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Daryl almost dropped her - his Carol who felt so amazingly wonderful in his arms - when both struggled clumsily with the key. Carol's lack of fine motor skills - due to the outrageous quantity of wine she'd consumed - was a deterrent, and Daryl - the obliging gentleman that he was - needed both arms to carry her.

Somehow, they managed it - accompanied by his mumbled curses and a few giggles Carol couldn't manage to bite back - but they made it into the apartment. She managed to kick her shoes off while still in his arms, her heels landing against the baseboards in the dark hallway with two loud thumps. Carol groaned, the sudden impact of blinding light making her quint and hide her face against his shoulder as Daryl found the light switch.

"Bed, Daryl, bed!" she sighed.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, heading off in the direction of her bedroom. He kicked the door open and bore her over to the bed, setting her upon the cool sheets as gently as possible, a relieved breath rushing from his lungs as he sat beside her and took his shoes off.

"Does this mean I'm too heavy?" she slurred.

He chuckled. "Naw, jus' glad we finally made it. Need help with anythin'?"

"This goddamn dress … could you …?" Carol tried to turn onto her side and reached desperately for the zipper as she groaned.

Shaking his head in amusement, watching her flailing limbs, he leaned over and reached for the zipper. The fabric parted, giving him a glimpse of her creamy flesh, and he could feel his hands trembling. Despite how many times he'd seen her in various states of undress, it still caused a little thrill to rush through his body with each new experience. Easing the dress over her shoulders and down her hips left his mouth watering, but he quickly pushed his own desires to the back of his mind.

"Damn, woman!" he groaned, straightening and taking her in where she lay clad only in her underthings. The breath hitched in his throat, and he felt his cock twitch in excitement. Aside from the familiar bustier and the satin underwear, she also wore a garter belt and sheer black stockings. Good Lord! Is she trying to kill me?!

Carol sighed blissfully as she laid back against her soft, cool pillow, a mischievous grin etching her lips. "See anything you like?" she teasingly whispered, her glassy eyes fixed on him lustfully.

Daryl dropped back to the bed beside her and traced a finger ever so lightly over the top of the lacy belt at her waist. "Uhm … I didn't expect anythin' like this, but … yeah, it's nice. I like it," he whispered shyly after he took the time to clear his throat.

Carol smiled, biting her lip - in what she hoped was a seductive manner - and reached for his tie, pulling him close in a swift, clumsy move.

Daryl's lips parted on a surprised gasp as he fought for balance, but it was futile, and he found himself slipping easily between her thighs which held his hips tightly in place like a vise. She smiled, her gaze drifting to his lips, her grip firm on his tie as she pressed her heat against his groin. His body responded immediately, his eyes closing for but a moment, relishing the feel of her sweet center spreading warmth where he needed it most. Neither control nor even a wee bit of luck were on his side.

"Carol! Stahp this … we shou -" he managed to croak out, grinding his teeth as he wrestled with the sensations she evoked in him.

"Oh, Daryl, you feel so good," she moaned against the shell of his ear, one of her hands skimming over his hip to knead his ass as she thrust her hips closer to his. The thin fabric of his suit trousers did him no favors either as his pulsing erection pressed painfully hard against her core.

"SHIT! STAHP!" he groaned, finally finding the willpower to free himself from her grip. "What the fuck's gotten into you?" he panted, rising to his knees to look down at her, his breathless words colored with shock, disbelief and a twinge of anger. "My 'stop' counts just as much as yours, don't it?"

"I'm sorry. I thought we could … uhm … I thought you wanted to take me to bed," she slurred, reaching blindly for the duvet to cover herself, a sudden wave of shame causing a blush to spread from her chest to the tips of her ears. "I'm sorry," she apologized again in an embarrassed whisper. "Sometimes I seem to forget I'm paying you for all this … that you don't … that you couldn't want me … that you don't even want to kiss me when no one is looking." She sniffled. "You can go home, Daryl. You did a good job today," she whispered, trying to hide her face behind the blanket so he wouldn't see her tears.

"Carol, I-"

"No, it's okay … I had too much wine … I'm sorry I did this. I know it was wrong," she wailed.

Daryl took a deep fortifying breath and inched closer, resting his brow against her shoulder. He hadn't meant to be so harsh with her, but he'd had no other choice. "Yeah, ya had too much wine … an' y'know … it shouldn't happen like this. Yer drunk, an' I don't want ya to do somethin' tonight you'll regret in the mornin'. I'm not some guy who would take advantage of a drunken woman, Carol," he made clear. The disgusting words of her ex reverberated in his skull and turned his stomach. He was still completely repulsed by the man's behavior and outright disregard for Carol's feelings.

There was no doubt Daryl wanted to kiss her. He wanted to rip every last shred of clothing from them both and explore her at his leisure, to bury himself deep inside of her and lose himself in her scent, her touch, her essence. But he couldn't do that, wouldn't take advantage of her inebriated state. He'd never be able to look at himself in the mirror again without seeing what a dirty little bastard he'd become. He'd be no better than her ex. That asshole would've taken what he wanted with no qualms about what it would do to Carol. Daryl had something the other man lacked … honor and integrity.

