A bit of a longer chapter; first part Daryl's POV, second, Carol's of the same night and morning after including time stamped flashbacks. Some fall out from Daryl's arrest and Sweet Smut warning.
"The Fine Art of Breaking Eggs"
Daryl's Morning:
7:00 a.m.
The knock on the door at 7:00 a.m. was a surprise, but considering who was behind it, it shouldn't have been.
Daryl had been up at dawn, around 5:30 a.m., down to check on the mare and foal, then stopping at the hen-house to gather the eggs for breakfast, though he'd been loath to leave his bed in the guest room, the bed where Carol still slept. Leaning against the kitchen counter, enjoying a big mug of the rich Colombian brew Lori adored but was forbidden during her pregnancy, he thought back on the events as they had unfolded the previous days, wondering again how he'd gotten in so deep so fast.
Carol.
She was just fuckin' amazing—that was part of it. She understood him on a level few ever had, instinctively and completely. Just her touch could calm him or set him aflame and they had already developed nonverbal shorthand of looks and glances that rivaled what he shared with Rick, who he'd known most of his life. All of that had made last night the most tender and intimate he'd ever experienced... he felt almost reborn, never knowing it could be like this with a woman.
Shit!
The hot coffee sloshed over the rim and burned his hand as his reverie over last night made him lose focus on holding the cup, and at the same time the sharp knocking on the front door snapped his head up.
"I'll get it!" Carl yelled from the front of the house, bounding down the stairs from his loft room where he'd retreated after going to the barn with Daryl.
Daryl set down the mug and hurried to quiet the boy. His mother was not a morning person and on the weekends especially she liked to sleep in, leaving chores and breakfast prep to anyone who wanted to eat, and neither she nor Rick had made an appearance yet today.
Just then a sleepy looking Carol, wearing Lori's pink robe over the Grateful Dead t-shirt he'd worn to bed last night, some of his big cotton socks that she'd filched out of the dresser in the guest room on her feet, came through the other door to the kitchen.
"Need coffee," she moaned, holding her hands out in front of her like a zombie, walking stiffly towards him. Smiling, Daryl intercepted her with a kiss and she hugged him.
"Someone's at the door—coffee's on the counter, be right back." Daryl told her.
"And here I was scheming on how to get you to come back to bed..." Carol pouted, pinching him on the butt, and he flinched.
"Hey!" He yelped in embarrassment and she giggled at him.
"You are just so damn cute." she told him and he rolled his eyes. No one had called him cute since he was three.
"Door." he said again and she reluctantly released him.
"Go. Abandon me to my other lover: rich smelling caffeine laced temptation." Carol said with a long-suffering sigh, but stole a quick glance at him as if realizing what she'd just said...other lover...
Damn boy, you slept with a married woman... Daryl thought to himself...and felt not an ounce of guilt about it.
"Despite the fact that you plum wore me out last night, I shall return to lure you back into my bed shortly, woman." Daryl promised, and then enjoyed her happy proud little half-smile as she turned towards the mug tree on the counter to select one for her brew...but then her hand moved to lift up the box holding Lori's herbal tea bags, seeming to contemplate them instead.
Daryl's attention was pulled away then because he could hear Carl speaking with someone, a woman. Following the voices, he went down the short hallway to the great room and then the foyer. Shane was on watch at the top of the farm lane, so no one should have been able to get back to the house without his knowledge, but Carl still should've waited to open the door until Daryl arrived. That probably meant it was someone who the boy knew—perhaps Andrea?
"Yes m'am—last night. It's a colt, black with white markings." Carl was saying politely to the attractive brunette standing in front of him who nodded at Daryl.
Well, shit. It was his stepmother, Karen.
"There you are, Daryl." Karen said, her smile of acknowledgement not reaching her eyes. Karen Dixon was younger than her step son, and had married his father ten years ago when she'd been twenty-three and Tom Dixon had been in his mid 50s. Daughter of the owner of the biggest car dealership in the county, she'd gone to business school and had worked as a saleswoman in her father's shop when the elder Dixon had gone in to buy a fleet of new trucks for the plumbing business. Wary of working with a woman, Tom had none-the-less followed through with the purchase, intrigued by her direct and cut throat approach to negotiations.
