AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
Warning here for anal play for anyone who likes to be warned. Other than the discussion bits (because they do talk about it before anything happens), I tried to mark the more explicit part off with "222222"s on either side in case you want to try to hop over that but get the rest of the sentiment in the chapter (since there's more to the smut in this story than just actual smut, or at least there's supposed to be).
I've uploaded a lot to this one lately (and there's more in the works because I have to write what I can't get out of my head), so please make sure you haven't missed any chapters!
I hope that you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!
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"Safe and sound," Daryl assured Sophia as he hung her cut over the back of the chair in her small bedroom. Her cut was the last thing she'd give up every night and the first thing she wanted in the morning. She'd reluctantly give it to Carol while she was at school, but she wanted it as soon as she was picked up. Daryl thought he understood, though, and he would certainly never begrudge her something that seemed to bring her a great deal of comfort and happiness. For that reason, he treated it every bit as respectfully as Sophia believed he should. She watched him, and then she slipped back down to lie against her pillow. He came over to the bed again, and he pulled Sophia's blanket up when she hugged one of the dolls that Andrea had given her to her chest. "You satisfied?" He asked. She nodded her head. Her eyelids had a decent bit of delay between their opening and their closing. "You good?" Daryl asked, just to be sure. There was a hint of a hum. Daryl smiled to himself. "All right," he said. "Then you sleep good an' you have good dreams."
"You sleep good and you have good dreams," Sophia offered.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Yeah, alright," he said. "I will. You holler if you need somethin', OK?"
Daryl flicked the light off, waited long enough to make sure that the little night light was going to come on, and then he closed Sophia's door.
It had been a busy afternoon. After Carol brought Sophia home from school, Daryl had helped her with her homework. Right now, the things she had to do were simple enough that he could check behind her when she finished each sheet and brought it to him while they worked making some simple repairs around the motel. Her work was simple enough, in fact, that he'd left the brothers in charge of checking the last two sheets while he'd run home to pick up Sophia's bike.
When her homework was done, and with Carol's blessing, he'd left everyone working to take Sophia out into the parking lot. She'd pedaled her bike all around the motel, and Daryl had walked near her and listened to her tell him stories about what she'd done that day, seen on television, or simply just imagined.
Sophia was safe at the motel. She was, in fact, probably the safest of them all. Negan and the Saviors were assholes, especially when it came to pussy, but Negan would have never stood for treating a child improperly, no matter their gender. Everyone at that motel knew that they would lose their cut, and their nuts, if they so much as looked at Sophia in a way that made her uncomfortable. As a result, Sophia was the only one who could really count on moving throughout the space entirely without worry of even being harassed.
And, really, it would have taken one bold ass individual, Daryl thought, to come into a space packed damn near to the brim with bikers and their old ladies and expect to mistreat the clearly untouchable one among them, so he had little worry that anyone would harass Sophia outside as long as she was accompanied—and she was always accompanied.
Declaring that she had little else to offer any of them because she had no time to dedicate to the motel at the moment, Alice had brought dinner for all of them that were working. She'd brought them several rotisserie chickens from the grocery deli and some large containers of sides provided by the same deli. They'd all gotten their fill, and it had saved them from another meal of burgers scoffed down as something quick and easy at the end of an absolutely packed day.
Back at the house, Daryl had showered quickly while Carol had packed lunches for the next day and done all the things that she managed to get done in a quick walk-through cleaning of the house. Then, she'd bathed Sophia while Daryl had taken care of a little business with Merle—talking with his brother and assigning responsibilities and shifts for different things during the upcoming days. He had to shuffle things around to accompany Carol to an appointment the next day, so both of them would be away and unable to take care of anything. Finally, Carol had time to bathe while Daryl had read to Sophia and tucked the little girl in.
By the time Daryl checked the lock on the door and made it to the bedroom, he was feeling tired after a long day, but he was also feeling oddly invigorated by the fact that he thought that, on the whole, they were doing pretty well at their little life. They were doing better, he reasoned, than a lot of people, and that felt like a personal success.
Daryl didn't try to hide his pleasure at finding, when he came into the bedroom and closed the door behind him, that Carol hadn't bothered to dress at all after her shower.
"Hot damn, woman," he said, immediately pulling his shirt over his head. There was no need pretending that he didn't know what was on her mind. The way she was sitting—stretched out on the bed—told him that she knew exactly what she wanted, and he had no intentions of disappointing her.
She smiled so sincerely at his simple greeting, too, that he went ahead and shucked the rest of his clothing for her amusement.
"I have something special for you," Carol said. There was a bit of sing-songy element to her voice. Whatever the surprise was, she was as excited about it as Daryl was supposed to be—and he was certain that he'd be excited about anything that she had for him.
"I hope to hell it's you," Daryl said. He stroked his dick. Of the three of them, it was the least interested in being coy, and Carol's smile only grew when she looked directly at it. "You like that?" Daryl asked with a laugh. "That I walk in the damned door an' just like that I'm half-hard?"