Carol's teary eyes found his, remorse hitting her hard and allowing her to come back to her senses. It had been a horrible idea to drink so much. "I thought it would help me to relax … I thought it would work like this, you know?"

"Th' fuck, woman? Ya think ya gotta be drunk to have sex with me? That's quite the compliment," he remarked in a dry tone, arching a brow at her. The half-smile spreading over one corner of his mouth disguised his hurt, however.

Carol smiled sadly. "You know I didn't mean it like that. It was dumb and I crossed a line. I'm sorry."

"When it happens, I wanna be sure yer with me … connected like before … remember?" he asked softly, reaching for her hand to brush his lips over her knuckles, reminding her of what they'd already shared and how much her trust in him had grown since their rough beginnings.

"What if … what if it will never … uhm … work?" she asked him, defeated.

Daryl huffed a short breath, trying to find the words to explain. "We … I mean … You've come so far, Carol. Yer feeling good, more confident than ya were before, and ya seem to be more comfortable with what we've been doin' compared to how it was when we first met. Sex ain't everythin'."

It was as if he hadn't spoken, however. Her thoughts were mired in her own self-doubts and recriminations. "I'm useless like this, Daryl. What kind of man would want a woman who can't give him sex?"

"If a man loves his woman …" Daryl paused, his voice trailing into the ether as his eyes widened minutely. "Is that what this is about? Ya wanna get ready for some guy? I thought this was about you? YOU wanted to do somethin' for yerself, right?" he asked, confusion warring with the jealousy which had his stomach tied in knots.

Carol buried her face in her hands as silent tears washed over her waxen cheeks. She knew he was right, but her husband's ghost ... his vile acidic accusations had carved deep scars into her soul and filled her heart with echoes of pain. No use … Worthless … No one will ever want you, slut!

"Can you love, Daryl? Your job … sleeping with all those women … can you feel love?" she whispered, inwardly cursing the waver in her voice.

Her question caught him off guard. How easy would it be to answer her honestly? Yet he couldn't … shouldn't. It would ruin what they shared, he was sure of it. "Can you … after all you've been through?" he asked instead, once again hiding his true feelings behind a mask of stoicism.

Carol's mouth opened and closed numerous times before she finally found her voice to answer him. "It's better if I don't. And you?"

Daryl smiled weakly, rubbing a hand over his chest where his heart gave a painful thud. "Yeah … It's better if I don't either," he replied.

The whole situation made her feel like a fool. She'd practically thrown herself at him like an insane hysterical nymphomaniac and crossed a line with forcing him between her legs. But in spite of everything he hadn't left, and he had also helped her out of her stockings, because her moves had still been too uncoordinated to manage on her own and her tears had made it hard for her to see. No man had ever helped dress her before, yet he hadn't hesitated to help her into a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt before he'd gone to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for her … two actually. He'd made her drink the first one, insisting she needed to stay hydrated to prevent a hangover. The second, he set on her night table for later. For some reason, it seemed he felt responsible for her. She cringed, hating to be such a burden to him.

"How ya supposed to sleep in that? Ain't it terribly uncomfortable?" he asked, fingering the stiff material of her bustier at her waist where her shirt had ridden up. She'd already refused quite vehemently when he'd suggested she remove it only moments before.

"I – No … I can't," Carol replied quietly. "I could try to take it off without removing my shirt, but I just don't think I could manage."

Daryl climbed onto the bed, kneeling behind her and gently resting his hands on her shoulders to ease away some of her tension. His voice was whisper-soft against her ear. "Ya can't sleep in this thing," he insisted. "May I take it off? I mean … I can't really see anythin' here."

Carol trembled, overcome with nerves, the alcohol she'd consumed earlier roiling in her stomach. Could she? The bustier had always been between them, her safety net, her armor. Removing it, would leave her more vulnerable than she'd ever been with him, despite his assurances that he wouldn't touch her sexually while her head was clouded with drink.

Daryl could feel her fear, her indecision as she fought the battle in her mind. He didn't want her to be afraid, not of him. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Stop, Carol. Let it go," he whispered, trying to comfort her. "I'm not gonna look, an' ya know I'd never hurt ya. I jus' want ya to be comfortable so ya can rest. Trust me."

She closed her eyes, the warmth in his rich gravelly voice soothing her. She did trust him to a certain point, though it was one of the most difficult things she'd ever had to do. Her hands, clenched over the tops of his forearms relaxed somewhat, and the nod she gave him was almost imperceptible.

Carol managed to slip her arms free of the straps with his help, but she knew it would be impossible for her fumbling fingers to free the hooks running down the front of the bustier. He gave her the time she needed to mentally prepare for what was to happen, and with a shaky breath, she nodded again, giving him permission to proceed.