Wearing her usual weekend uniform of high heels, pressed slacks and red leather blazer over a starched blouse, her long wavy hair pulled back into a chignon at her neck, a heavy turquoise squash blossom necklace and turquoise and silver earrings, Karen was cool expensive elegance, icy and detached, a mask she wore well. One would never guess she was the wife of a tradesman; a very wealthy tradesman, yes, but a blue-collar man none the less.
Both Daryl and Merle had been astonished by their daddy's marriage to the dark-eyed young beauty, quickly arranged, expecting the arrival of a much younger sibling was in the offing, but none appeared. It became clear that Karen was in their lives to run the business and spend their father's money, both of which she did magnificently.
Daryl looked behind her, seeing that she'd driven the BMW SUV instead of the low slung convertible she usually favored; sure it was because she'd been forced to come find him at the farm. Though Karen's wardrobe vaguely affected the western lifestyle, she was not a country girl. She was also staring at him impatiently.
"When I didn't find you at the house your brother suggested you might be visiting with the Grimes again." Karen said. Despite being the same age, Lori and she did not travel in the same social circles, and as her husband did not approve of Daryl's attachment to the family as a whole, they were usually beneath her notice.
"He got that right." Daryl said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?' Karen asked archly, her tone indicating she felt she was being treated rudely.
"What do you want, Karen?" Daryl asked, unwilling to play her games. Karen looked back and forth between Carl and Daryl and then reached out to put her perfectly manicured hand on Daryl's forearm.
"We have some things to discuss—privately." his stepmother said.
"Carl, if you ask real nice, Carol will make you up some a' the best eggs you ever had." Daryl told the boy, whose face lit up and he nodded, saying goodbye to Karen and heading for the kitchen.
"I thought Mrs. Grimes' name was Lori..." Karen said disingenuously, knowing very well who the other woman staying at the house would be.
"Cut the crap Karen, you got me alone now; tell me why you're here." Daryl said, walking past Karen out onto the big farm porch and leaning back against one of the posts supporting the overhanging roof. Karen followed him out and took a seat on the big porch swing, suspended by chains from the ceiling.
"It is a lovely spot they have here, isn't it? My father speaks very highly of Sheriff Grimes—Travis—says he was a good man." Karen said in a voice brimming with false nostalgia.
"Your husband didn't share that opinion." Daryl said dryly, remembering the beatings he had taken for trying to defend the Grimes family against his father and brother's scathing insults.
"No...no, he doesn't. It hurts Tom that you'd prefer to spend your time here instead of the home he made for you and Merle." Karen said sadly, injecting a note of pathos into her voice that was as fake as her bra size.
"Bullshit." Daryl called, snorting. "My father's just a selfish prick who doesn't want anyone else playing with his toys. This had always been more of a home to me than anywhere he lives."
"Well, I suppose that makes what I came to tell you easier, then." Karen said with a sigh, pulling a large manila folder out of her leather messenger style bag and holding it out to him.
"What's that?"
"Let's call it a severing of business and familial ties, shall we?" Karen said coldly, back in cut throat business mode. Daryl took a step forward and accepted the folder.
"In light of your recent arson arrest and other possible criminal and immoral conduct, including an extramarital relationship and conspiracy to blackmail said woman's husband, your services are no longer required as an employee of SPS." Karen said as if she was reciting a script.
"You're fucking firing me?" Daryl exclaimed, stunned.
"Yes, back dated to the time of your arrest. Your uniforms, keys and work vehicle have already been confiscated from your former residence. Merle informed me that you bought your own tools, so you can pick those up with the rest of your things when you move out of the house-"
"My former--what the hell, Karen!" Daryl was reeling; they couldn't just kick him out of his house, could they?
