Chapter 7

He watched the way she moved, the way her hands pulled at the button on her pants, the way they gripped the sides and slid them down her long, lithe legs. He was drawn to stare at the apex of her thighs, the way her shirt hung low enough to cover all but a small triangle of white cotton. His mouth watered, and he had the sudden urge to pull her close and bury his nose against her, to inhale the scent of arousal that was already surrounding him. He wanted to draw her in close, to press kisses over her thighs, to taste her if she'd let him.

When his gaze moved up her body and up to her eyes, he brought his hands to her hips, tugging her close, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He gathered the back of her shirt in a bunch in his hands, pulling her closer to stand between his legs. He looked up at her, hair pushed back out of his eyes, blue on blue, and he closed his eyes when she ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed then, relaxing a little as her hands moved down his neck and shoulders before helping him out of his shirt. She smiled when he shivered again as her fingertips tickled over his chest.

She gasped when his arms came around her middle pulling her closer, pulling her down into his lap. She could feel his erection pressing against the fly of his jeans, and she felt dizzy with power knowing she'd barely even touched him yet, and he was already bursting at the seams.

Her head fell back as he sucked at the hollow of her throat. His hands moved up the back of her shirt, toying with the back of her bra. That was when she tensed, bringing her hands to his shoulders, pulling back so that when his eyes flew open, he could see the reservations in hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Please," she said with a little shake of her head. He stared at her, confused, seeing the worry and the anxiety flash across her face. She was beautiful. She had to know that. Everything from the freckles of her collarbones to the ice blue of her eyes to the early grey of her hair that seemed to shimmer silver in the moonlight. She was exquisite.

He brought his hands to her hips again, and she relaxed, bringing her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. She wrapped her legs around him, and he brought his hands down to knead her thighs, and it was so intimate, like they were having their own private, silent conversation.

"This ok?" he asked, moving his hands up her sides, reveling in the feel of her, lean and soft in all the right places. She smiled, biting her lip and nodding her head.

"This is good," she whispered, arching her neck back so he could nip along her jaw and her neck. She sighed, thighs trembling as she squeezed them around his hips. She let go then, letting herself get lost in the feel of his hands grazing over her breasts, squeezing her gently but never pushing past that. He kissed the hollow of her throat, nipped at her collarbones, trailed his tongue along the exposed flesh above her breasts, and she bit her lip, moaning softly at the tension between her legs. She gasped softly as his thumb brushed across her hardened nipple, and she cried out. Her blood was simmering now, skin aching to be sucked, nipple straining at the fabric of her bra. What she wouldn't give to feel his mouth on her, sucking her, teasing her with his hands as he worked. Oh, she needed a distraction. "Ok," she breathed. "Wait…" She stood then, knees a bit wobbly as she pushed him back to lay on the bed. She worked the button on his jeans, keeping her eyes on him as he folded his arms behind his head and watched her, stomach muscles tensing and chest shuddering as he struggled to find his breath. She smiled a little, blushing when she got his jeans down his hips and tugged them off one leg and then the other.

She watched him for a moment, admired the way he was built so beautifully. Strong and lean, a sparse smattering of hair over his chest and stomach. His chin was rough with graying stubble, and his eyes were so dark as he admired the curve of her hips and her thighs. And then he was holding his hand out to her.

"C'mere," he murmured, pulling her down on him when she took his hand. She smiled then, straddling his hips, peering down at him as he looked up at her with so many emotions in his eyes. Emotions they had no time to explore or talk about. But they could certainly feel it, show it.

She'd never had a man look at her the way Daryl did. In fifteen years of marriage, Ed had never once looked at her like she was beautiful, never treated her like she was special. She wasn't a woman who starved for that kind of attention, by any means, and she'd mostly been content with masturbation rather than having Ed sweat all over her until he found his own release. But sometimes she longed for someone to look at her like he wanted to give her the world, and damn it if Daryl Dixon wasn't looking at her like that in that very moment as his fingers dug into her hips and stripped her panties down her hips.

She shifted to kick the garment away, and Daryl's hand was instantly between her legs, stroking her already wet center, making her squirm.

"Yes," she panted, grinding against his hand when his thumb found her clit and began to tease her. "Please don't stop." She bucked against his hand, holding herself steady with one hand on his shoulder. She gasped then, biting her lip as he stroked her, parting her folds and pushing two fingers in. Her walls clenched around him, and he pushed deeper, sitting up a little, the change of position pushing him deeper and making her cry out. She bowed her head, gasping for breath against his neck until her nails bit into his shoulders.

