heartbeat III
They were sitting together on the couch, just like they'd used to. She slipped off her high-heeled, black boots and set them in the corner, next to his dusty old boots. She was wearing long gray socks over the bottoms of her black leggings. He couldn't help but think of how she had always looked better than him, how she'd always been more composed and able to maintain the appearance of being 'put-together.' Something he'd never quite mastered, even now, as he sat beside her in worn jeans and faded black socks.
None of that had ever mattered to her, though. And that was still the case. Because, as they sat close together on his ratty old couch and watched some stupid show on TV, she seemed to sink into the spot beside him like she'd just come home after a long day.
And after a few long minutes of comfortable silence and slowly inching closer together on the cushion, she mumbled out half-drunkenly, "I missed this… I've missed you."
Then she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder and finally, finally that invisible boundary faded away. Though he knew it wasn't gone for good, and that it was still slightly raised and would soon be returning, it had dissipated for now. In the lull of the TV and the humming vents around them and the dim glow of his cheap lightbulbs, they'd melded together into a comfortable place - a familiar place. He'd chewed his thumbnail down to the quick while resisting the urge to wrap an arm around her. But once he felt her warmth against him, all of the residual anxiety seemed to float away from his body.
He could still recognize her - the silent language she spoke with her body, her expressions, her tiny grunts and sighs and squeaks. And right now, he could recognize the old Beth that he hadn't seen in so many months. She was letting the facade fall away before him; she was allowing herself to fall into that old spot that she had missed, to take a break from the forced platonic charade she'd been leading him in.
She'd missed him. And holy shit, had he missed her, too.
"Me, too," was all he could manage to grumble out from a suddenly tight throat.
He wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not, the slight nudge in his ribs that he felt at that moment. But it was the literal nudge he'd needed to lift his arm and wrap it around her, to pull her just a little closer. And she didn't pull away or grow stiff or uncomfortable. She melted into him completely and her head grew heavy on his shoulder, and she was warm. So warm. She'd always been like a tiny oven of body heat, sweating him out of bed and off the couch. Except right now, he wanted that warmth to encompass him entirely. He wanted it to swallow him up whole, to cleanse him of her absence like a sauna.
She made a soft humming sound of contentment, nuzzling into him. After a few seconds of uncertainty, his heart slowed and his breathing steadied, and his stomach wasn't even flip-flopping or wildly fluttering. He breathed in her scent, flowery with a strong hint of booze and cigarette smoke, and gazed down at the waves of blonde hair. Whatever show they'd been watching had quickly become a distant memory for him, and all he could focus on was the small and unsettled head resting on his shoulder, how she was closer right now than she'd been in months.
He'd stopped counting the weeks a long time ago. Once he'd realized that she definitely wasn't going to be coming around and seeing him anymore, for any reason. Once he'd realized that he'd failed and it was time to give up. She's gone. You lost her, he'd told himself.
All of that seemed to fly out the window within several long and grueling moments. He wasn't nearly as drunk as she was, but he was well-acquainted with her tolerance level and knew that she wasn't anywhere close to the point of 'I was drunk, it didn't mean anything.' No, she'd poured her heart out to him on the balcony, looked him in the eyes just like she used to when they'd have long, heart-wrenching talks on his balcony or on her porch over cigarettes and glasses of liquor. She knew what she was doing, and he was almost certain she was doing it intentionally.
At least, he really, really hoped that was the case. If she missed him, maybe she missed them. Maybe she missed all the things he missed, all the things that kept him up at night and haunted him daily. Was it possible that it had taken a bad relationship with another would-be soulmate for both of them to realize that they belonged together? Could he be so lucky as to get another chance, an opportunity to repair all the damage he'd caused and fix all the mistakes he'd made?
Did he prevail over all of her dreams like she did his? She'd said he did, but he still wasn't sure if it had been one more thing to make her sad all the time. He still wasn't sure that he wasn't the root of most of her problems, of the distress that weighed her down and seemed to hang from her shoulders all night.
He still couldn't tell if it had been deep-seated hope or deep-seated fear that had laced her tone when she'd admitted that she thought they were soulmates.
How could he tell her that it scared him, too? How could he show her?
Her thin arm was snaking out and around his middle, hand tucking in between his back and the couch cushion. She nuzzled in closer and hummed lightly, and he could feel her muscles relaxing against his side. Most of all, he could feel her hot breath on the side of his neck, sending chills up and down his whole body.
"Want me ta drive ya home in the morning?" He asked quietly. It was the only thing he could think to say - and he needed an answer before she passed out for the night.
She shrugged lazily against him and mumbled out, inches away from his ear, "Mm, whatever."
That's not an answer. With her arm around him, he was imagining how things would be resolved in the morning, once the booze wore off. Then he imagined being stuck beneath her sleeping form on the couch all night and asked, "Wanna go lay down?"
Surprisingly, and relievingly, there was no hesitation when she nodded against his shoulder and huffed out a small, tired sigh on the tingling skin of his neck.
It was a blur of muscle memory and deeply ingrained habits as he patted her thigh before urging her to sit up and pulling his arm away, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. It was almost like being shot back into the past as he watched her stand up from the couch and briefly wait for him to join her before they headed toward the bedroom door - a routine they'd gone through countless times. He went through the motions of shutting off all the lights, locking the doors and lowering the thermostat, and then he found himself trailing after Beth into his bedroom, toward the dim glow of his bedside lamp and the sight of her small frame struggling to bend over and peel off her long socks.
She'd always been the first to bed.
There was no question about where she'd be sleeping for the night. They immediately felt into old habits and retreated to the safety of the bed they'd shared so many nights and mornings and afternoons in. And he was more than okay with that. In fact, it was an even better ending to the night than he'd originally hoped for.
