AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
Smut warning for this one.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl stood in front of the closet and stared in one direction and then another—and then in one direction and then another again. He was aware of Carol's sigh from behind him, and he swallowed down his laughter.
"You stressin' me out," he offered.
"You're stressing me out!" She responded. There was no real bite there. She was no more stressed out than he was—and that was really not more than the mildly playful stress that they were creating together for their own entertainment. "Make a decision!"
She wanted to do this for him, but really, he wanted it for her more than anything. He felt like he knew what she wanted—what she needed—and he needed her to have it.
"There's a lotta damn choices here, Carol!" Daryl barked. "I don't wanna make the wrong one!"
"Either you pick something in the next two minutes," Carol said, "or I'm going to put on my pajamas and go to bed."
"Damn," Daryl declared, this time not successfully keeping his voice from cracking ever so slightly with laughter. "First, it's you can pick whatever you want, Baby. This is all about you. Then it's if you don't pick it right now I'ma go to bed and there ain't no pussy to be had around here whatsofuckin'ever."
Carol snorted behind him, and he pulled the two that he was most chewing over from the closet—one in each hand.
"That's great," Carol offered. "Those are great—except I only have one body. So, unless there's going to be a costume change mid-fuck…"
"You wanna simmer down, Cher?" Daryl asked, laughing to himself.
Carol smiled broadly at him and straightened out of her leaning position. He moved his face toward her and accepted the kiss she gave him. He hummed his satisfaction and appreciation of it.
Most everybody had spent the day out at the motel doing something. When Sophia had gotten out of school, they'd brought her up there and Sadie had made a game of sorting soaps and shampoos and other items out of a bunch of large boxes into a bunch of smaller, more organized boxes. Sophia had helped her do that before they'd trotted along putting all that stuff in bathrooms throughout the motel to get a head start on being able to open some doors up to the public that passed through looking for gas and a bed for the night.
For all Carol's concern that she wouldn't have what it took to run a restaurant—and maybe a full-sized restaurant came with more concerns than something akin to the practical food stand that she'd run out of the Chambers—Carol had immediately seemed to find her place in the little kitchen. She'd opened every window and every door, and she'd employed Nellie's help to scour and scrub everything. There was still a good bit of cleaning to be done, but already the place looked like somewhere where Daryl wouldn't mind eating, and he was pickier, on the whole, than some of his other brothers.
To celebrate everything, Merle had insisted that he and Andrea were going to keep Sophia. The whole night, he said. They were going to feed her and put her to bed and, then, in the morning they were going to see to it that she got to school at the proper hour. Sophia had been excited, and she'd packed her little bag with a great deal of enthusiasm, and she'd gone out the door with them after kissing Carol and Daryl goodnight.
Carol wanted to celebrate the motel and the restaurant, but she was a bit rushed in case Sophia changed her mind about sleeping over—even though she'd been pretty stoked about the fact that Andrea had promised her that there was enough room in Merle's king sized bed for her to snuggle right on in next to Andrea for the whole night.
Since Carol felt a little rushed, Daryl felt a little rushed. He had a half a million things pinballing through his mind—things he wanted to say to her, things he wanted to talk to her about from different things that had taken place throughout the day—but all of them would keep until they were burning minutes before they needed to go to bed and waiting to see if Sophia would back out of her slumber party.
"I can't pick between these two," Daryl said.
Carol hummed her understanding and crossed her arms across her chest.
"OK," she said. "What's the appeal to them?"
Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.
"The appeal is that you gonna put one on, and then we're gonna spend the next like—two hours—fucking."
"Two hours, huh?" Carol asked, smirking. "You're feeling confident about that figure?"
"Give or take," Daryl said. "Hey—you the one wanted a costume change and an intermission."
Carol laughed to herself. Daryl couldn't help it. With a hanger in each hand, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. He kissed her and moaned his appreciation of her when she bit his lip, hard, and then laughed to herself at his reaction.
She was feeling good. And all he wanted, really, was to keep her feeling just that good for as long as it was possible.
"So fuckin' beautiful," he offered when he pulled away from her.
The smile was sincere. It was real. And it made Daryl's chest ache. She took the lingerie from him and held up both pieces.
"What do you like about each of them?" She asked.
Daryl ran his fingers across the white one.
"It's soft," he said. "White. Pretty. I just—think you'd be pretty in something soft and white and…" His face burned warm and he shrugged his shoulders. Carol's cheeks burned pink in exchange. She waved the other at him. He laughed to himself. "What the hell explanation does it need?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders. "It's black leather and—it smells like leather—and since I saw it hangin' up there the last time I was digging around in here? I was thinkin' about how I wouldn't mind eatin' out your pussy through that slit in the crotch."
Daryl couldn't help but laugh when Carol walked immediately to the closet and hung the white lingerie on the bar.
"We'll save that for—maybe when we get married? You might like something nice and white then," Carol said.
"Thought you might—buy one of your own for when we get married," Daryl offered.
"These are mine. Now," Carol responded.
