my mouth to stifle my whimper. But it didn't slow us down. We kept moving, faster and more aggressive, kissing and stroking and scratching.
I could feel his body beginning to tense. His hands started lifting me off of him, pulling out of me. But I didn't want it to end. I didn't want him to leave just yet. I took his hands in mine and pushed my body down on his, rocking my hips, watching the pleasure cross his face. He groaned loudly, so I covered his mouth with mine, and I felt the warm bloom inside me. At the same time, I felt the unfamiliar and sweet rush of ecstasy throughout my entire body. It dripped through my veins and made every muscle convulse and retract. I moaned into his moan and squeezed his hands viciously. Our mouths parted, and he exhaled against my lips, raspy, rough, and ragged. His gaze met mine, and I could see the accusation in his hazy eyes.
"Don't worry," I breathed, kissing down his neck. "Nothing can happen. Not for me, anyway." I kissed his collarbone and then sat upright, looking down at him.
"You're pretty reckless," he said with a chuckle. His hand found my face, stroked my cheek gently.
"I'm pretty something." I smiled into his hand, and then looked down at myself. "I'm pretty filthy. And probably pretty stinky."
Daryl chuckled again, heartily. "There's a shower here. It's cold, but it's well water. I need to clean your wounds anyway." He carefully moved me off of him and sat up. "Come on."
He stood me up and helped me walk, or limp, over to the wall by the fireplace. He opened a door the same paneling as the wall; in the dim light I couldn't even tell it was there. It revealed a small, modest bathroom with only a toilet, a sink, a broken mirror, and an unfinished stall shower.
Daryl helped me into the shower and leaned me against the wall. He unwrapped my bandages slowly, being very careful not to reopen my flesh wounds. I had to hold back a shriek when he turned on the water. It was ice cold and smelled sulfur. Thankfully, he didn't waste any time. He brandished a white bar of soap and began to wash me, thoroughly, gently, quickly. He even ran the water through my hair and washed all the dirt and debris from the tangled tresses.
He wrapped me in a towel and sat me down on the toilet lid while he washed himself. I was shivering so much that I could almost feel my broken ribs jostle in my chest. I only had to sit for a few minutes, because then he was done showering and helping me back into the main room of the cabin.
The warmth from the fireplace felt like a welcome embrace. I all but collapsed on the small rug, drawn in by the heat and the dance of the flames. I hugged the towel tightly around me while Daryl retrieved clean bandages for my wounds.
I sat naked in the cozy glow from the hearth, perfectly still as my injuries were redressed. I gazed longingly into the fire, thinking back to the careful fires my camp would have at sunset. They were joyous times, since starting camp fires was so risky out in the open; not only to draw walkers, but also disreputable humans.
"With the rate you're healing, you might be able to leave in a day or two," Daryl said, putting his supplies away. "The worst of it is done."
I didn't respond. I knew the worst wasn't behind me. Once I was able to move without pain, I would be on my own. I hadn't been alone for quite a few months now, and I had grown accustomed to the company of people. Now that I had no one to protect, no one to stay alive for, I didn't know how well I would fare on my own.
I ran my fingers over the fresh bandages on my chest. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I thought of what the following days would bring. The harsh reality all but washed away the wonderment from the sex we just shared, like my dirt and blood down the drain of the shower. But before it slipped away completely, I isolated the sensation, clung to it, savored it. I would need to remember this feeling, of satisfaction, of fulfillment, of companionship.