He stripped off his jeans, socks, and T-shirt and crawled into bed in only his boxers and worn tank top, and a few seconds later, she was slipping in beside him, clad in only panties and a thin camisole. Her bra lay atop the small pile of clothing on the floor, and he didn't miss the way she quickly turned off the last source of light in the small apartment within seconds of revealing her bare legs and chest. He caught a teasing glimpse of milky white skin and long, faded-pink scars before he was bathed in darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting and soaking in the sparse slivers of moonlight sneaking through the thin curtains.
He barely had time to wonder when she'd become so self-conscious of her 'battle wounds' before he felt her small, warm frame curling up beneath his arm and pulling the covers over both of them. His entire body reflexively melted into the mattress and he wrapped his arm around her as she put a dainty arm tightly around his middle and pressed her thinly-clothed front firmly against his side, her head sharing his pillow while her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She slid one leg up and over his, hooking it beneath his calf and intertwining their limbs. Within seconds, they'd wrapped up together just like they'd used to, bodies interlocking like puzzle pieces warped with age.
The small apartment was so quiet that her breathing began to fill his ears, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat. It stilled and calmed him, easing his muscles farther into relaxation and the familiar place in bed with her, flooding his entire system with a wistful, lighter-than-air sensation.
Then her voice was softly vibrating against his shoulder and through his chest, a whisper heavy with sleep. "I really have missed you. I think about you every single day, Daryl. I never wanted us ta end that way - I know I hurt you, an' I can never make up for it. An' I know it was stupid ta think that we could ever stay friends after all that. But I just… I can't - when I don't have you in my life, it feels like a whole chunk of myself is missing."
He could practically feel the invisible wounds that riddled his insides slowly healing, gradually stitching themselves back together at her words. Was it possible to fall in love with someone for a second, third, fourth or fifth time?
And his response poured out before he could really think about it, "I know, but… We hurt each other. An' I ain't the best at dealin' with pain. 'S why I get so pissed off. I wanted you ta be happy, but… shit. Beth, it - it fuckin' killed me ta see you with another guy. I ain't wanted ta beat somebody's head in so bad before in my life. I didn't wanna cause no more damage. Neither one of us was gonna move on if we stayed friends. You was better off without me…"
He heard her breath catch and the soft, barely-there whimper that elicited from her throat before she whispered, "So - you don't love me anymore. Like that." She worded it like a question but it sounded like an assumption.
He furrowed his brow and turned his head, wishing there were more moonlight so he could see her blue eyes clearly as he stared into them. Even in the darkness, he spotted the tears beginning to form. He wasn't sure if she could make out the incredulous expression on his face.
"What? Don't be stupid, girl - you know I love you. 'Like that.' In love, whatever you wanna call it. I never stopped, not even when you was with that shithead. Not even when I lied an' said I hated you."
There was a beat, a long pause in which he could hear her taking a deep breath and feel her body shifting uneasily. Then she mumbled quietly, almost wistful, "I always thought I was gonna marry you, Daryl. I thought we were forever… Sometimes I still do."
Fuck. His stomach was twisting into knots, and he couldn't push back the thoughts of, Me, too. Am I a goddamn fool for wonderin' if we still could be?
"I wish we weren't so fucked-up," her breathy voice continued. "I wish I wasn't so crazy…"
He wished she'd stop drunk-talking and just go to sleep.
His pride was bubbling up to the surface, prickling his skin, forcing him to choose between swallowing it or ignoring it once again. But then his arm tightened around her and his other hand was moving on its own accord as it lifted and moved to gently grab her chin and tilt her head upwards, barely inching her face closer to his. He could smell her whiskey-soaked breath and her sweet shampoo.
"I love you, Beth Greene. You may be crazy, but I wouldn't have ya any other way. I never deserved you."
Her eyes softened beneath his intense gaze and before he could stop himself, he was closing the distance between their mouths and pressing his lips tentatively against hers. A thousand memories washed over him all at once and he couldn't understand or explain why he was squeezing his eyes shut and fighting back tears.
There was no hesitation in the way she kissed him back. Her body leaned closer and tighter against his and he knew she was having the same odd, deja vu-like experience as he was. Yet there was something different there, resting between them and tingling on their chapped lips. As though they'd resurrected a dearly beloved feeling, dug it up from beneath miles of dirt, and it had risen from the ashes anew, reborn as something larger, something that burned hotter and brighter than ever before. It threatened to consume them altogether. And he was more than okay with that.
As she briefly pulled back and he opened his eyes to find her bloodshot gaze set on him, he realized that he really wouldn't mind if he died right here in this bed, right now, with her. At least he'd go out happy and wrapped up in the one person he loved the most.
Her lips parted just enough to whisper out, "You never deserved all my bullshit. You'd be so much happier if you'd never met me."
He squeezed her against him a little tighter and grunted, "Nah - I'd be locked up. Or dead. But never happier'an this."
Her face grew more concerned and he could see another argument forming, so he quickly pressed his mouth to hers again. Any response she might've been preparing was silenced, and she kissed him back even harder this time. Her lips parted to allow his gently prodding tongue entrance, slipping in and immediately finding hers before exploring the intricacies of her perfect teeth and near-forgotten mouth.
From there, instinct and long-embedded reflexes kicked in, combined with the slight encouragement brought on by the alcohol and the familiar comfort of one another's bodies. At first, she took control and fluidly moved from heated kissing to snaking her hands beneath his tank top and across his bare stomach, sending goosebumps rippling over his torso. He slipped his hand from her chin to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her silky soft hair, resisting the overwhelming sense of longing that wanted to break him apart before her.
His blood was like molten lava, rushing through his veins and pooling in his legs, spiking his body temperature until he was sure he'd start sweating any second. And she was still a tiny furnace, even as she writhed beneath the blanket and wriggled her petite frame up and over until she was lying atop him, half-straddling his hips.
