AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
There is a smut warning on this chapter. If you don't like it, you might want to hop over this one. I'm not a huge smut writer (usually), but they needed this.
I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think!
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"Easy, easy…baby, baby," Carol hissed out when Daryl practically pitched her at the bed. She could clearly read that his intention hadn't been to be so rough. He was, perhaps, simply a little clumsy. Maybe, even, he was entirely unused to carrying women about in this manner—though Carol thought he definitely had some untapped potential if that were the case. Even when she squeaked out her warning, rolling a little onto her side as she bounced on the mattress, she kept her voice down.
She never would have told Ed to treat her more gently in that way. She would have begged him, perhaps, but never when she was pregnant. When she'd been pregnant with Sophia, she'd done all that she could not to mention the baby—no matter what Ed did to her—out of fear that drawing attention to the baby would only make things worse.
Daryl seemed to want to hear her, but she still wasn't entirely comfortable making demands or requests.
"Jesus," Daryl breathed out. He'd come out of his shirt in a frantic and fast move—Carol saw him pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side—but he practically dived on top of her when her words hit his ears. Hands searched her out. They ran up and down her sides and tripped over her belly and breasts like he was searching clumsily in the dark for missing pieces. "I forgot. Shit. You OK?"
"I'm OK," Carol assured him. "I'm OK. Can you turn the light on? The lamp on…it's so dark…"
"Yeah…" Daryl said. From the sounds of it, Daryl nearly cleared everything on the bedside table off, and he knocked over the lamp, before he sat it up and turned it on.
Carol couldn't help but smile at his expression when she could see him clearly in the light of the lamp. She rolled toward him and held her arms out to him to invite him to come to her. He looked like he wasn't sure what to do. He looked almost brokenhearted by the fact that he didn't know what to do.
And all that Carol wanted, at that moment, was to restore to him the fire that had been burning in him only moments before.
Seeing her invitation, Daryl practically dived at her again. He joined her on the bed and he kissed her, hard. She responded to him, this time being certain to meet him with every bit of hunger that she could possibly convey through a kiss. She ran her hands over his sides and what she could reach of his back. She scratched at his skin, and he responded by kissing her even more desperately, until she worried that he wouldn't allow her to breathe.
But she did catch her breath when he moved and, pushing her shirt up, replaced his hands with his mouth and latched onto her nipple. The same electrical current that had seemed to pulse through her when they'd been—or, rather, when he'd been doing everything that had driven her mad in the living room—that same electrical current jolted through her again and she heard Daryl snort at the sound that escaped her. She laughed in response.
"I'm sorry," she breathed out.
"No," Daryl said. "Good?"
"Oh," Carol responded. She meant to give him more feedback than that, but he'd gone to teasing the other breast, twirling his tongue around her nipple before latching onto it and sucking hard. She never would have imagined that she would have enjoyed the sensation, but all she could do in response was hold into Daryl's shoulders—where her fingers could find purchase—and lean her head back into the mattress.
Daryl seemed to find it amusing and, for a moment, he forgot that he'd wanted to fuck her with an unbridled desperation because, instead of fucking her, he lapped at her breasts until she was practically climbing backward across the mattress. And then he let her collapse and hovered over her a second to smile at her like he was quite pleased with himself.
She smirked back at him because the expression was one that she'd never seen before—but it was definitely one that she hoped to see again a thousand times over.
"Pillow? Please?" She croaked out, surprised at the sound of her own voice.
Daryl moved to hand her a pillow but playfully snatched it back as she reached for it. She laughed, recognizing immediately that's what he wanted her to do. The fire burning in his eye—the one unlike any she'd seen before—flared up just a little. He let go of the pillow when she reached for it again, but he crashed into her mouth and stole another kiss like a starving man as he did so. Even as the kiss was breaking, his hand went between her legs and rubbed her through the fabric of the pants she still hadn't managed to be rid of. She groaned in satisfaction at his teasing and lifted herself enough to slip the pillow beneath the small of her back.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked.
"Nothing," Carol assured him, quickly, erasing his concern. "She's just a little heavy, that's all."
"She OK?" He asked.
"She's just fine," Carol assured him. She gave him a smile and, when she felt her chest ache and the muscles of her belly tense in response to his expression, she renewed the smile because she was absolutely certain that she meant the expression. "I promise—she's fine."
Daryl chewed his thumb a moment, clearly chewing over something he perceived as a problem, and Carol wished it was easier for her to sit up from the position that he'd chosen for her. She leaned up on her elbow and reached her hand out to him. He came toward her and she pulled him down. She kissed him again, focusing on keeping him there until she'd distracted him from his worry. When he pulled loose, he was off again, like he had been before, in search of what he wanted or needed.
Carol closed her eyes and smiled to herself.
Daryl was exploring her.
That was exactly what it felt like as his lips peppered spots around her body. He was exploring her. And she was more than content to let him do it.
He had given her more than she ever would have asked him for, sexually, in the living room floor and, apparently, he'd given it to her as what he considered to be nothing more than an appetizer or something to entertain them and pass the time. There was very little that he could want from her, at that moment, that she wasn't willing to give him and, so far, nothing that he'd wanted had even been less than thoroughly pleasurable for her.