"I do," Carol said, bluntly and sincerely. "I really, really do." She left her chosen pose and moved around to get on her knees. She walked, on her knees, to the edge of the bed and held her arms out to him. "It makes me feel—desirable. Like you want me."
"You are that," Daryl said. "And I sure as shit want you."
He did want her. He wanted everything about her.
She was nervous, and gun-shy, and sometimes she seemed seconds from hiding under the bed until he promised her it was safe to come out—and often without any warning or obvious reason. But he understood her. He had been gun-shy, himself, in a different way.
But he was also learning that she responded to him. She responded to everything about him.
And even though he might want to be careful and gentle and tiptoe around her, he was also learning that she responded well to a very straightforward way of being.
She wasn't offended that he wanted to fuck her. She wanted him to want to fuck her. It made her feel good and, in return, she made him feel good. It was no challenge, then, for him to give her a little peek at the fact that he wanted her so badly that his dick refused to behave in her presence.
Carol wrapped her arms around him and kissed him sincerely when he reached the bed. She dropped her hand and took over stroking him. She squeezed, honestly, a little too hard sometimes, but it was nothing that Daryl couldn't tolerate and, he knew, there was plenty of time for getting her grip just right.
All the fuck that really mattered, at that moment, was that she hadn't pointed out to him one single thing that he was supposed to find wrong with her body and she was as naked as the day she was born in the full light of the bedside lamp. She also hadn't, since he'd come in the room, shown any concern over whether or not he really wanted to be there, if he really wanted to be there with her, if he would have preferred someone else, or if he might want to leave at some point.
All she wanted, right now, was to kiss him and stroke him and rub her titties against him and he didn't care if she wasn't quite perfect at any or all of that—because he was a long damn way from perfect, and she was as close to perfect as he'd ever actually seen.
Carol pulled away a moment, fumbling around on the nightstand, but she kept kissing Daryl so he kept kissing her back. He reached his hand between her legs, and she spread them a little, still balancing on her knees. She was wet. She was the absolutely messy kind of wet that made Daryl's dick instantly harder. She wanted this. She wanted him.
And he wondered if that's why she liked to see him getting hard when he thought about what they were going to do together.
He teased her, rubbing her clit in circles with his finger. She squirmed, obviously finding it at least a little challenging to focus on the numerous things she was trying to do at once.
Daryl groaned into her mouth, when she returned to kiss him again, as she wrapped her hand around his dick once more—this time with a quick second of cold shock followed by the delicious feeling of the lubricant that she'd apparently squeezed into her hand to ease the friction.
"I like this surprise," Daryl teased the first time their lips parted. Carol laughed quietly.
"This isn't the surprise," she breathed out. "It's the appetizer."
"Good damn thing I am hungry tonight, woman," Daryl teased.
Carol pulled away from him, smiling more than he'd seen her smile in a while, and went for something else on the nightstand. She backed away from him, so he joined her on the bed.
"Hold out your hand," she commanded. He followed her orders and held out his hand. She placed a glass ornament in his hand. "I've never done this," she said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Me either," he said. He turned the ornament over with some hope that it might inform him of what the hell it was or what she expected of him. She was looking at him with such excited anticipation that he almost felt like he was failing her for not knowing. Finally, he accepted defeat and shrugged his shoulders. "What you—what are we doing? Exactly? What—uh—what'cha want me to do with this?"
Her cheeks ran pink. She leaned against him and pressed her lips to his face. She nuzzled his neck and he shivered as her lips kissed a soft trail around the crook of his neck. Whatever she wanted, he wanted her to have it, because everything that radiated off of her made him feel warm, and happy, and loved.
And then, just to fuck with him, she bit his earlobe hard enough for it to sting—but, rather than deter him, it only made his dick jump to attention.
"Asshole," he muttered as she laughed quietly near his ear.
"I want you to—you know—put it in me, she whispered. "But—you have to listen to me, OK? If I say stop…"
"I never ain't stopped somethin' you wanted me to stop," Daryl said quickly, his stomach tightening with the suggestion that he wouldn't listen to her request to stop doing something.
"I know you haven't," Carol said. "I'm just laying the ground rules. That's all. OK? Can I—make some rules?"
Daryl's stomach responded to that question as much as the previous suggestion.
"Make all you want," he ceded.
"You listen to me," Carol said. "You—go slow. And you use a lot of lube." She laughed nervously. "And you don't hurt me—too bad."
Daryl turned the glass ornament over in his hand again. He laughed to himself.
"Just—put it in you?" He asked. She nodded. "Carol—my dick's bigger'n this. I don't think you got a lot to worry about. I been in there. It's gonna fit in your pussy, no problem."
"Not in my pussy," Carol said blankly. "How do—what's the position for this?"
Daryl's dick realized, before his brain, what Carol wanted. What she was allowing. She gave him the bottle of lube and chose for herself what she thought the best position was—on all fours with her ass in the air.
She had a perfect ass, even if she would have wholeheartedly disagreed with him.
"You serious?" Daryl asked.
"Please?" Carol responded.
"You said you didn't like it," Daryl said.
"Ed never…" Carol said. "So, I've never done it. But—I want to do it with you. Just—just with you."