It was one fluid motion pouring into the next, their lips grappling and tongues exploring the wet caverns of one another's mouths, fingers and hands trailing over skin and slipping beneath thin fabric.
He was suddenly thinking of all the things he'd wished he could do to her whenever he was lying awake at night, or pleasuring himself in the shower. Snippets of fantasies and stored photographic memories that he'd played over and over in his head, images that he focused on as an orgasm ripped through his body. Beth - it was always Beth. Rarely did he think of anyone else, or long to be inside someone as much as he longed to be inside of her one more time. He'd thought up a thousand and one ways to worship her body, to show her just how amazing he thought she was, especially when she was lying in his bed with no clothes on. He'd reminisced about and imagined, time and time again, the different expressions that formed on her face and that high-pitched squeal that would escape from her throat whenever he hit that spot just right. Most of the time, replaying those memories in his head was the only thing that could make him come.
There were so many things he'd kept locked up for months that he wanted to tell her right now - and all of those things could only be spoken through body language.
That's lust, not love.
His doubts were silenced by her body squirming atop him, her hips grinding against the rapidly-growing bulge in his boxers. He'd been questioning the difference between lust and love for way too many years now, and when it came to her, he'd convinced himself that he was toeing a very thin line most of the time. Yet it didn't seem to matter. Not when she was kissing him like this, grasping at his skin, pulling him impossibly closer. He didn't have nearly enough strength to find the usual cynical retreat he tended to resort to.
All he could think about was Beth: her body, her smell, her warmth and her chapped lips on his, her wet tongue and her roaming hands and her long, tangled hair. The supple thighs that were spreading farther and farther apart, begging him closer, urging him near. Welcoming him home.
Fuck, he'd missed her.
Every tangled web of shame, guilt, and remorse seemed to break apart inside him, and what was left of his inhibitions went the same route. The throbbing hard-on beneath his boxers was demanding all of his attention, and despite all of the longsuffering pain and aching that had been constantly residing at the back of his head for several months, a wave of pure ecstasy was washing over him and he couldn't focus on anything except his fingers grazing across the near-forgotten curves, dips, and dimples of Beth's bare skin.
He wasn't even tempted to allow the bitter resentment to resurface in his mind, or the self-admonishing voice that always seemed to be there, because all he could think about was how badly he wanted to be inside of her. How badly he wanted her panties to be pulled aside and her hand to be wrapped around his hard cock and pulling it from his boxers…
Then she was kissing along his jawline and down his neck to the hollow of his throat, making his blood rush even faster towards his achingly hard erection. Her hands were dragging down his bare chest, across his rigid abdomen, as though she were trying to take in all the details she'd forgotten.
"God, I missed your body," she breathed against the taut skin stretched over his his collarbone, affirming his assumptions and sending a chill down his spine and another rush of blood to his cock. "Nobody can fuck me like you…"
Something stirred within him and before he could hesitate, he was firmly grabbing her by the hips and flipping them both over until she was lying on her back beneath him. He grunted and she let out a quiet giggle of surprise. He straddled her, supporting his weight with his knees and elbows, and immediately leaned in and began planting kisses along the crook of her neck, flicking his tongue out to catch brief tastes of her sweet skin and the salty perspiration forming there. She slipped her arms beneath his and placed her palms against his back, gripping him tightly and pulling him in closer.
"We don't fuck," he grumbled against her chest, gradually leading his trail of kisses farther south and lifting his eyes to meet hers as she watched him. His low growl was muffled by her heaving chest pressed to his lips. "We've never fucked. It's always been more'an that."
She giggled and the sound sent vibrations through his lips. "You mean we make love?"
He grunted in affirmation and continued kissing her bare skin, trailing lower until his chin was brushing the top of her camisole.
She slipped her arms free and reached down to grasp the sides of his face instead, pulling him up to kiss her again. He allowed the interruption, finding her tongue and her hot panting breath all too tempting. When she broke away for air, his eyes fluttered open and met cornflower blues and blown pupils staring up at him.
"I guess that makes sense then - 'cause nobody can love me except you," she whispered.
He stole another long kiss, then stared intently back at her and growled, "Shut up - yer perfect."
He saw the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth before he dove back downward, grabbing the hem of her camisole and pulling it off until she was exposed before him, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of purple panties in the dim glow of moonlight. He resumed kissing her chest, taking his time with each tiny, pert breast, flicking out his tongue here and there until he could feel the goosebumps forming along her skin. He took each nipple in his mouth and sucked gently for a few seconds, the tiny gasps and quiet moans that elicited from her throat sending more blood pulsing through his painfully-hard cock. His fingertips teased the waistband of her panties as his mouth continued.
Then he trailed his lips down and down, until he'd found the pattern of raised skin along her ribcage. He grazed his lips softly and meticulously across each scar, having already memorized them all a long time ago. It was like following his own personal map of her body. She gasped again, but there were no stifled moans or panting breaths. He could feel her heart speeding up, her pulse ricocheting beneath her supple skin. Quickly followed by her small, warm hands placing themselves firmly on his shoulders, as though she were contemplating pushing him away.
But she wasn't pushing him away.
He continued his journey south, lingering at the elastic of her underwear and teasing it once more with his fingertips. But then he went straight down to her thigh, scooting himself lower and lower until he was sitting on his knees between her legs. His lips were trailing more kisses down her left thigh, the smooth and flawless skin that lay there radiating its own intense heat. He grasped her ankle gently and felt the muscles in her leg trembling as he carefully raised it just enough that he could continue kissing downward, over smooth, recently-shaven skin, down to her knee. And the long, raised, pink-ish scar that started there and continued in a perfect line down the side of her leg to her ankle.
