AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I know there are some people who do not like smutty/explicit/somewhat explicit chapters. If that's you, then you might just want to hop right on over this one. Consider this your "mature content" warning.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol hummed out her satisfaction at the soft, chocolatey kiss that Daryl exchanged with her. Daryl was a man who thoroughly enjoyed having verbal feedback on everything he did. Carol didn't mind giving him the feedback, though, because she appreciated the way that he responded to it by repeating whatever she'd found pleasing and, in most cases, trying to improve on what he'd already done.
They had tried to play Clue, but they'd quickly realized that the game truly required more players for it to be any fun at all. Carol had suggested to him that they think about asking Merle and Andrea—and, perhaps, T-Dog and Michonne if everything went well with those two this evening—if they wanted to have a game night and play in the future. Daryl had accepted that suggestion. The next game they'd set up for the two of them to enjoy was Monopoly. Six passes around the board, though, and it was pretty clear this wasn't the kind of game that was going to hold Daryl's attention.
Carol wasn't complaining, though, because a distracted Daryl had practically pulled her into his lap and, when she'd protested that her weight—sure to be incredibly ridiculous at this point—would make his legs to go sleep, he'd smothered her protests with kisses.
Those kisses continued.
The kisses ran the full gamut between Daryl's softest kisses and his hardest ones. He broke every now and again to taste his cooling hot chocolate, and Carol found herself drinking the beverage just to quench the thirst that she was feeling. A thirst, she was sure, that her body was creating in response to all of the sensations coursing through her and her hope for what might come later.
This time, Daryl's hand found its way under the loose shirt that Carol was wearing. His fingers trailed along her skin and found her breast. He massaged her breast as he kissed her and teased her nipple with his fingertips. Every muscle in Carol's body tensed pleasurably at the touch and she was embarrassed by the fact that she felt herself preparing for more—for much more—over something so simple.
She wanted him. Her body wanted him.
And she rewarded him for the touch with a very satisfied moan that only made his efforts to tease her more focused. He found the other breast and teased it in much the same way before he readjusted himself on the floor and pulled her a little tighter against him.
She was sitting somewhat sideways on his lap, and he lowered his head to kiss and suck at her neck. The hungry way in which he did it only made her body ache more for him, and made her groan out in the almost-pain that her anticipation caused.
Daryl's hand trailed slowly down from her breast. His fingers took a moment to walk a circle around her belly. Involuntarily, her muscles tightened again. He eased his fingers down and she felt them as they encountered the elastic band of the yoga pants and, just dipping under the band, stopped their trip.
"Why?" She panted out.
She was immediately ashamed of herself. She felt her cheeks burn hot. She hadn't meant to voice the question at all. She'd only meant to give him another sound of encouragement. The question had slipped out as her subconscious took over a little in its desperation for him to go further.
Daryl was breathing heavy. She heard it as his mouth passed near her ear.
"You don't mind?" He asked.
Carol heard her own laughter as it caught in her throat.
"Please," she breathed out. "Oh—please."
Daryl's hand continued its trip. It clumsily found her underwear, beyond the yoga pants, and his fingers stumbled a moment over working their way under the second elastic obstacle. Carol suddenly regretted her choice to wear clothes at all to dinner and their evening together, but she forgot her regret when Daryl's fingers found their way clear and slid down to touch her.
Her breathing caught and she tipped her head back to rest against Daryl. She closed her eyes.
He could say anything at that moment.
He could complain that she weighed too much on his lap. He could complain that her clothing wasn't attractive enough. He could tell her that she was huge—and disgusting—and that he hated the way that her body looked. He could scold her for the fact that she couldn't even recall the last time she'd seen a razor. He could complain that she was too wet—sloppy—and he found it disgusting. He could complain that he could smell her, even from a distance, and whether or not it was true, and that she turned his stomach.
But those were all things that Ed would say, and Daryl wasn't Ed.
Carol was sharply and immediately reminded of that when his mouth—close to her ear and practically panting into her ear—breathed out "so wet" in an almost reverent tone and offered her the same kind of groan of happiness and satisfaction that she'd given him over kisses and touches and everything else.
Carol shifted her body enough to help his fingers find what they were, hopefully, looking for, as they trailed back up a bit. He pressed them against her, as if searching out a button. In fact, he was blindly searching out a button of sorts and Carol was sure of that.
"There," she breathed out when he found it. "There…there…right there." He worked his fingers against her nub and she whined at him in satisfaction.
"Gentle?" He asked.
"Harder," Carol breathed out. He obliged. "Faster," she tested, leaning back against him as her body took over once more and did what nature seemed to drive it to do. She grabbed at him, her hands finding his pants and his shirt to hold bunched between her fingers. "Sorry," she breathed out, realizing she was balling his clothes up in her hands. She consciously released him.
"No," he said, his mouth still close to her ear. "No—hold on to me. Good?"
"Good," Carol breathed. "Oh…"
She meant to offer him so much more encouragement. She meant to make him understand that she was thankful for what he was doing, no matter how odd she felt to be thankful for such a thing, but it all felt lost as her mind swam around with the bliss of the moment. She felt practically drunk over the pleasure that coursed through her. She couldn't remember feeling just like this before.
And then there was the almost blinding moment of pleasure that was so intense that it was almost painful and Carol called out—all her shame lost in the pleasure of the moment.