"Your father owns that house, Daryl. You were living there rent free at his pleasure. You are no longer considered a desirable tenant." She stood. "Please have your belongings removed from it by end of business on Monday; call first so we know when you're coming."
Daryl didn't know what to say—was there anything else in his life that she could so utterly change in the space of a few minutes?
"You need to sign some legal papers so that your severance package and retirement account may be released to you and moved to a different bank of your choice." Karen continued, "There's also a letter that I found addressed to you in the safe deposit box under your name...I'd suggest that you go over all of this with a lawyer before you sign anything." she advised more kindly.
"Safe deposit box? I don't have a—" Daryl began, but Karen shook her head at him.
"I was told about it when I was closing out the other accounts. I checked—it was opened for you by your mother the summer before she died." Karen said, her voice breaking slightly and then Daryl saw something in her eyes that made him pause; some warmth, some sympathy he would have never expected from her. She stepped closer and tentatively embraced him, though his body remained stiff and unyielding.
"He's letting you go, Daryl—use this chance—be who you want to be now." Karen whispered.
Daryl frowned uncomprehendingly—was she as trapped as he had always felt as a Dixon?
"I'd like to meet your Carol sometime—see the woman who finally woke you up." she said, squeezing his shoulders and when she released him her eyes were shiny with tears.
"Karen?" Daryl said, confused, but she had put on her mask of cool detachment again, sniffing delicately, blinking rapidly.
"I'm off. No rest for the wicked." she trilled and stepped down off the porch, heading for her vehicle. "Don't forget to call first." she called back over her shoulder and waved before she got in her expensive car and drove away.
Daryl stood for a minute, watching her head back down the lane, waiting for that feeling of panic he was expecting to set in. He'd just lost his job, his home and his birthright, all in one fell swoop...
He turned and went back into the house, back into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway, watching Carol busy at the stove cooking eggs for not just Carl, but for him, Lori and Rick who were sitting at the kitchen table. Bacon and sausage also sputtered and snapped in the pan and Carol was explaining to Lori how to use their grease to get that nice brown crust on the bottom of the fried eggs while still getting a soft yolk. Carl was buttering a big stack of whole wheat toast and Rick was leaning down, his hand to Lori's belly, laughing when a little foot or fist seemed to punch out.
Rick's head came up when he saw Daryl and everyone else turned their faces to look at him.
"What did Karen want, Daryl?" Rick asked, concerned that she had brought some unwanted message from Tom Dixon.
"Well, it seems I am now unemployed and homeless." Daryl announced with a shrug.
"What?" Lori said, shocked.
"That old son of a bitch!" Rick said with disgust, slamming his hand down on the table.
"Can he do that dad?" Carl asked, "I mean Uncle Daryl didn't do anything wrong!"
"He's right—Daryl hasn't been convicted of a crime." Lori argued, angry at the summary action.
"He could argue that people don't want a suspected felon coming into their homes and places of business—but he could've just suspended you until the outcome of the hearing..." Rick said.
Alone of them Carol had said nothing, just kept looking down at the eggs she was cooking while the others watched Daryl carefully.
"Carol?" Daryl asked, wondering what he had to offer her now—no job, no home—how could he take care of her and... She lifted her face to look at him and he saw she was crying and his face fell. She took a big breath and smiled at him, setting down the spatula and wiping her hands on the apron she'd put on over the robe.
"Sometimes you have to break something to create something even better, Daryl." Carol said simply, smiling through her tears, so happy for him she could burst, he was free of his father's control.
Daryl practically ran across the room and grabbed her, kissing her hard and picked her up in his arms, carrying her like a bride across the threshold, heading back down the hall to their room.
"Hey! What about my breakfast, Pookie?" Rick called out petulantly to their retreating backs, making Lori swat him on the arm, crying and smiling too.
"Cook yer own damn eggs!" Daryl yelled back.
Carol's morning
7:05 a.m.