The first time Daryl had ever met Beth was in a river. She'd been in a bikini, tanned from the summer sun, and every marred bit of her skin was bared for the world to see. She hadn't shown an ounce of shame or embarrassment either. She'd made him feel like a goddamn pussy for insisting on wearing a T-shirt the whole time.
Was that the same girl he had lying beneath him right now? The same one whose blue eyes were filling with tears as she watched him place his lips gently and longingly against her second-worst scar? Or was this another Beth that he had yet to meet?
Her voice jarred him, causing him to pause and watch the internal conflict appear in her face, in her teary eyes. "Don't - "
"Beth, yer beautiful," he breathed against her skin, placing his lips softly against the scar once more.
Her mouth formed a tense and thin line as he maintained eye contact and released her left leg, quickly and carefully grabbing her other ankle and lifting her right leg, leaning down and restarting his pattern at the top of her soft thigh.
But he only trailed a couple inches of ginger kisses against her skin before he found something surprising - something new - that caused him to stop.
Then her hands actually were pushing on his shoulders, urging him away. She reached down with one hand and tried to grasp his wrist, tried to pull him away. He didn't fight her, but he didn't pull away either. He was frozen, staring down quizzically at the once-familiar skin beneath his fingers.
The soft, milky white thigh that should've been just as perfect and unmarked as the other thigh was… injured. Marked. Finger-length slits left by a razor-sharp blade, aligned in an oddly-meticulous row, one after the other scabbed and raised and pink with irritation. He couldn't resist running his thumb across them, assuring himself they were real and that his eyes weren't playing tricks. Suddenly, he understood why she was half-pushing him away, why she was fighting back tears.
Somewhere that nobody would see 'em. Smart. Except when yer naked with somebody.
"Beth - "
"Don't - please, don't. Daryl, I can't…"
He released her leg and quickly swooped in and downwards, hovering over her small frame until her peaked nipples were brushing against the cotton of his tank top. He pressed his mouth to hers, stilling her trembling bottom lip and swallowing her stuttered breaths and all the stifled sobs. She kissed him back, hard and meaningful, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and urging him tighter against her. Pouring her grief into him while he eagerly drank it in.
He broke away momentarily, just long enough to breathe against her lips in a tone raw with desperation and pleading, "Don't hurt yerself - please. I can't lose you, baby. If you leave, I'll be right behind you…"
He'd told her before, but it was worth repeating.
Her breath hitched audibly and he could see more tears forming in her pitiful eyes. She blinked them away and kissed him. Hard.
With her lips still grazing his, she whispered against his mouth, "You're the only one keeping me here, baby."
Fuck, he'd missed her. He'd missed hearing her call him 'baby,' and he missed calling her by anything and everything except her name. But most of all, he'd missed this. The way their chests seemed to crack open and expose every single vulnerable organ inside their bodies, the way they poured out their deepest fears and hopes and unfulfilled desires. The way they turned themselves inside-out to bare all the buried pain and longing. The way she looked at him like she wasn't seeing him, but rather his torn-open soul as it desperately reached out for her.
And she was reaching back with her own. Crying out loudly for him.
He couldn't bear to look at those cuts again, or to feel them beneath his fingers. They were wrong, they didn't belong there, they had no business anywhere on her perfect body. It made him ask himself what he'd done to hurt her so badly, and then it made him ask himself what that other fuckhead had done to hurt her so badly. Was it really such irreparable, penetrating damage that she had to resort to creating her own physical wounds?
He knew every single scar like its own storybook, and the image of new ones made his stomach turn. But her lips were still so soft, swollen from all of their kissing, and she was pressing herself tighter and tighter against him, begging him to be closer, to be one with her. Silently asking him to help her feel better, to help her feel more like herself again. And his cock was still so painfully hard, especially as it brushed against the inside of her warm thigh, so close to the damp heat between her legs.
Their chests were heaving in sync, bodies calling out to one another as her kisses grew hungrier and more demanding. Her fingers had inched their way down to the hem of his shirt until she was yanking it up and over his head, barely parting their mouths to toss it aside. And then her hands were on his back, fingers running across the series of ugly, pink-ish scars that lay there.
She was the only one allowed to do such a thing and she knew it. It made his heart leap and he bit down softly on her bottom lip, but she merely groaned and returned the gesture and dug her fingers harder into the skin of his back.
Was she rediscovering the old map that she'd once followed, just like he'd done with her body? Or was she just reminding herself that he was damaged goods, too?
Either way, he could hear her silent plea within her wet mouth and her bucking hips, begging him, Please forget the pain, just for tonight, let's be happy again. He didn't let himself wonder if he was only hearing what he wanted to hear. Because she wanted something else, too. She didn't want to wallow in that abysmal pit of anguish. She didn't want to spend another night crying herself to sleep in his arms. Not with all that whiskey and nicotine running through her veins.
Not with all that lust in her eyes. All that lust pooling between her legs and in her panties. All that sin that they were both more than willing to commit. Together.
Beth let out a moan of need as Daryl's throbbing cock brushed against her inner thigh through the thin fabric of his boxers. He responded with a soft grunt of his own and, without another second of hesitation, scooted downward and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties in one fluid motion. She lifted herself briefly to help him slip them off and down her thin legs, until he was tossing them aside just like their shirts. She immediately reached out and tugged at his boxers, so he slipped them off and wriggled them off his legs, and he definitely noticed the look in her eyes as she gazed down and found his cock standing rigid at attention between them.
Then he grasped her thighs firmly, keeping his fingers away from any marked skin, and leaned down to place soft, teasing kisses along the tender flesh between her thighs. He didn't stop kissing and flicking out his tongue until he could hear her gasped breaths stuttering, until he could feel her muscles trembling around him. Her fingers were gripping his shoulders tighter and tighter, urging his head toward her center.
