AN: Here we are, a little more to the adventures of this little unit.
There is a definite rating change for the second part of this chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"I'll help you!" Poppy announced. She grabbed ahold of the handle of Carol's bag, and Carol bent her knees just slightly to keep pace with the toddler and let her think she was helping her to carry the bag.
"My room," Daryl said, as though he could read Carol's mind about not knowing where to go with the bag. "If that's OK…I mean just for now…if you want…"
"I don't know where your room is," Carol admitted.
"Poppy, Daddy's room," Daryl said.
"OK! OK, Daddy!" Poppy agreed cheerfully. She trudged along, dragging Carol by her bag toward the bedroom. "This is heavy! Oh my! This is heavy!"
Carol stifled her laughter.
"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I guess I packed too much stuff for the night. Do you mind me staying the night, Poppy? With you and your daddy?"
"No," Poppy said. "You can sleep with me!"
"Miss Carol might wanna sleep in a grown-up bed, Poppy," Daryl offered, following after them.
Carol had asked herself a half a dozen times what she was doing packing a bag to spend the night at Daryl's house. He was, in many ways, virtually a stranger. In others, she felt more drawn to him than she'd felt drawn to anyone in her entire life.
She didn't regret her choice to be here, now, with an overnight back and full intentions to go through with every fantasy she'd created in her mind—as long as he had the same idea, of course—but that didn't mean that it didn't make her feel nervous enough that she shook a little if she thought about it too hard.
"Here—just put your stuff down wherever you want," Daryl said.
Carol looked around his bedroom. She'd seen it through the lens of his phone camera, but it was different seeing it in person. It was different seeing his home. She smelled what it smelled like—not unpleasant at all. It was clean and comfortable. It was orderly and he seemed to be a man of few possessions, though she'd passed a great many of Poppy's things just on the way to the bedroom.
Looking at the bed—plenty large enough for two people but, she knew, often only partially occupied—made her feel a giddy, nervous excitement.
She put her bag down against the wall and thanked Poppy for helping her.
Both Poppy and Daryl were wearing pajamas. The two-piece pajama set that Daryl was wearing—picked out by Poppy, according to him—had multi-colored dinosaurs on them. Poppy's pajama set was covered with brightly colored polka dots.
Excitedly, Poppy started babbling to Carol. She was speaking fast, her words garbled, so that Carol only caught snatches here and there of the thrilling news that Poppy wanted to share with her. Carol looked to Daryl for interpretation. He smiled and laughed to himself, silently understanding her need.
"We went to the store today after we dropped you off," Daryl said. "Got stuff for hot chocolate and these lil' bitty marshmallows. Got popcorn, too. We've got a bunch of Christmas movies. It's a little early, but Poppy loves 'em so much we start watchin' 'em right after Halloween so she can see 'em a whole lot. She—uh—wants to know if you got your pajamas."
Poppy was watching her father interpret. Maybe she was doing quality control to make sure that he interpreted correctly. She seemed satisfied, if not a little miffed that there was necessity for her words to be filtered through her daddy.
"You got your pajamas?" She asked, furrowing her brow at Carol. Carol smiled. Now that she had slowed down, and now that Carol knew the gist of her message, she could follow along with the little girl's concern.
"I do," Carol said. "Do you want me to put them on now?"
"You gotta to watch the movie!" Poppy said. "It's OK if you got pajamas like mine. It's OK if you do. Daddy—it's OK if Miss Carol has pajamas like mine, isn't it? It's OK."
"It's fine if she does," Daryl said. "But it's fine if she don't, too."
"I wish I had pajamas like yours," Carol said. "But I don't have pajamas that are as much fun as yours."
"Daddy can just give you pajamas like mine," Poppy said. "That's—he's where I got my pajamas. At the store. Daddy got—he gave me my pajamas at the store. And you can have pajamas like mine, too."
"We'll work on gettin' Miss Carol whatever pajamas she wants," Daryl said. "Another night. For now, though, why don't we just let her put on the ones she's got? OK? So we can watch the movie."
"OK," Poppy agreed. "I'll help you," she declared, rushing toward Carol.
Daryl caught her before she even reached Carol.
"She can put her pajamas on her own self. She don't want you watchin' like a peepin' Poppy," Daryl said. "She ain't no exhibitionist."
"What's a exhibitionist?" Poppy asked, hanging upside down from her father's playful hold on her lower body. The word came out nothing like the way Daryl had said it, and Carol and Daryl both laughed in response to it.
"Means she can get dressed without you watchin'," Daryl said. "Come on. Let's go pop some popcorn. You can make sure I'm doin' it right. Tell me if I ain't."