Daryl thought about teasing her about being happy that they weren't inviting someone else, but he understood what she was saying, and he appreciated the sentiment. He didn't want to destroy that mood. Instead, he changed his position, got on his knees, and leaned over her to kiss her cheek, her shoulder, and then a trail down her back.
"You sure?" He asked.
"It's new," Carol said. "I like new things with you. And—I trust you."
Daryl nodded at her. He kissed her back a few more times. He rubbed his cheek against the soft skin. Carol shifted, spreading her knees further apart and finding a position she apparently liked, and Daryl was pretty sure that he was going to lose control of himself at least a few times before the night was over.
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He spread the jelly over her with his fingertip and she responded to that touch alone. A whimper. A moan.
"You gotta talk if you tellin' me what to do," Daryl informed her.
"It's good," Carol said. "I want you to put it in me now."
He soaked the glass ornament until it was slippery and almost out of his control. It shouldn't be too hard, he reasoned, to do what she was asking. It was small, after all, not much larger than his own finger. He pressed it against her and she jumped, rocking forward and away from him.
"Slow, please," she breathed out.
"Want me to stop?" Daryl asked.
"I want you to go slow," Carol said. "Take your time. It's—it's like playing. Not a race. That's what Andrea said."
"Jesus—you asked her about this?"
"Who the hell else was I going to ask?" Carol asked. "Do you want to stop?"
In response, Daryl kissed her back again. He kissed the soft skin on the cheek of her ass. He dropped a hand to stroke her clit and she moaned at him, satisfied while he worked her. And while she was distracted, he brought the ornament back into play. This time, he teased her with it. It didn't fit as smoothly or as quickly into place as his imagination had led him to believe it might. As small as it was, it seemed too large for its chosen destination. Still, this time he was able to get it a good deal closer to fitting before she whined at him and pulled forward.
He sat back to stroke himself a moment against the ongoing throbbing he felt.
"Want me to stop?" He asked.
"How far was it?" Carol asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
He laughed to himself.
"Almost in," he admitted. "Like it was that last little bit and it would've gone in. Want me to stop?"
"I want you to do it," Carol said. "This time—all the way."
"You pullin' away from me," Daryl said.
Carol laughed to herself.
"Then hold onto me. Just for a minute. Just like you were doing but…all the way," she said.
"I don't wanna hurt you," Daryl said.
"It doesn't hurt," Carol said.
"Then why are you running away?"
"OK—maybe it hurts, but it doesn't hurt. It feels good. Different but different good. It's a good hurt. I don't want you to stop. I want you to do what you were doing, but all the way."
Daryl accepted her request and changed his position so that he could wrap an arm around her waist. He added more of the cool jelly to the mix. Things were slippery beyond belief, and they'd have a hell of a mess to clean up, but he wanted them to be as slippery as they could be.
"You ready and you mean it?" Daryl asked.
Carol hummed.
"I'm ready and I mean it," Carol said.
Daryl worked the glass ornament the same way he had before. Carol gave no indication of discomfort, but he wrapped his arm around her waist just the same in preparation for her attempts to pull away. At the last leg, he tightened the arm he had around her and put pressure on the ornament until it slipped into place with little more than a whimper escaping Carol.
She smiled at Daryl, though, when he came to kiss her.
"You good?" He asked.
"Yeah," she assured him. "I am."
"You ain't movin'," he offered.
"I'm a little nervous about moving," she said with a laugh. It might come out.
"I hate to tell you this," Daryl said, "but it ain't comin' out without help. I'ma have to pull it when it's time for it to come out."
She groaned and leaned down resting her arms and then resting her head on her arms like she was trying to hide.
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"I think I meant for this to be sexier," Carol said.
"I'm so hard I could pass out," Daryl offered. "I been lightheaded for half an hour. You could prob'ly cut me anywhere and I wouldn't bleed 'cause my dick's usin' every fuckin' drop of blood in my whole damn body. So, if you were makin' shit sexier? I gotta see it."
Carol, he knew, had some very specific beliefs about what was sexy. More specifically, she thought that sexy had a particular look. There was a particular way of being that was sexy.
What she didn't seem to understand was that Daryl thought that everything about her was sexy. He thought she was sexy making coffee in the morning or scrubbing the floors at the motel. He thought she was sexy when she dressed up for him or when she wore the gray sweatpants she had and laid on the couch watching cartoons with Sophia.
She didn't understand that her idea of sexy was more for her than it was for him. But he could go along with it because, no matter what, and no matter whether or not she achieved her idea of sexy, she was sexy to him.
She almost looked like she would cry with sheer happiness over the fact that he'd informed her his dick was damn near painfully demanding his attention.
"I want you to fuck me," Carol said quietly.
"You ain't gonna hear no complaint from me," he offered.
"But—in this position," Carol said with a laugh. "Next time I'll—try a little more. But right now? I'd rather stay just like this. OK?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
He stole a kiss from her before he returned to kiss her back again, working his way all the way down.
"Whatever you want is fine with me," he said. "'Cause I want anything you got."