His lips found their way to her hood and her swollen clit, taking it all into his mouth and gently sucking. A shudder ran through her body and her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her legs reflexively spreading farther apart. His cock jumped and throbbed, and he ground his hips into the mattress, searching for friction. He flicked his tongue out and ran it between her folds, circling her clit and eliciting another shudder and low moan. She smelled and tasted exactly as he remembered, and he wasn't sure he could ever stop indulging himself.
The sounds she was making were nearly as intoxicating as her taste on his tongue, the low moans and shuddering breaths. The feel of her blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders and all of her muscles repeatedly tensing and relaxing around him. Her clit was swelling between his lips and she was so wet that he could feel it dampening his chin hair. He couldn't stifle the groan that rolled out of his mouth, and she shuddered again when it vibrated against her pussy. His cock was throbbing harder, precome building and soaking a small spot into the sheets.
But he couldn't tear himself away from her sweet cunt and the familiar warmth that was welcoming him home. He released one thigh and slid his hand down until he was slipping a finger inside her wet, pulsing entrance. She rewarded him by tightening her walls around his digit and letting out a deep, guttural moan of pleasure. He was afraid he might come right then and there. His cock twitched against the mattress.
He nibbled lightly on her clit and revelled in the tremble of her muscles, sucking harder as he slid his finger farther inside her tensing pussy. Then he slipped a second digit in beside it and trailed his tongue long and hard through her folds and around her clit, sucking and nibbling gently as he wriggled both fingers within her wet heat. She shuddered again and he could hear her moans gradually turning into squeals of pleasure. Her walls were constricting and quivering, and the deeper he pushed, the more resistance he met from the inside - which meant he was finding his way to the exact spot he'd been searching for. Her squeals were quickly getting higher-pitched, bouncing off the walls of the small bedroom.
If Daryl had had any idea that his last time with Beth would be their final time together, he would've done it a lot differently. Ever since, he'd fantasized dozens and dozens of different ways that he wanted to worship her body. A million different ways that he wanted to make their last time together as memorable as possible - not just for him, but for her. And now, it was like getting that second chance.
Would this actually be the official last time for them? If so, he wanted to make her scream. He wanted to make her come so many times that she was left shaking and dehydrated. He wanted to make love to her until she could barely walk from the intense waves of pleasure and ecstasy.
He wanted her to remember him. Really remember him. Just as badly as he wanted to be able to remember her.
And maybe, admittedly… a small part of him wanted her to miss him. Like he would always miss her.
He wriggled his fingers inside her and felt the resistance intensify, her thighs locking around his head as his tongue continued to work her clit. And he didn't stop, continuing his motion even as a cramp began to form in his wrist. He revelled in her taste, dragging his tongue down and lapping up every drop that wept from her quivering cunt. In return, he was rewarded with more moans of pleasure from the depths of her throat. When he looked up, he could see her head tilted back into the pillow, jaw slack and chest thrust out, heaving with panted breaths. Her nipples were peaked and bright pink like tiny mountains atop the pale skin of her breasts glowing in the moonlight. His cock throbbed a little harder, twitching against the mattress with anticipation, and he tried to burn the image into his brain.
He wanted to enjoy this.
Her entire body was squirming, inching toward him, hips bucking into his face every time his lips wrapped around her swollen clit. She welcomed his fingers inside, urged them deeper, and once his pace quickened and he could feel his fingertips pressing against the spot that made her absolutely fall apart, he knew he couldn't stop until she was gushing. Which she did.
He curled his digits within her constricting walls a few more times and then she was keening, high and loud. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed in his ears, rattling through his bones so deeply that he could feel another spurt of precome dampening his boxers. His cock throbbed and twitched hard.
And then her whole body was trembling, shaking, quivering just like her pussy, and the half-moan/half-squeal that was pouring from her mouth was continuous, just like the gush of come soaking his fingers inside her, dribbling out and across his knuckles, practically drenching his hand. She ran out of air and began panting, squealing, dragging her nails through his hair and across his scalp, both pulling him closer and shoving him away at the same time.
Her thighs twitched from the aftershocks and she let out a long moan as he slowly slid his fingers out and looked up at her from between her legs. His gaze locked onto her wide pupils before he slipped the two fingers drenched in her juices into his mouth, sucking more of her sweet taste onto his tongue, desperate to savor every trace of her that he could get. He watched her breath hitch, her mouth agape as the lust bloomed darker and larger in her eyes. A soft moan of need escaped her throat and sent a shudder through his entire body, and his cock twitched again in response.
He couldn't wait any longer, and thankfully, neither could she. As soon as he was sitting up on his knees again, preparing to swoop down and envelop her in his arms, she wrapped her legs around him and grabbed him by the wrists, yanking him closer until the seeping head of his cock had left a moist trail down her inner thigh, grazing her lips and swollen clit, eliciting another shudder from both of them. His dick was throbbing and aching to the point that it was taking every ounce of resistance he had left not to reach down and begin touching himself - and the only reason he didn't was because he wanted this to last, and he didn't want to feel anything unless it was her tight cunt wrapped around him.
"Fuck me, Daryl," she pleaded, her voice breathy and high-pitched, hoarse from all the moaning and groaning and squealing. "I need you."
And then he was on her in a heartbeat, propped up on his elbows and caging her in beneath him, leaning down to kiss the softest spot on her neck. Their chests were pressed flush together and he trailed his lips upward until he was lightly nibbling at her earlobe, cock throbbing and twitching between her legs, teasing the wet heat of her entrance and weeping with more precome.
His breathing was shallow and desperate, perspiration forming on every inch of his skin. And he could feel the shiver that ran through her entire body as he growled into her ear, "Need you more'an you know, baby."