He looked at Carol. His smile hadn't faded from dealing with Poppy. Carol felt a warm rush of affection just from watching him with the little girl. His love for his daughter was pure, complete, and so genuine that it made parts of Carol's anatomy respond in slightly questionable ways. His smile faded just slightly to sincerity.
"If you need anything…" he said. It trailed off, but he didn't need to finish it.
"Thanks," Carol said. "I'll—be out in a minute."
"Bathroom's just there," Daryl said, gesturing to the door that led to the master bath. "If you need it, too."
Carol nodded her thanks, reached a hand out to stroke Poppy's cheek as the girl gleefully hung from her daddy's arms like she might from monkey bars, and smiled when Poppy squealed at her in happiness.
When Daryl left, closing the door behind him to give her privacy, Carol fought against her urge to snoop. Instead, she changed into her pajamas, relieved herself in the bathroom with only a quick perusal of the items left out by the sink, and touched nothing else of Daryl's—except the pillow that she smelled entirely out of something like instinct and knee-jerk reaction, though she felt immediately guilty for it as soon as she'd done it.
Guilt or not, though, she found his scent both exciting and comforting. It was strange and familiar—and she hoped it would soon only become more familiar to her.
111
"She's out like a light," Daryl said.
"She's just so beautiful," Carol said.
She walked a step and a half in front of him, back toward his bedroom, after putting a sleeping Poppy into her bed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt like they'd been doing this since forever.
Carol shivered and tensed slightly when she felt his fingers touch the lower part of her back. He put the slightest bit of pressure there, and it ran through her body. Her breathing caught, but she did her best to hide it.
"Does she sleep well?"
"Oh, yeah," Daryl said. "All night—unless there's a nightmare or something. We got the whole bed-wettin' thing mostly behind us. Sometimes she don't make it, though, so that's why she still sleeps in the pull-up. I hope you don't think I'm a bad daddy 'cause we ain't overed that entirely and I put her in a pull-up just in case. But it really hurts her feelings if she don't make it an' her sheets get messed up."
"I think most daddies don't know the half of what you know about potty training a baby," Carol said. "And I don't think I could ever think you were a bad daddy."
"So—this is it," Daryl said, leading Carol into the bedroom. He closed the door behind them. He crossed the room and turned on what Carol immediately recognized as a monitor. He'd turned on the other end in Poppy's bedroom. There was only a slightly staticky silence issuing forth from the monitor. Carol remembered that sound. She'd turned Sophia's down as low as she could to still hear a sound, and she'd slept with it next to her face like a teddy bear. She hadn't wanted to disturb Ed, and he'd hated being woken by the little girl in the middle of the night. The volume on Daryl's monitor was loud enough that she thought she could hear Poppy breathing.
Carol realized that Daryl was looking at her, concerned. He'd lit a cigarette and was standing near his nightstand, watching her.
"If you changed your mind, and you wanna go home, look—I won't be pissed. And I can tell Poppy that somethin' come up an' you had to leave, but you'll have breakfast with her some other time," Daryl said.
Carol walked to him quickly.
"I didn't change my mind," she assured him. "And I don't want to leave. I'm just—a little nervous. It's been a while. And I kind of told myself I might not do this every again, so…I'm just a little nervous. That's all."
"Me too," Daryl admitted. "You don't have to do shit you don't wanna do. And I mean that. You wanna just sleep, we can just sleep."
Carol smiled at him.
"You know what? I believe you. But—I don't want to just sleep. Not if you don't want to just sleep."
"I've about forgot how this goes," Daryl said.
"Maybe we'll remember together," Carol said. She bit her lip to hold back the smile she naturally felt coming to her features when she looked at him.
"Can I kiss you?" Daryl asked.
"I think you ought to," Carol said. She closed her eyes before he even touched her. She closed her eyes and imagined how wonderful Daryl might be at kissing her. She remembered how wonderful he'd been in her daydreams. He brushed his fingertips through her hair. He stroked her cheek. He seemed to be unsure about how to begin and, then, he kissed her.
And it was better than she'd imagined.
It was tender, and sweet, and for a moment, Carol felt desired and wanted.
She wanted, desperately, to feel wanted.
She opened her eyes to Daryl. He was staring into her eyes. The aching between her legs reminded her that everything in her had already imagined this and wanted it to be so.
"You're sure?" Daryl asked.
"I'm positive," Carol said. "Unless—you think it's too soon and…you don't want to be with a woman who would tell you that it's not too soon."
Daryl laughed low in his throat. He held a finger up, asking Carol to wait, but she wasn't going anywhere. She stayed, standing by the bed, while he went into the bathroom. After a moment, she sat on the edge of his bed. She ran her fingers over the blanket that, she was sure, would soon be turned back.
"You on anything?" Daryl asked.
"Drugs?" Carol asked.
"I mean—that too," Daryl said with a laugh. "But mostly I meant—Poppy prevention."