He felt her spasm around his fingers, and the flood of warmth that coated his fingers followed a desperate moan, and then she slumped against him, kissing his neck and his shoulder before claiming his mouth in a searing kiss. He groaned against the kiss when her hands pushed at his boxers, hands desperately mapping him out as he rolled her onto her back. She sprawled out before him, legs open, pussy glistening. He quickly discarded his boxers and socks, and she bit back a giggle when his hair flopped into his face again. He pushed it back again, and she reached for him as he grabbed the box of condoms and fished out a shiny little wrapper. He put it aside though, and she gasped softly, opening up to him when he kissed her, meeting his tongue with her own in a sensual kiss. His lips were soft and plaint against her own, and she melted beneath him, hands tracing over his back, finding a ridge she hadn't previously noticed the night before in their fumbling.

Daryl paused then, as Carol's fingers gently mapped out memory of this scar. She felt him freeze before her, and her eyes welled with tears. Biting her bottom lip, she pushed at his chest, just enough so that he could let her sit up and tug at her shirt. He watched in awe as the fear and uncertainty flooded her face for a moment, until she was bare before him, shirt and bra flung over the headboard, revealing a smattering of small, circular scars over her stomach and chest. He'd lived his life with the scars of his childhood, emotional and physical, a daily reminder of asshole number six that had nearly killed him for trying to defend his own mother.

She had scars too. And he could see it in her eyes. They went far beyond the surface of her skin. They pierced her soul, and she carried the weight of them like he carried his on his back. She had scars, and she was beautiful. And her first instinct was to cover herself, to cover the shame of what some bastard had done to her. But he gently took her hands in his, threading his fingers with hers and bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed the ridge of her knuckles before he brought her arm around his neck, draping it there as he came in for another sweet kiss.

She shivered against him, holding him tight as he pressed kisses along her collarbones and down her chest, closing his mouth over one scar at the side of her breast, gently tasting her, soothing the spot with his tongue before he moved to tease her nipple, gently toying with it before he moved to the other, taking his time, enjoying this, enjoying her as if it was the last time. And likely, it was.

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew he couldn't kid himself. Still, he wanted her to know that she meant something to him. He wanted her to feel it the way he felt it.

And when he began to kiss her stomach, her hands trembled, threading in his hair. Her stomach jumped under each kiss, and she looked down to see him caressing the smattering of scars as he moved lower.

"Hey," she whispered. "You don't have to."

"Lay back," he urged, settling between her legs and pressing a kiss to her hip. He watched her trembling before him, lower lip caught between her teeth. Her thighs closed in hesitation, and he gently caressed her ankle, pressing a kiss to her knee. "You want me to stop?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's been a while, and I…Ed didn't…he…" She took a shaky breath, closing out the past along with the shaming remarks about her taste, her scent, the way her body responded to stimulation. She was shaking now, and Daryl sat up a little.

"We don't have to," he promised. "We don't." Carol nodded then, reaching for him, hands at his shoulders.

"I know," she breathed. "I just…I need a minute." Daryl nodded then, moving to kiss her stomach again, hands ghosting over her breasts, teasing her until she was arching into his touch. And she bit her lip, gasping when he pushed two fingers inside of her again, rocking the heel of his hand against her clit until she was bucking against him again. "Daryl…ohhhh…" She was flying again, and he pulled back and watched the way her jaw dropped and tightened, the way her hands dug into the sheets, the way her fingers knotted into the sheets for purchase.

And when she finally relaxed, Daryl reached for the condom he'd tossed to the wayside. He crawled up her, settling between her legs, ripping open the wrapper and sliding the latex over his dick. He groaned then, aching now more than ever to bury himself inside of her, and he saw the gratitude in her eyes when he didn't press the previous issue. She wasn't ready, and he respected that. And he prayed that one day he'd have the opportunity to take his time with her, to really show her how good it could feel with a respectful partner.

She curled her leg around his hip, pulling him close, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth as he pushed into her. She cried out, gasping against his mouth as he filled her. His hands were on her hips, pulling her closer, never getting close enough.

Her hands were on his back, nails digging into his skin before letting up and trailing over the curves of the muscles on his arms. Her touch was so light, so sweet. It triggered a shiver out of nowhere, and she felt it, smiling before she pulled him down over her for a kiss.

He held on for her, shifting his hips, bringing her legs over his shoulders until she was biting her cries against the back of her hand. And when he sought her hand out and lifted her arms above her head, he latched onto a nipple and nipped it with his teeth. She let go then, crying out without restraint, walls clenching around him as he found his own release. And when he collapsed atop her, she stroked his back, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and off of his forehead. She smiled, kissing his forehead, tasting the sweat on his skin, sighing as they lay together, connected. She'd never felt such intimacy. It was over, and he was looking at her like it would never be enough, like he could kiss her forever and never come up for breath.

"You ok?" she asked softly, gently trailing her finger down his jaw.

"Yeah," he grunted, burying his face against her neck. She smiled then, chuckling and curling her arms around his shoulders. There was no rush. She'd hold him like this all night if she could. Maybe, for her, too, she would never stop wanting more.