Daryl stopped a moment, but he didn't withdraw his hand. Carol worked to try to find words for him. She sought the ability to tell him that she thanked him—to tell him that he could stop. She sought the ability to tell him that she'd reciprocate for him. That she'd offer him whatever he wanted of her body to repay his kindness—his wonderful, wonderful kindness.
But all she seemed able to do was to float around, mentally, in the soup of pleasure that her brain seemed to have become.
Without moving his hand, Daryl used his other arm and his legs to rearrange the both of them. Carol did her best to follow his lead without asking him what he intended. She moved when he tugged her in a direction and, before long, he had moved her so that his back remained against the couch, but now she sat straight on his lap with her back to him. He rested his head firmly on her shoulder and sucked at her earlobe. That sensation, alone, made her body pulse where he'd already brought her to orgasm.
And then he returned to working the same button he had before. Carol couldn't respond except for to seek the sides of his legs to hold onto. The restoration of touch on very live nerve endings only made her body continue to pulse in the oddly painful pleasure that she welcomed.
He moved his hand, switching the duty from one finger to another, and Carol felt one of his fingers begging entrance to her body. She spread her legs over his and reclined against him. He sunk the finger in as deeply as he could and, immediately, she felt herself clamp around him. Her body was completely shameless about announcing its need and interest. When Daryl introduced a second finger into her body, exploring her, she tried to respond, but was only able to open her mouth in pleasure and to manage a moan that she wasn't sure communicated anything.
Her body spoke to him, instead, by pulsing around him as a way of showing its admiration that he could tease her with his fingers while his thumb continued to practically strum the magical spot he'd found before.
Carol felt the sensation as Daryl's body lifted, lowered, and shifted beneath her. She could feel, even beyond the stiffness of the denim he was wearing, as his own body made its demands known to him. The movements he made—the slightly squirming ride as he fought against bucking both of them on the living room floor—were likely beyond his control. Still, he was clearly doing his best to control them. He'd done better than Carol had, she was sure, at controlling things.
His mouth dampened her neck—the back and side of it—and her ear. His teeth made her skin sting as he occasionally bit harder than she was sure he realized he was biting. He kissed and nipped at her shoulder, too, and his teeth sunk somewhat roughly into the skin of her shoulder as her body clamped down, hard, around his fingers, in response to his teasing, and she felt herself overtaken by her body's need to let her know it had, once more, reached what it considered the pinnacle of pleasure.
Her choked confirmation of this got another bite from Daryl and a muffled growl from him that could have either been one of pain or pleasure.
"Like it when you do that," Daryl breathed into her ear. His voice was low—much lower than usual. It was gravelly like he hadn't used it in hours. He practically growled at her. "Squeeze me like that. You doin' it on purpose?"
"No," Carol breathed out. "I mean—I could…" She concentrated, just a moment, on moving muscles that she rarely paid attention to. In response for her efforts, Daryl growled at her again.
"Shit," he spat.
"Mostly it's just—because it feels so good," Carol admitted, rooting back into Daryl a bit. "You feel—so good."
Daryl continued on with his work a moment more and then he pulled his hand free. Carol didn't protest. It wasn't fair for her to protest the removal of his hand and the subsequent stopping of his actions. She'd come more, in the past few moments, than she'd come in months of her marriage to Ed. She had no right to demand more of Daryl.
A moment after his hand was freed, though, both of his hands were holding her hard at her hips. They dug into her hip bones to the point she almost cried out from the pressure of his hold.
Daryl, she already knew, was entirely unaware of his own strength. Still, for as dangerous as that could be—and for as much as a part of her told her that she should be afraid of that—she knew, deep down, that he'd take his hands off of her if she asked him for such a thing.
"I wanna fuck you," Daryl said in the same throaty growl as before. He pressed his face against the back of her neck. He rolled his forehead against her shoulder. "I wanna fuck you," he repeated. There was, maybe, even a touch of whining to his tone. He shifted under her—somewhat bucked up into her like he was losing control of something he'd kept masterfully under control until that point. "You say yes or you say no," Daryl growled out. "Ain't—ain't gonna be pissed. But—you say it quick. OK?"
Carol's chest tightened. It wasn't from anxiety, though. It wasn't from fear. Daryl's ultimatum, she could feel, was the kind of ultimatum that involved the quiet promise that, one way or another, he needed relief, but he was leaving her in control. She could say yes, and he'd take her—possibly in a way, and complete with feelings, that she'd never imagined before—or she could say no and he'd excuse himself.
She wanted what he could give her and, more than that, she wanted the satisfaction of giving him what he seemed to so desperately need at the moment.
"I think we need to go to the bedroom," Carol said softly. "We don't know when T will be back."
He hummed against her, still holding her tight. Then he practically sat her on the pillows beside him and got to his feet.
"Ok," he gruffed out into the semi-darkness of the living room.
"You're going to have to help me up," Carol offered.
"Hold on," Daryl said, leaning toward her. "I got that—don't worry."
Before she could offer him a hand or protest, he worked his hands under her. She might have worried about his inability to do it, but he picked her up from the floor. She smiled to herself. He hadn't complained about her weight, but he'd clearly remembered to lift with his legs.
She remembered, though, that he was a man who very regularly carried decent sized deer home—sometimes for miles—over his shoulders like he was barely carrying a bag of flour.
"I got you," he said to her as he pulled her close to his chest and started toward the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around him.
"You do," she said. "You absolutely do."
How absolutely she meant that declaration, though, was her own little secret. After all, she didn't want to overwhelm him, and she was happy with anything and everything he offered her. It was, already, far more than she'd ever had before or ever dreamed of having.