Carol saw the old-fashioned wire basket full of fresh brown eggs on the counter as she waited for Daryl to come back from greeting whoever had been at the door. She picked up one of them, still warm from the hen, holding its surface against her whisker burned cheek to feel its smooth texture.
After just a few days she already loved it here on the farm. The wide open spaces, the animals—she'd never been permitted so much as a goldfish, her mother and Ed agreeing that animals in the house were unsanitary—the fresh produce to cook with; it was all too good to be true. And that it came with a man like Daryl Dixon? Well, she should be covered in self-inflicted bruises from how many times she'd pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
And speaking of dreaming, had last night possibly been real?
Midnight
After the foal had finally struggled to its feet and had started nursing well, Hershel, Beth and Jimmy had made their farewells and the rest of the weary equine maternity ward closed up shop for the night. Carol and Lori had gone up to the house first while the men cleaned the stall of the afterbirth and put all of their tools away. Carol had taken a quick shower and was already in bed with the nightstand light on, when Daryl came into the room wearing only a white towel slung low around his hips, his hair still wet and slicked back from his shower.
She'd noticed that he didn't seem to mind being dirt covered—she supposed that was a trade-off with the kind of work he did both on the farm and as a plumber—but damn, he cleaned up good. She watched with dismay as he grabbed an old concert t-shirt out of the dresser and pulled it on, messing up his hair. Then he grabbed a pair of sweats, putting them on under the towel and then removed it and hung it from the back of the desk chair.
"Night." he said again, just as he'd done their first night there, and walked over to the big recliner and settled in, pulling the blanket down over him.
Carol was crushed. It was as if the haymow had never happened. She laid there for a minute or two with her indecision about his possible motives flipping back and forth in her mind. He was being a gentleman. She was still married. He knew her history of abuse. But...he'd given her an orgasm while they'd been fully dressed. He kissed her like he wanted her to live inside his heart. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anyone else in her entire life.
"Daryl?" Carol said, sounding upset, sitting up and turning towards him. She waited until he opened his eyes and looked at her, his brow wrinkled in concern.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting more fully upright and squinting at her.
Carol let the sheet and comforter drop to her waist so he could see that unlike him, she'd not dressed for bed.
"Oh holy hell, Carol..."
"It's later." she said, reminding him of her promise in the hay barn.
"Sweetheart, we've barely known each other a week...and you're still married." he tried being logical with her.
"I ceased to be married the second I walked out of his house six months ago...maybe ever since the second my daughter died...and I think we both know that it wouldn't matter if we waited until we were eighty; this has been right since you were the one who happened to take a house call about a slow draining tub."
"That purple thang burnt up in the fire I suppose..." he teased.
"I told you, that wasn't mine." she protested back, enjoying the game.
"Have to admit I'm relieved—it'as mighty small..." Daryl said, implying that she would have a very different experience if he came to her bed. He threw the light blanket off of his body and rose in one sinuous movement, walking towards her.
"The thangs you say..." Carol murmured, imitating his drawl, enjoying his approach, head low, eyes obscured behind his fringe of dark bangs, mouth set in a sultry grin.
"You sure?" he asked, pausing beside the bed now. "This ain't gonna be no teenage make out session." he warned her. The way he felt about her, the ways he wanted her, this was going to be something else entirely.
"I'm sure...I... I want you... need you, Daryl." Carol said, her voice low and husky. She crawled across the bed to him on her hands and knees and knelt in front of him on the mattress, finding the hem of his shirt and lifting it. Staring into her eyes he lifted his arms so she could pull it off over his head and throw it behind him and then before he could embrace her she slid her hands to his hips and under the waist band of his sweats and pushed them down, off his ass, her hands conforming to the fine rounded curves of each cheek.
"God." Carol sighed, "I've wanted to do that since the minute I saw you bending over my bathtub." Carol groaned, "Sorry if that makes you feel like a sex object." She apologized, letting her hands familiarize themselves with the muscled strength under the soft skin.