Daryl watched her face closely in the meager light as he slipped his hands beneath her shirt, searching for any signs of distress. He could sense how hard this was for her. He concentrated on his task - trying not to touch her more than was necessary - and paused at the top of the bustier, his fingers trembling. Her eyes shot open to meet his gaze as the first hook was released, and he arched a brow, again asking for permission to proceed, his eyes pleading with her to allow him to see to her comfort. Carol relaxed minutely and simply pressed her brow to his. Daryl's fingers were quick and efficient, clinical almost, as he finished the long row of hooks and pulled the stiff, unyielding fabric from her body to toss onto the floor.

How many times had he dreamed of ridding her of that offending garment? Too many times to count. There was no way he could have imagined taking it off of her in such an awkward moment, the mere thought forcing him to bite back a chuckle.

"Better?" he asked, leaning back to gauge her reaction.

I don't know. "I think so," Carol whispered brokenly, her arms wrapping around her torso, hugging herself in an effort to hide her body from him, bereft without her armor.

Daryl moved to sit next to her again and just couldn't help but notice how vulnerable she suddenly appeared. "Yer a'right? Why do ya hide yerself?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. It's just … I'm not young anymore … not firm, toned or in perfect shape … I'm sorry," she whispered shyly, turning away from him to lie down and cover herself with the blanket.

"There's nothin' wrong with ya; yer pretty jus' the way ya are, Carol," he sighed, pulling off his tie and removing his suit jacket.

"What are you doing? Are you … are you going to stay?" Carol asked, a puzzled frown drawing her brows together.

"Uhm … I thought … I mean … it's two in the mornin' an' I ain't thrilled at the thought of drivin' home this late. An' I was thinkin' … maybe ya shouldn't be alone now. But it's a'right … I can leave," he stammered, blushing to the tips of his ears. "But drink some water before ya go to sleep … hangover prevention and stuff," he added. He didn't want her to suffer a vicious headache the next morning.

"Stay … please, stay with me," she whispered and burrowed herself deeper under the covers. Carol hadn't expected him to stay overnight, and she wasn't prepared. But she couldn't find it in herself to feel disappointed to have him stay with her.

Over the years, she'd taken measures to have her bed appear less empty. It wasn't as though she'd enjoyed someone next to her in the past - quite the opposite - but sometimes, she'd felt lost in the big bed. Unaware of what comfort she'd been looking for, she'd felt she'd had to do something to make herself feel less lonely - for lack of a better explanation. She'd added a heavier, bigger blanket, much larger than the king-sized bed, and an array of six pillows filled the space she didn't occupy. Daryl would find enough bedding and a place next to her, even if it was limited.

Carol drank the second glass, just as he'd asked. He feels responsible for me. I'm nothing but a burden, she lamented silently. She returned the glass to her night table, trying to calm down as she waited for him to join her. Still wearing his boxers and his undershirt he lay down next to her after she'd inched closer to the edge of the bed to make more room. He was lying in the middle of the bed, pulling the blanket over him as he held her gaze, her warmth already reaching out to him. It hurt his heart to see the tears which lingered in her azure eyes. She seemed so small and lost. "C'mere," he whispered, inviting her into his embrace.

She was finally in his arms - the blanket between them so she didn't feel too exposed - hiding in the crook of his neck as if she were seeking refuge. Her warmth permeated his body, and he enjoyed the feel of her breath on his skin as he relaxed, drawing his arms around her. But then she lifted her head, looking up at him, her expression sad and troubled.

"I'm not," she whispered to him.

"What?"

"Pretty … I know I'm not," she said. "So, don't lie to me any longer, please."

"Ain't lyin' … would rather say nothin' than lie to someone. Did he tell ya that … yer asshole husband?" he asked, but when she looked down and closed her eyes, he had his answer, the question he'd asked unnecessary.

"Dunno what he told ya, but I think yer pretty," he whispered, his fingers gliding softly over her shoulder as his voice rumbled slowly into the silence. "Yer pretty when yer smiling an' laughing … an' when yer lost in thought sometimes. An' when yer excited, yer eyes get much bigger … those blue eyes. Yer always pretty … even when ya come … especially when ya come," he whispered with a half-smile. "An' when yer cryin' … yer even pretty when yer cryin' … beautiful," the last word only a breath.

"Carol?" he spoke quietly, but her eyes were already closed and her breaths eased past her lips in a calmer rhythm. She'd already fallen asleep. It was probably better this way, better that his words hadn't reached her ears, he mused.

"An' I would kiss ya if no one was watchin' us … I would," he whispered, the distance closing between them as his face inched closer to hers. He prayed she wouldn't wake and send his courage fleeing, hesitating for only a heartbeat before he brushed his lips softly to hers. His hand smoothed over her soft hair as he closed his stinging eyes. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

Chapter End Notes:

I'm a little worried that maybe the chapter went into a direction which felt disappointing for some readers, but for me, it had to happen like this. They - both of them - just need that different kind of intimacy, before they can get intimate in a physical way. But in the end, every broken wall gives more room for the next step. And maybe they will make a huge step in the next chapter!

Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm still overwhelmed by your wonderful feedback and every comment makes my heart jump!

Kudos to the amazing CharlotteAshmore! Thank you for always finding the words which I don't have sometimes. You're doing a great job with getting into my head! Love you!