And the low-grade hum that was practically radiating through Carol's body made her believe that nothing Daryl could do would be less than wonderful.
When he moved to kissing her belly—alternating between soft kisses and wetter, more intense kisses—Carol's muscles tightened in response and her hips lifted almost spontaneously. She moaned out her satisfaction and, when she heard Daryl pant with an odd sort of pleasure of his own from what he was doing, she gave him a louder cry of approval.
"Fuck," he muttered softly in between his next kisses, and Carol smiled to herself. She was almost certain that the sound was no indication of a problem.
His fingers found the band of her pants and worked them down. They found her underwear. He worked them all the way down and Carol lost the ability to touch his shoulders anymore with her fingertips as Daryl moved to the head of the bed—since they'd never gotten properly aligned on the bed—to find her feet and rid her entirely of her pants. While he did so, she slipped the shirt over her head and saved herself the trouble of feeling tangled up in it.
She felt vulnerable. Exposed. She lie completely naked on the bed and watched him as Daryl very quickly worked his way out of his pants. A certain calm had come over him at the moment, though, that hadn't been there before.
The frantic nature of his desire, earlier, had been sexy.
The calm, now, made parts of Carol throb in desire for more attention from the man before her.
She was beginning to think it wasn't anything in particular about the way that Daryl moved or behaved. She was beginning to think that her body was simply drawn to him. Her body simply wanted to respond to him—however he was at the moment.
He said nothing. He made no request. He announced no intention. That had passed for him for the time being. He assumed he had a right to be there—an invitation. Slipping his hand between her thighs like it was something he did every day, Daryl pushed her legs apart. She didn't force him to work too hard to do it, and she balled up the blankets of the bed in her fists in anticipation of what she knew was coming.
His fingers teased entrance into her body and she shifted a little and readjusted herself as he slid one of his fingers into her and immediately brought another to follow. He worked them a moment, rubbing her, and she realized he was trying to tease the pulsing squeeze out of her that had followed her chain of orgasms earlier. Her body was either too tired to continue giving him that which he wanted—that which he seemed to see as confirmation of a job well done—or she was too far removed from the first orgasms. She focused on flexing the muscles for him enough that he would be pleased. She worked her hips as much as her lower back would allow, riding his fingers for his satisfaction. He repaid her the kindness by latching onto her with the same enthusiasm that he'd used earlier on her nipples. It didn't take long before she no longer had to focus on creating the response that Daryl wanted.
When she came, her body already sensitive from before, Carol didn't try to stifle her desire to cry out. And, when Daryl continued in his efforts, she rewarded him by continuing to cry out with abandon.
He continued until, apparently, he'd accomplished whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish—since he could have stopped long ago if coaxing an orgasm from Carol's body had been all that he'd been searching for with his tongue. When he was done, he withdrew from that position, gathered up Carol's legs, and held her for a second.
"Wanna fuck you," he repeated in the same deep, and almost sorrowful, tone that he'd used before. Carol didn't know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn't really matter either way.
"Please," she breathed out.
It was all the invitation that Daryl needed. He sank entirely into her in one swift motion and held still for a second before he changed his position and started in search of what he needed. Daryl had prepared her, exactly, for what he intended. He fucked her, as promised. He fucked her hard and fast and with a palpable desire to obtain whatever he was after. Carol felt she could do little but hold on and enjoy the experience. She allowed any sound that she could make to escape her—no matter how ridiculous she might think it sounded—and Daryl seemed spurred on by all of the noises she produced.
Carol never would have let herself make those kinds of noises before. Ed hadn't cared for it. It ruined the mood, he said. It convinced him she was a whore. Only whores, after all, could make sounds of satisfaction like that. The sounds that spurred Daryl on would have gotten her a busted lip at the very least before.
Now, they felt encouraged. They felt rewarded. They felt appreciated, and it felt like he needed them to feel appreciated by her.
Carol did appreciate Daryl—more than he knew and more than she would dare to tell him. Because, though she did appreciate him for what he was doing to her body, she appreciated him for so much more, as well.
When Daryl came, he'd collapsed beside Carol, breathing like he'd run a marathon, and he'd hugged her to him. She'd abandoned the pillow, rolled onto her side, and rested there, facing him, while he loosely held her and focused on catching his breath with his eyes closed.
She was certain that he'd never intended to go to sleep like that. She was certain that he'd intended for them to speak. She was certain that he'd intended to, at the very least, turn off the lamp and fix the bed for the both of them.
She was certain that he would do all those things when he woke.
But for at least a few moments, he drifted off to sleep with his hands still holding onto Carol like he was afraid that she would somehow slip away while he slept. And, even though she'd fully intended to slip away and relieve herself, she decided that her bladder could wait just a little while longer so that he would see that she wasn't something ephemeral that would slip away while his eyes were closed.
When she did finally desperately have to go to the bathroom, she decided that she would wake him. She would invite him to bed. She would invite him to talk, if he liked to talk after everything that they'd just shared together, or she'd invite him to be quiet with her if that's what he preferred. She'd invite him to wash up with her and to fall asleep properly in the bed.
But, for now and for just a few moments, she would close her eyes and doze with him while he slept, holding onto her arms like she might somehow disappear while he dreamed.