Since her exploration of him was bringing her soft full breasts with their stiff rosy peaks into contact with his chest, Daryl was willing to put up with a little objectification. He let his hands fall to the exact same place on her behind and cupped both cheeks in his big hands.
"Though I do believe it was my attention to this ass that started it all?" he reminded her and she shivered against him. "You ok? You cold?" he asked, leaning back so he could see her face, rubbing her back for warmth, all gentle concern and she shook her head at him side to side.
"Nervous?" he asked, "Scared?" again, she said no with a shake of her head.
"Excited." she told him, her eyes wide.
"Ground rules." Daryl said seriously. "Anything you don't want or like or anything you especially do; I need to know." He'd felt the smooth texture of the scars on her back just now, recognized them from his own experience. He brushed a kiss to her temple and spoke more quietly, his lips still against her there.
"I know he hurt you, Carol. I want this to be good for you—for both of us."
"I know it will be." Carol told him, and when he raised an eye brow at her questioningly, she added. "Because you cared enough to ask."
Ed had never cared. Not the first time, definitely not the last one, and none of the times in between.
"Well, all right then." Daryl smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple and releasing her so he could shed his sweats, leaving them on the floor, standing in front of her magnificently naked.
"I do believe it's your turn to decide what we do." Carol said mildly, "Since I got to have my roll in the hay."
"You didn't exactly choose to trip on the stairs..."
"Daryl, I am as sure-footed as a big horned sheep." Carol told him with a smug look.
"Vixen!" Daryl snorted, pushing her back on the bed and looming over her. "Gonna have to get you back for that little trick." He told her and tugged her forward so her hips were at the edge of the bed, kissing her deeply as he curled his body over hers. He let his lips drift over her cheek and jaw, down her throat and then settled in for some long slow luscious licks with his strong soft tongue at each breast, suckling there until she was writhing and gasping under him, while his hands touched her everywhere, marveling at her pale lightly freckled silken skin. He found the damp curls at her core and slid one big finger in side, groaning at the textures of her slick petal soft folds. When he skimmed over the swollen bud he found there she whimpered his name.
"Daryl?"
He lifted his mouth from her breast and looked up at her.
"Thought this was your turn?"she gasped as he continued to play with his finger against her.
"Just means I get to do stuff I want." Daryl told her mildly.
"What you want?" Carol breathed.
"Wanna feel when you come apart—first with my mouth on you then with my cock up hard and balls deep inside you—and any other which ways we can think of—that ok?" he asked her in that deep gravelly sexy voice, never one to mince words, knowing he might be shocking her but needing her to understand what he wanted.
"God yes." Carol sighed, relieved that he could be so direct with her. Her husband's sexual repertoire with her had been strictly missionary, acting as if anything else was too depraved for his wife to be required to do. The beatings had sometimes come when she'd tried to get him to try something different, accusing her of having affairs or reading dirty books—where else would she get such disgusting ideas?
Staring into her eyes Daryl let his finger slide forward and begin to push up into her, testing her depths and she cried out and grabbed at his wrist.
"Oh baby, I'm sorry—" Daryl began, feeling how tight and tensed she was, backing off.
"It's just... been awhile..." she told him, knowing she needed to relax.
"Got the cure for that." he smiled and knelt on the floor in front of her, nuzzling her belly and drawing her legs apart.
7:09 a.m.
"Mizz Carol?" Carl's young voice interrupted Carol's reliving of last night's excesses. Surprised, she turned too quickly and accidentally dropped the egg onto the counter where it landed with a sharp snap crack, the clear white leaking out onto the granite surface, the yolk still held inside by the cracked shell.
"Oops!" Carol said with a laugh, knowing that if that had happened a year ago she'd have ducked for cover for wasting the food her husband paid for by the sweat of his brow—as if the man ever sweated a day in his life unless he was forced to play golf without a golf cart.
"Well, looks like you just got started—Uncle Daryl said if I asked you'd make me some eggs." Carl said with a grin.
"Sure honey." she said, ruffling his mop of straight brown hair. "How do you like them?"