Her arms wrapped around him and her fingernails dug into his back, her legs pressing against the backs of his thighs and silently urging him closer, closer, closer. Until their bodies were interlocked and the head of his throbbing cock was barely pressing into the wet warmth of her waiting cunt. She gasped at the contact and kissed him hungrily, digging her nails into his back a little harder until he was groaning low in his throat and returning the demanding need of her mouth.
He resisted the urge to shove himself inside of her with one desperate thrust and slowly eased the thick head of his cock inside her soft, pulsating walls. She gasped in sharply and dug her nails into his skin even harder and he grunted from the agonizingly slow onslaught of pleasure. As he slid himself inside her, inch by inch, her pussy clamped down and trembled around his cock, and she moaned out in a long breath. He pressed his lips to hers and swallowed her euphoric sounds, kissing her hungrily as he shuddered and felt the intense heat of her cunt consuming his cock, until their body warmth was conjoined and her sharp hip bones were nestling in to the tender skin just beneath his.
He could still detect a slur in her words as she panted out against his lips, "God, I missed your cock, baby…"
But the whiskey was still swirling around in his head just as heavily as it was in hers, and he didn't even have to think about it before he was growling into her mouth, "I missed this pussy - goddamn, you feel so good."
Fuck, he'd missed hearing all the nasty words that poured from those pretty lips in the darkness of his bedroom.
He knew every single side of her, but this side was still one of his favorites, by far. The uninhibited, lust-driven, absolutely animalistic part of Beth that had slowly formed and grown over the last four years, writhing to life between sweaty sheets with scars pressed against scars and moans of ecstasy buzzing in their ears. Countless fading hickies and bite marks and finger imprints and scratches left by nails raked down his back. They'd grown into each other, learning one another's bodies and sounds and movements, bringing out the deepest and most desperate parts of each other. Daryl had never been the type to talk dirty - or to really even talk at all during sex. But with her, the words seemed to just roll off his tongue reflexively. He couldn't resist the way his throaty growls never ceased to make her thighs quiver around him. It became just another part of passionate love-making.
Only with her, though.
He could feel her pulsating cunt somehow getting even wetter around his cock as her tight walls molded around his girthy length and welcomed him in deeper, and after a couple of hearty thrusts, he felt that familiar resistance barely pushing against the head of his cock, guiding him like a compass to the spot that would make her fall apart beneath him. She was continuously gasping and panting into his mouth, kissing him hungrily and digging her nails into his back, her legs urging the backs of his thighs to buck into her farther, faster, harder. He read her motions and interpreted her tiny squeals and groans, gradually building a steady pace in rhythm with the rocking of her hips.
In and out, harder and faster, wetter and wetter and throbbing in sync with their racing hearts. Their chests were sticking together with perspiration and there was a very distinguishable sound coming from the combined slapping of skin-against-skin and his thick cock sliding repetitively into her soaking cunt. It bounced off the walls around them, barely louder than their own noisy breathing, grunting, and moaning.
She bit down on his bottom lip and the pain surged through him, sending a new wave of pleasure straight down to his dick. He rammed into her, eliciting a high-pitched moan from her open mouth. His cock pulsed inside her and he was thankful that the whiskey was giving him a little extra stamina. Although he could feel the edge rapidly approaching, far quicker and closer than he wanted.
He broke away from her mouth and kissed a sloppy, feverish trail across her cheek and down to the soft part of her throat beneath her earlobe, pausing and sucking lightly, reveling in the way she trembled beneath him, the way her pussy trembled just the same around his cock, coating it in a fresh wave of wetness. Her juices were leaking out, dampening his balls and their inner thighs, making the sounds of their skin slapping together even louder. He was breathing in her heady scent, the mixture of sweat and fruity shampoo and cigarettes and booze and Beth.
It made him feel high, sending a shockwave down his spine that reverberated within his hard cock, and he slammed into her over and over, eliciting squeal after squeal from her parted lips. His teeth bit down into the tender skin of her neck and didn't let up, and she shuddered in response, bucking her hips up into him harder. The warm tingling that had come to life at the very pit of his stomach was growing by the second, building at the base of his cock, threatening to burst out of him like an active volcano, threatening to drain all the molten lava from his rushing veins.
"Oh - baby, make me come," she whimpered in his ear.
It took every last ounce of willpower within him not to explode inside of her right then and there. The only reason he didn't was because of his determination - he intended to do exactly as she asked.
He thrust his hips a little harder, ground his pelvis down into hers a little harder, making sure to create the right amount of taunting friction against her swollen clit as he pounded into her pussy. His balls slapped against the lower flesh of her ass and she gasped with every stroke while he panted and grunted and lightly dragged his teeth across the skin of her throat, eyes squeezed shut as he willed himself to hold back. Even as the pressure intensified against the head of his throbbing cock, and her walls clenched tighter and tighter around his engorged length, and her breath became pure fire in his ear. The tingling pressure built higher and filled to bursting at the bottom of his stomach. And her sharp hip bones were digging so deliciously into his tender muscles with every thrust.
She was writhing and squirming beneath him, panting and gasping and moaning with unbridled pleasure, fingernails digging into his back and legs clenching possessively around his upper thighs. He pushed into her once more with intent, following the internal map to her climax, and felt that pressure finally burst against the head of his cock, nearly forcing him out. But he continued to thrust into it, pushing against it, his lips and teeth freezing over her throat as he grunted and then let the wave of her orgasm wash over both of them.
Her entire body went rigid for a split-second and her moan came out clipped, halting suddenly as a tremble ran through her. The floodgate opened and he felt her come spilling across his cock, leaking out and dribbling down his balls and their conjoined pubic areas, electrifying his throbbing dick with intense shockwaves of ecstasy. Her walls seemed to soften around him, constricting for a moment before releasing all at once and quivering around him. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, revelling in the overwhelming wave of her climax while forcing back his own. His cock pulsated inside her, precome continously seeping out.