"No," Carol said. "I don't like the idea of hormones, really, and when I started trying to take them while I was married, Ed had a fit and said it was probably just because I was scared of getting caught cheating by having some other man's baby. He didn't know it was his I was trying not to have. I didn't take them to stop him from retaliating, and I haven't needed them since Ed."
"So—I picked these up today," Daryl said. He brought a box of condoms into the bedroom. Carol's eyes flicked only momentarily to see that he was obviously hard—something that was only slightly humorous given that he was wearing multi-colored dinosaur pajamas—and then she quickly averted her eyes back to the box.
"That should be fine," she said.
Daryl joined her on the bed. Her pulse kicked up. With each moment, it seemed more real and a little more thrilling—and terrifying. The rush of adrenaline was almost dizzying.
"You see the box is sealed," Daryl said. "Brand fuckin' new. I ain't opened it. Ain't expired, either. Bought it today."
Carol laughed at his insistence, almost like he was a drug dealer assuring her of the purity of his product.
"I believe you," Carol said.
"It's just—these things ain't always Poppy-proof," Daryl said. "Last time I done this, I was wearin' a condom. I swear I was. Some shit must've happened. It leaked or somethin', hell, I don't know. Her mama had a fit. She accused me of lyin'. She said I done something to it. Said that it was all some kinda plan or some shit on my part to make her have Poppy when she didn't want her. Tie her to me, maybe. Like Poppy and me were the worst things that could ever happen to her. I'm just showing you, so you know I didn't do shit. I'm tellin' you up front that…well…Poppies still pop the fuck up from time to time."
Carol laughed, and Daryl did, too. She reached and took the box from him. She turned it over in her hand and looked at the expiration date that he showed her, pointing to it with his fingertip.
"Mmm hmmm," she mused. She broke the seal on the box, extracted a condom packet, and held it in her fingers.
"Sealed," Daryl said. "They say for her pleasure. They got spermicidal lubricant and everything."
Carol let the memory that the last time she'd done this—it had been with Ed and it hadn't been something where her pleasure was of the least bit of concern—go as quickly as it entered her mind. She steadied her breathing as well as she could. She pulled Daryl to her and he came willingly, tasting her mouth and accepting her tongue when she moved to tease him. She tasted his cigarette and the remnants of hot chocolate.
She allowed herself to make out with him like a teenager—taking her time to kiss and grope him through the ridiculous pajamas he'd already warned her his toddler had picked out, a fact which made them oddly sexy in a way that Carol may have never before admitted she found multi-colored dinosaurs.
"I've got scars," she breathed into his mouth as he lifted the bottom of her pajama shirt in an effort to free her breasts.
He missed not even a second of work toward his ultimate goal.
"Yeah. Me, too," he said.
It seemed that was enough discussion. Carol took her bra off to speed things along, and he got rid of his shirt while she did so. The scars, she found, were on his back. Her fingertips found the uneven, oddly-textured skin as she touched him, neither of them ready to give up the heavy, panting, make-out session they'd fallen into.
Carol wondered what she must look like when Daryl pulled away for air. His beard and the kissing must have meant her face was red. She probably never would have agreed to do this with the lights on, but they'd forgotten to turn the overhead light off, and it seemed so inconsequential now.
"Mean it," he said. "You say what happens and what don't. And I won't be pissed. Swear it. But your ass can't be pissed if I gotta—go to the bathroom for a bit."
Carol laughed. She was feeling amused, aroused, and understanding all at once.
"Stay right here," she said. "Don't go to the bathroom." She smiled at him and tugged on the string that tied his pajama pants.
"Yeah?" He asked.
She found the foil packet she'd lost in the blanket and ripped it with her teeth.
"You and Poppy are…you're a chance that I'm willing to take," Carol said. She offered him the packet. "You're probably better at this than I am."
"You're serious?" Daryl asked, taking the packet but not immediately beginning the work to put on the condom. Carol scurried backward, away from him, enough to remove her own pajama pants and underwear in one motion. She tossed them over the side of the bed. Immediately, she felt embarrassed and hoped she wasn't too forward. "Shit," Daryl said, laughing to himself. He backed up, stood up, and discarded everything he was wearing. Stroking himself, he started to put on the condom.
Carol eyed him. She laughed to herself at the thought that crossed her mind.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Nothing," Carol said.
"The hell you mean, nothing?" Daryl asked. It was the first hint of anger she'd seen from him, but she quickly figured out he was more vulnerable and embarrassed than angry. "Man's got his dick in his hand, and you laugh, it's gotta be something."
"Where's that condom box?" Carol asked.
"Floor beside the bed," Daryl said, looking down. "Got kicked. Why?"
"What size are these condoms?" Carol asked.