"Not burnt." Carl said with a huff. That really was his only requirement, especially when his mother was cooking.
"Scrambled ok? Like you said, I got a start on it with this one." Carol said with a smile.
"Can you put stuff inside it and flip it?" Carl asked, coming closer and looking up at the basket of eggs.
"You mean an omelet?"
"Yeah—with ham and cheese and onions and peppers, but no mushrooms, they're a fungus." the boy said with authority.
"Gotcha, no fungus." Carol said, nodding seriously. "Gotta break a few more eggs—want to help?" she asked him, pulling a stool over so he could stand up higher at the counter.
"Help you cook?" Carl asked, sounding astounded. "Uncle Shane says cookin' is women's work."
"Nonsense, a lot of the world's greatest chefs are men." Carol rooted around in the cupboards finding an omelet pan and the other ingredients and utensils necessary to fulfill Carl's request. She gave him a large spouted Pyrex measuring bowl and had him crack the eggs into it.
"See—sometimes you have to break something to create something even better." she told him as the egg batter cooked over the low gas flame while she sautéed the ingredients he had asked for in a second pan.
"How come horses don't lay eggs?" Carl asked, holding one of the broken shells up above his head to look at it more closely.
"Because they're mammals and mammals don't—the baby is in the mother's womb, which is like being inside an egg—but instead of storing the nutrients in a hard shell, the mother's own body provides them directly through the umbilical cord." Carol explained, her eyes looking a bit unfocused in thought.
"People are mammals too." Carl said, drawing Carol's attention back to him.
"That's right." she quickly agreed, her tone congratulating him for the knowledge.
"So right now lil'ass kicker's sucking her food through a straw inside my mom?"
"Lil'ass kicker?" Carol chuckled, "Let me guess, Daryl named her that."
"Yeah—my mom was real sick when she first got the baby inside and she threw up all day long. Daryl said the baby was kicking her ass—"
"And so Lil' ass kicker." Carol nodded, smiling.
"Mom said its bad luck to name the baby before it's born, so that won't be her real name anyhow." Carl explained very seriously, lest she think his sister would go by a name like that.
"I see. Well, I'll look forward to seeing what your folks decide to name her." Carol told him.
"You haven't asked me who was at the door." Carl said, watching carefully as Carol put the cooked ingredients over the partly cooked egg and then grated fresh cheese over top of it before she folded it over like closing a book. She put the lid on the pan and turned off the burner, letting the ambient heat in the pan finish the gentle cooking process. That was one of the keys to eggs, low slow heat.
"I'm sure he'll tell me if it's important." Carol said mildly, getting a plate and silverware out for Carl, herself and Daryl. "Do you want toast too?"
"I can do it." Carl said, going over to the toaster set into the kitchen island, lower so he could use it easily. They worked quietly, but she could tell Carl was dying to spill the identity of the person at the door.
"Do you think Daryl's guest will be joining up for breakfast?" Carol finally asked.
"Mrs. Dixon? She'd never been here before, so I don't know." Carl said with a frown.
"Mrs. Dixon?" Carol frowned back.
"Daryl's dad's wife but not his mom."
"His step mother?"
"Yeah, but she's not like the one in Cinderella or Snow White—she's real young and pretty." Carl said matter of factly.
"Oh she is, is she?" Carol asked, feeling a small frisson of jealousy.
"Yeah, but he doesn't look at her like he looks at you," Carl assured her.
"And how's that?"
"Like my dad looks at my mom—all sappy and lovey-dovey." Carl said with a hint of disgust. "I thought Uncle Daryl would stay cool like me n' Uncle Shane, but he went n' got sappy too...Hey!" Carl yelped when Carol came up behind him and gave him a quick hug and kissed the top of his head.
"Sorry to get Daryl drummed out of the He-Man Woman Haters Club." Carol said, sniffing back the quick happy tears.
"Aw, that's ok." Carl said, embarrassed, "He's happy now, and dad says that's what's important."