And she didn't need to tell him because he already felt it, but she did anyway.
"Fuckfuckfu - baby, I'm coming, oh my god," she whined, head thrown back into the pillow as her small frame reflexively thrust upward and pressed tighter into his enveloping form. Her fingernails were slowly raking down his back, digging into his flesh and threatening to break skin.
"Come fer me, baby," he growled against her neck, nibbling and kissing lightly. "Come all over that dick."
She let out another squeal that mixed with a high-pitched whine, fading into a moan as her muscles slowly relaxed and she melted into a puddle beneath him. She licked her dry lips and struggled to catch her breath, her legs finally releasing their death-grip on his upper thighs. Her tight cunt was pulsing and softening around his cock.
This is where we're supposed to be. This is home. This is what love feels like, that quiet voice whispered at the back of his head. Because if it isn't, then what else could love possibly be?
He was still reeling from her orgasm, fighting back his own and growing more and more intoxicated by everything about her. And suddenly, she was taking charge, gently pushing him off of her until his hard cock was slipping out of the warmth of her cunt. Not for long, though, because with another fluid motion, she was flipping around, guiding him back with her hands and her hips and her ass. Then he was resting on his knees behind her while she bent over on all fours and swiftly interlocked their bodies once more.
Before he could prepare himself for the sensation, he found his aching cock being swallowed up by the wet warmth of her tender pussy again as she pushed back onto him, easing his entire length inside her. He grabbed her by the hips and guided her backward until her pert little ass was pressed against him, nestled into the bend of his body, her tight walls slipping around his cock like a glove. And when he gazed down, he found himself staring at her milky white back bathed in moonlight, waves of blonde hair glinting almost silver.
As well as her first worst scar - the long, jagged line of raised, pinkish skin that started at the top of her spine and ran down nearly the entire length to her lower back. Another map etched into pale flesh. Another reminder, like a relieving flash of something familiar amidst uncertainty.
Yet all he could think about was how utterly, absolutely, and unquestionably gorgeous she was. Every inch of skin, every imperfection, every stretchmark and dimple and mole and scar. He wanted to drown himself in her essence, in everything she was and everything she would never be.
His hand was reaching up and tangling his fingers in the back of her hair, gently tugging her closer toward him as he slowly slid his throbbing cock in and out of her, teasing her dripping pussy, elongating the moans and groans that kept leaking from her mouth. His other hand gripped her hip tightly, fingertips digging into tender flesh, and he gradually sped up his pace until he was ramming into her over and over, searching for that familiar spot from a different angle. Her pussy quivered around him as his fingers tightened in her hair, and he tugged a little harder in response. He was rewarded with a fresh gush of wetness around his cock and a strained moan escaped his lips.
He released her hip and slid his hand down to find her swollen clit, pressing his fingers against it and feeling the shudder of pleasure run through her body as her walls clamped down tighter on his cock. Then he was rubbing in a steady motion along with the bucking of his hips, and his hand tugged her hair a little harder while he buried his engorged cock deeper and deeper inside, repeatedly dragging his length down the back of her clit. She was panting and squealing again, pressing her ass back into him and silently begging for more, burying his cock so deep inside the wet, throbbing heat of her cunt that he never wanted to pull it back out.
Her neck was craning back, her head being tugged back along with her hair wrapped up in his hand. But then she paused, just for a second, and reached up to grab his hand and purposefully move it to her throat, until his fingers were wrapped around her tiny neck and her pulse was thrumming against his sweaty palm. Their skin stuck together with sweat and he gently squeezed his fingers around her throat - like an old reflex, he immediately remembered how she liked it.
Her breathing became a little more labored and her pussy was drenched around his cock, her body melding into his until they were a single form experiencing all the same waves of ecstasy. A tingling ball of pressure was coming to life at the base of his cock and he recognized his body's warning signals, doing his best to force them away while still being pushed toward the edge by every little arch in Beth's back and every little strained moan that escaped her lips. She was close, too, he could feel it.
"Fuck - fuck me, baby - oh, god," she moaned, her voice high-pitched as she struggled to get enough air to speak.
He squeezed his fingers the tiniest bit tighter around her slim little neck and felt the wetness gushing around his cock, a particularly loud groan inadvertently escaping his lips as the sounds that poured from her mouth sent electrifying jolts of overwhelming pleasure through his every muscle. He rammed into her harder, into that tiny spot within the depths of her cunt that offered resistance against the head of his cock. His fingers continued to work her clit, and he was so consumed by the very edge of his climax that the cramps forming in his legs and wrists may as well have been non-existent. Her ass was slapping loudly against the sweaty skin of his groin.
Then she was gasping in a long breath, inhaling sharply and loudly, all her muscles going rigid around him. Her walls clenched down on his cock and he shoved with intent against that spot, pressing down on her clit and squeezing her throat, a shudder wracking through his body.
Her familiar moan/squeal echoed out in the small bedroom, long and breathless. "Shit, Daryl - I'm coming…!"
Finally, he could let go and enjoy that blissful tumble over the edge right along with her. And he did. With one last, hard thrust into her quivering pussy, his cock was spilling inside her, spewing his hot load and draining him of nearly every last ounce of energy he had.
Reflexively, he cried out after her, "Me, too, baby - oh fuck..."
His mind went completely blank for the briefest moment, and as his hand loosened around her throat, he felt their muscles melting into one another, their orgasms building and conjoining and completely ravaging their bodies. He was coming harder than he'd came in months.