"Regular?"
"The Poppy surprise might've been owing to the fact that—you needed a larger size," Carol teased. "You popped it and—you got Poppy." She pursed her lips at Daryl. His face ran red.
"This is really when you gonna turn out to be an asshole?" He asked. There was a hint of amusement with his embarrassment.
"I'm not being an asshole," Carol said. "I'm saying—maybe there was a lot of friction or something."
"It's got lubrication," Daryl said. "Says spermicidal lubrication right there on the box. And it's on my hands."
"Daryl—you didn't warn me about this," Carol said. "I feel like—you should have warned me. I should have had a chance to…to prepare. To…meditate."
"Now I know you're shittin' me."
"The only reason I know that's going to fit at all is because—well—I gave birth naturally," Carol said.
Daryl came toward her. He took a position over her. She moved backward as he came, sliding comfortably under him. He moved a pillow to put it under her head, despite the fact that neither of them was properly positioned in the bed. He hovered over her and she felt a rush, reminded of the daydreams she'd created where he was in just such a position of power over her—and yet, he still gave her the power to call the shots.
He touched her. His fingers stroked her. She opened her legs to make it clear to him that she intended to allow him all the access he might want. He kissed her and she closed her eyes to enjoy it. He spoke, his lips near her ear.
"You didn't tell me your pussy was bald, neither," Daryl said, "and that's the kinda shock to the system that I think I shoulda been warned about."
Carol laughed, appreciating his teasing. She didn't open her eyes. She didn't want to. She was relaxed with him over her, despite the fact that she also felt slightly thrilled with anticipation.
"I got carried away grooming," she said. "I'm not good at grooming. I didn't know what you'd like."
He continued to stroke her and she opened her mouth with satisfaction at his touch. He slid a finger inside of her and stroked her deeply. She moaned at him.
"Leave it alone next time," Daryl said. "Kinda weirds my ass out that the poor thing's naked."
"Are you going to be able to handle it?" Carol asked, teasing gently.
"Could ask you the same thing, as much as you were squalling a minute ago," Daryl teased. Two fingers found their way into her, and his thumb found her clit. She raised her hips off the bed instinctively and rode his hand.
"I never squalled," Carol said. "But I might be…in a minute." She laughed quietly.
Daryl changed his position, and Carol tensed, but didn't open her eyes.
"Wanna change your mind?"
"No," Carol said. "I'll just—try not to wake Poppy."
"You really think you're gonna notice?" Daryl asked.
Carol felt him teasing her. She rearranged herself and caught the blanket in her hands in anticipation.
"Oh—I'm going to notice," she said, laughing quietly. "I have all ideas that—for a minute? It's going to hurt. But—you'll make it better, won't you?"
"Kiss it better," he said, practically breathing out the words. "Kiss you better."
He kissed her again. God, his kisses were so tender. So hungry. Carol felt a flood rush to her core—she'd appreciate that. He peppered her face with soft kisses, placing one over each of her closed eyelids. She ached for him, and she moaned to let him know it.
"Fast or slow, then," Daryl said. "You tell me. What'cha want? I go in easy, slow, or I go in all at once, like ripping off a bandaid?"
"What you think is best," Carol said.
Almost immediately, Daryl made it clear what he'd chosen. Carol balled the blanket up in her fists, immediately grappling with a mix of feelings that crossed and re-crossed borders of pain and pleasure. The initial wave was over quickly, though, which was what Daryl had obviously intended, and he held her in his arms until she relaxed from the adjustment. He kissed her again, grinding against her with a gentle rocking motion, since he was already as deep inside her as their bodies allowed. She opened her eyes to him and slowly let out the breath she'd sucked in earlier. She finished relaxing in his arms. She met his eyes. They seemed darker at the moment, since his pupils were very heavily dilated, but he smiled at her.
"You OK?" He asked. She hummed in the affirmative. His smile grew. There was a hint of playful evil there that she already appreciated. "Pussy OK? It's a tight fit, but seems like we made it. You pull through alright?"
"Asshole," she breathed out at him. "You better move."
"You don't have to tell me more than once," Daryl said. "I was waitin' on you to be OK, and it's killin' me."
Carol laughed, and she appreciated the laughter. She appreciated the fact that she was in bed with this man who, in such a short amount of time, had come to occupy most of her thoughts. She appreciated the fact that he could seem impossibly not real at one moment and all too real the next. She appreciated the fact that, as he rocked her body with thrusts—delicious, filling, dizzying thrusts—she could laugh with him as well as enjoy the pleasure that he seemed set on giving her.
For this moment, Carol felt wonderful. She couldn't know how things would be moving forward but, honestly, she was excited to find out.
She meant what she'd told Daryl. He and Poppy were a chance she was willing to take.