"What'd I say was important?" Rick said as he wandered into the kitchen, wearing a Navaho blanket styled robe over his pajamas, his feet covered by suede slippers lined with lamb's wool. Yawning widely, he was followed by a very groggy looking Lori in a flannel nightgown with a blue checked large man's flannel shirt over top of it. Lori went directly to the coffee pot and just lifted the carafe to her nose and took a deep sniff.
"That Mizz Carol makes Uncle Daryl happy even though she's complicated." Carl repeated what he'd heard his parents say the other night. Carol glanced at Rick with a raised eyebrow, but he busied himself wrestling the coffee away from his wife and pouring himself a cup and then snagging an eclair out of the fridge and put it on a plate. Next he checked the water level in the tea kettle, surprised to find it already almost boiling hot, but shrugged and grabbed a mug and tea bag of Lori's herbal brew.
"I'm making eggs." Carol told him in exasperation, putting her hands on her hips.
"Great—I like mine over easy, as you may recall." Rick said, taking a big bite of the chocolate covered custard filled pastry and taking it and his coffee to join a grumpy looking Lori at the table.
"Life's short—eat dessert first." Carl intoned, pointing at the legend someone had painted in stylized script above the door to the kitchen. He took his mom a piece of wheat toast liberally coated with butter, peanut butter and strawberry jam and a big glass of milk he'd already poured for himself.
"Bless you my son." Lori said thanking him right before she practically inhaled it.
"Why are you two so tired?" Carl asked curiously. He'd been up since 5 a.m. and felt fine.
Lori looked over at Rick and then the two of them looked at Carol.
"Uh—well, it was a little noisy in our part of the house last night..." Lori said. Up in the second story loft, Carl was far away from the adult bedroom area of the house, a deliberate design feature in the renovations. However the guest bedroom was separated from the master by only one thin wall.
Carol bushed scarlet.
12:32 a.m.
"Oh –oh please—oh my god, Daryl!" Carol cried out his name, holding onto the sheets for dear life as he sent her over the edge. He'd been true to his word. She'd come apart and was now limp and pliant in his hands, like soft melting wax or clay, ready to be shaped and formed into his vessel.
"You ready for me?" he asked and she felt his fingers again at her opening, and this time he could tell it brought a gasp of pleasure and not pain when he pushed one inside, holding it there against her still spasming walls. A second joined the first and he returned his mouth to her, wanting to feel her tighten down on him, sucking and licking and strumming at her trembling clit as she writhed against him. He slowly pumped his fingers forward and back, driving her insane with need, wanting more, wanting him.
"Too much-not enough!" she told him in seeming contradiction, yanking on his hair until he stopped and lifted his head to look up at her.
"Carol?" he asked, his lips glistening from her juices, his high cheek bones flushed red, his eyes the deepest darkest blue...oh holy fuck he was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life.
"Ready." she nodded at him, her crystal blue eyes darkened with desire. He gave her a wolfish grin and reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a condom and stood up, in one smooth motion, wrapping her legs around his hips with his left hand while he bit open the condom wrapper and rolled it on with the right.
Still holding his cock in that hand he used the other to gently rub his thumb over her swollen clit, keeping his eyes on her face, patiently bringing her to another orgasm just as he pushed the tip inside. She bucked up against him, almost pulling him inside as she came, this time really screaming his name as she felt every long hard inch of him fill her.
Daryl groaned her name in reply and lifted her off the bed, both hands under her ass, her arms coming around his shoulders and neck to hold her against him. He turned and found the door the only uncluttered vertical surface to back her up against, having the consequence of rattling it loudly on its hinges with his every thrust, which didn't bother either of them, but was probably what first woke Lori and Rick. The whimpers, groans, moans and ecstatic screams were what had kept them awake.
7:22 a.m.
"Seriously Carol, Pookie?" Rick said, popping the rest of the éclair in his mouth and chewing, enjoying ragging on her for the pet name she'd bestowed on a certain part of Daryl's anatomy.