When the hurricane of their climax washed away a few seconds later, they were left gasping and panting to catch their breaths, their skin flushed pink and covered in sweat, damp hair stuck to necks and backs and shoulders and chests. His legs were weak and jelly-like, but he quickly swooped his hand up to press his palm against her chest, pulling her back toward him until he could reach her shoulder with his lips. He kissed a small pattern on the pale skin there, soaking in the trembling of her tired muscles, faintly tasting her sweet perspiration.
"I love you," he whispered against her skin.
She hummed softly and breathed out, "I love you…"
Then he cupped the side of her face and turned her head toward him, pressing his chapped and swollen lips to hers, kissing her softly for a long minute. And as she kissed him back, he could hear those words repeating over and over in his head. I love you.
She returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, shuffling and stumbling around on weak and shaky legs, still half-drunk and completely naked, glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyeliner and mascara had smeared black smudges around the corners of her eyes, but when the soft glow of the bedside lamp washed over her bare skin, Daryl's breath was knocked out of him and he prayed she wasn't about to put her clothes on and leave.
She'd asked to stay the night - as in, sleep beside him, right? She wasn't going to leave just because the sun was beginning to rise, was she? He wanted to wrap his arms around her small frame and bury his face in her hair. He wanted to smother himself in her warmth and sleep well for once. He wanted to wake up and find her smudged makeup all over his pillow.
Before she could bend over and begin rifling through the small pile of discarded clothes on the floor, he held up her little purple panties. She reached out and took them, quickly slipping them on.
"What, I can't keep 'em?" He teased, smirking as he watched her slide the panties up her thighs.
She scoffed and gave him an incredulous look, smirking back. "Hell no, these are my favorite undies."
He chuckled and watched her pick up her camisole and pull it over her head as he sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers. He wasn't trying to, but suddenly, he was thinking to himself, Why'd she wear her favorite panties tonight? Was she planning on comin' over - or was I the last resort when she couldn't go to that party and find a decent rebound? Is there some new Jimmy that she wanted ta fuck? Some dipshit college guy she's got her eye on? Was this just some kinda backup plan sex 'cause she had her heart set on getting laid tonight?
Did she say 'I love you' because she really does, or just 'cause she got lost in all those orgasms?
Then she was striding over and turning on the small fan that sat on his dresser in the corner, pointing it towards the bed before making her way to the bedside table and switching off the lamp. He eagerly slipped beneath the covers and moved over to make room while she climbed in and joined him. She practically melted into her spot beside him, scooting in close until her warm back was pressed up against his front, the bends of their bodies interlocked.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her closer, and a tingling sensation ran down his spine when he felt her small hands over his knuckles, pulling him tighter around her and nuzzling back into his large frame. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow down for fear that she could feel it pounding against her back.
He was speaking, mumbling wistfully into her neck before he could stop himself, still consumed by the afterglow of their climax, "I know it's - too soon. After him. But I miss you, baby. I dunno if I can jus' be friends with you… 'specially if it's like this."
He felt her tense up momentarily, then she squeezed his hands and sighed with exhaustion. "Don't… not tonight. We're both drunk."
But he couldn't resist. That barrier was finally down, and he didn't know how much longer it would remain that way. "Ain't that drunk… Can't tell me ya don't wanna give it another chance."
She tensed up again. "You miss me now, but I've always missed you. It's only gonna end up jus' like before. One way or the other… why would you wanna drag it out all over again?"
He placed a soft kiss against her shoulder and buried his nose into the crook of her neck. "'Cause I love you. 'Cause it can be different. An' I'm an asshole, but I can try ta be… better."
"That doesn't make me any less crazy. You might be able ta change, but I can't seem to figure it out," she mumbled.
He kissed her shoulder again. "We could both be better."
She sighed and squirmed against him, her quiet voice cracking, "Don't."
He tightened his arms around her. "It could be different. We could forget all that other shit - I won't hold it against ya ever again. I know I fucked up, but I can fix it."
He could hear her swallowing hard before whispering hoarsely, "We've already said that before. A million times. It's never different, that stuff'll never go away, it can't be fixed… Sometimes, it jus' doesn't matter how much you love somebody."
Then what the fuck does matter? What's the fucking point of love if it can't overcome all that other shit?! He wanted to ask.
But the anger was far away and impossible to reach right now. He simply couldn't muster it when she was so close and so warm and so painfully vulnerable in his arms.
She pushed back against him, urging his lips against her shoulder once more. He let them linger there, kissing her lazily, drinking her in and attempting to flood out the aching in his stomach.
They lay together in the quiet of the dark bedroom, early morning sky barely lightening outside the windows. The fan hummed in the corner in sync with the vents on the walls, sending mixed waves of warm and cool air over the bed. Her body was hot against his beneath the blanket but he didn't loosen his grasp around her or pull away. A few long moments of silence passed and he began to think she'd fallen asleep.
Then she whispered softly, words half-slurred and heavy with sleep, "Doesn't matter if we're together or not. 'M always gonna be yours... I always have been."
He couldn't find the right response before her breathing steadied and her entire body relaxed against him, and then he knew it was too late because she'd already drifted off. He couldn't even convince himself that she'd been drunk-talking, or delusional on the edge of sleep, because he could physically feel the sincerity in her tone. And every part of him knew that he'd seen the very real her all night tonight, unabashed and crying out for relief.
But had she intended to drag him back? To pull him along on her path of suffering and self-loathing? Was she trying to punish him for all the scars he'd left over the years? Trying to return the pain and even the score once and for all?
Or was she subconsciously and instinctively reaching out for him because she knew he wanted to save her? And that he was the only one who really could?
Before he could silence his stormy mind and drift off to sleep, he'd decided that she was punishing both of them. Maybe not intentionally, but in her search for a quiet self-destruction, she'd found him. And he was more than willing to be her punching bag all over again.
He'd already convinced himself that it was the least he deserved.
to be continued...