"Now," Daryl ceded. "But you was talkin' about how you didn't—you know—never buy one that was real…like you wanted it. I thought for when we got married, you could buy whatever it was you wanted. All yours. Hell—surprise me with somethin' that makes you happy and don't worry about a damn soul else."
Carol smiled at him. She stepped close to him and pecked his lips softly. When he came for more, she pulled away, but came back to nip him again.
"Either way," she said, "we have plenty of time for you to see whatever you want. Now—get out of the room. I have to change."
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It was a quiet night. It was cool, but not cold enough that Daryl was uncomfortable sitting on the porch steps wearing nothing but his jeans while he smoked a cigarette. It wasn't too cold, either, for the ice-cold beer he was using to entertain himself while Carol took her time doing whatever it was she seemed to need to do to get ready for him.
If any of his brothers drove by and saw him sitting out there, they'd rib him for being thrown out the house. They'd ask him what he did to get his ass put out in the cold.
He'd take the ribbing—all of it—for what he was waiting on.
When Carol called to him, Daryl turned too fast after putting out his cigarette and quickly draining the beer. He stubbed his toe on the top step, slammed his knee into the porch, and muttered a curse at his own clumsiness as he ignored both pseudo-injuries and limped as quickly as he could into the house, slamming the door behind him with more force than he'd meant to use. He tossed the beer in the trashcan and went directly to the bedroom where he stopped before he'd made it three feet into the door.
"Are you limping?" Carol asked. "Are you hurt?"
There was genuine concern in her voice, and Daryl didn't want concern. He wanted everything that had made her choose to stand in front of him like she was standing now—confident, purposefully posed in a way that she thought he would like, and she was right to think that, wearing the leather piece of clothing and his cut.
"I ain't never been better in my life," he said. He hadn't checked, and he didn't know if he'd stubbed his toe badly enough for it to bleed, but he didn't care, at that moment, if he was bleeding all over the carpet. He walked as normally as he had ever managed to walk before, crossed the room to the spot where she'd chosen to prop herself against the wall like some kind of centerfold, and he lifted her up. Thankfully, she understood what he was doing and she wrapped her legs and arms around him to help him out. He caught her under the ass and hoisted her up, lifting her higher and getting a better hold on her.
She laughed and raked her short nails across his back.
"You like it?" She asked.
"Fuckin' incredible," Daryl growled. He carried her over to the bed and half-dropped her onto the mattress. She crab-crawled backward to make room for him, but he simply grabbed her by the hips and dragged her back toward him. "I told you what I wanted," he said. "Don't think you gettin' out of it."
She smiled at him, but dropped her head back. He pushed her legs apart, but she didn't require him to put any effort behind doing so. She spread them eagerly for him, and he didn't miss that she arched her back simply in anticipation.
The fact that she enjoyed it so much—the fact that she enjoyed him so much—made him go suddenly so hard that it was uncomfortable. He left her only long enough to slip out of his jeans, and she sat up when he did so.
"Changed your mind?" She asked.
"Shhh," he hissed, licking a line up one thigh and then the other in response. She dropped back against the mattress again and Daryl laughed to himself. "Just needed room to breathe, that's all."
Daryl took his time. He was in no hurry. It didn't take long before Carol's reactions, alone, to his attempts to pleasure her brought him to his own messy climax, so he felt no real reason to rush afterwards. They had time to kill, after all, before he was ready to do anything more, so he could think of no better way to spend that time than torturing her body in ways that made her squirm, pull his hair, claw at him, and cry out.
It was the only time that he absolutely didn't mind the tears that ran down the sides of her face because he knew she appreciated them being there.
It was only once his jaw started to lock painfully and his fingers started to cramp that he had to give up and bring himself to lie beside her and nuzzle against her. But, by that time, his own body was starting to find renewed interest and ability.
She stroked him while whispering in a hoarse voice a thousand thanks, stuck on repeat, as she peppered his face with her kisses.
And when it was his turn, he made it easy for her to do as she pleased. He rolled onto his back when she nudged him to push him that way, and he eased his hands under her to help support as she lowered herself onto him.
"You look fuckin' incredible like that," Daryl informed her as she pressed her palms against his chest and focused on taking control of things—taking control of him. He could see, on her face, the slightest hint of insecurity. He could see some worry of disapproval. But she smiled when his words did something to wipe a little of it away.
"Yeah?" She asked softly—hopefully.
"So damn incredible," Daryl said, "I might make you ride my ass forever."
She beamed at him. She didn't say anything else—not another word. But the effort she put into pleasing him said everything she wanted him to hear.
And though he would often try to control his orgasms—and everything else involved with sex, really, because he feared she might think he was a loser if he somehow came across as something less than "cool" in the bedroom—he didn't try to control anything this time. He let her know exactly how he felt about every single delicious roll of her hips.
When they were both too drained to move, he pulled her down against his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and held her there while she got her breath.
"Was it OK?" She asked.
He laughed to himself.
"Best ever," he assured her, squeezing her gently.
"Good enough for an old lady?" She asked. "The marrying kind?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Sweetheart—there ain't never been an old lady that could come close to outdoin' that shit. I guarantee it."