"Oh. My. God." Carol said, putting her face in her hands. They'd heard everything.
"That's Garfield's teddy bear, dad." Carl said matter of factly, referring to the lasagna loving cartoon cat.
"Yes; yes it is, son." Lori said, glaring at her husband.
"So where is your Pookie bear, Carol?" Rick said, not giving up on teasing her.
"Daryl is out on the porch talking to his step mother." Carol announced, layering bacon and sausage links in the large frying pan, returning to cooking to calm and center her.
"K-Karen's here?" Rick spit, almost choking on the big gulp of coffee he'd taken to wash down the éclair.
"I saw her." Carl said, nodding.
"Of course—Tom Dixon would never sully himself to set foot on our property." Rick said bitterly. He tried to always find the good in people, but Daryl's father was someone he'd not had much luck with finding even a glimmer of the stuff.
"You think she's brought bad news?" Carol asked, concerned.
"I doubt if it's rainbows and puppies." Rick muttered sarcastically. Carl's ears perked up—he'd been begging for a puppy for weeks, ever since their old dog Blue had died. He touched the blanket sling he wore, checking his kitten, which was sleeping soundly despite all the human activity around it. He thought maybe he'd like to be a vet like Dr. Greene when he grew up. That and a Deputy like his dad and Uncle Shane.
"Rick!" Lori said, a look of wonder on her face. She grabbed his hand and pulled it over to her belly, and he laughed in delight as he felt his unborn daughter kick.
1:34 a.m.
"I liked being pregnant." Carol said. They had dressed back in their night-clothes and robes and moved out onto the big porch swing, needing to have a serious discussion away from the temptation to start up the naked stuff and thangs again. Daryl was lying with his head pillowed on her lap and she was softly stroking his hair, marveling at how silky it felt against her fingers.
"You did?" Daryl asked.
He'd had three condoms in the box next to his bed and upon closer examination they'd found that they'd expired two years earlier. The present discussion was made necessary by the fact that the second one they'd used had broken quite spectacularly, a fact they discovered only after he'd removed it.
"Ed left me alone for the most part...and my parents stopped haranguing me for a grandchild. I could eat whatever I wanted... the only other time I was happy in my marriage was the day I left him." Carol said, shrugging.
"You'd want another child? So soon after..." Daryl's voice trailed off. He didn't want to cause her any pain by saying her dead child's name.
"After losing Sophia?" Carol asked. "I'll always love my baby girl, Daryl, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't ever want another child."
"Are we crazy to even be talkin' about this?" Daryl asked, "I mean, this is all happening so fast..."
"Do you even want children, Daryl? Ever?" Carol asked, sounding merely curious, not accusing or hurt. Often abused children didn't, not wanting to bring others in the world to possibly suffer as they had.
"Course I do...'specially if they're with you." he told her, looking up at her, his eyes wounded, hurt that she'd think otherwise.
"We just made all this ever more complicated, didn't we?" Carol said with a sigh.
"You know, my momma always told me, 'Sometimes you have to break something to create something even better...'" Daryl told her hopefully.
"I'm pretty sure she wasn't referring to condoms, Daryl." Carol returned dryly, making Daryl chuckle.
"What you said? When we was sittin' up in the haymow before?" Daryl asked, sitting up and taking her in his arms.
Carol nodded, looking into his serious, sweet, oh so dear face.
"Well, I'm fallin' in love here." he told her softly and rested his forehead against hers. "And if it happens, I'll love our baby too."
Aw, they're so sweet together! And possible Caryl babies are always wonderful, albeit complicated in this particular situation. Imagine how Phillip and Ed could use this against them...
Karen as trophy wife works for me; I think she got more than she bargained for with old Tom Dixon though, but she does try to help Daryl in the end. Wonder what's in that letter from Daryl's mother?
And yes, I laughed out loud when I discovered what exactly Carol nicknamed "Pookie"...and I'm laughing again writing it in the AN!
Read, fave, follow: love you all! Reviewers: let me know what you think of this one; )