It took a full week to clean out the house, and find mattresses and linens for everyone. I felt a little guilty that Daryl and I got to sleep in the camper while everyone else crashed on the couches and floor, but I was so exhausted after several nights of very little sleep, that I didn't think about it too much. I was almost asleep before Daryl climbed onto the platform bed that first night, and I burrowed into him and murmured, "M'sorry, I'm so tired, I just have to sleep." I felt his chest move in a low rumble of a laugh but was out before I heard him answer.

We all ate our meals at my parents' house for the time being, since we hadn't stocked the kitchen at our new house yet, but I learned that the rest of the family usually ate on their own and only gathered for dinner a couple of times a week. I was slowly beginning to see how things could fit together - we could use my grandfather's land to add some crops for feeding the animals, and maybe raise bees. The forest behind it would be good hunting grounds for Daryl. We could all pitch in with the more labor-intensive chores like milking and processing it into dairy products, or when it was time to butcher an animal. I could eat dinner with the kids a couple of times a week, and work with them around the farm.

The house had space enough that everyone could fit, but eventually, we'd need to build or find a couple more spots. If Daryl and I had our own place, the kids might eventually feel comfortable enough to spend the night or at least hang out over there.

Daryl climbed into bed next to me while I thought about all the possibilities the second night in the camper. "Pretty sure you were asleep 'fore you stopped talkin' last night," he said, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. "Feel better today?" I nodded and realized it had been days since he'd touched me, other than the kiss in the field.

Daryl was a private person at the best of times, and he constantly had his guard up now, especially since we were kind of under a microscope with my family. That, combined with the fact that I was spending lots of time with my kids meant that this was the first opportunity we'd had to connect physically and I felt suddenly, and ridiculously, insecure.

He must have sensed it, but he didn't say anything, just ran his hand through my hair absently, and then tugged the neck of my shirt over so he could look at my bruised shoulder. It had faded considerably, and just had a faint imprint and yellow-green tinge in bright light, hardly visible in the dim glow from the lantern. He pressed a kiss to it and I closed my eyes, remembering the intense sensations from our last night together when we'd worked out frustration and anger through sex.

His thumb brushed against my nipple, which had hardened at the memories, and he hummed appreciatively. "I guess you aren't tired enough for bed yet, then?" he asked innocently, scraping his nail across it again, and I shook my head.

"What's the matter - thirsty?" he asked, tugging gently on the other nipple, the rough fabric of my shirt rubbing against it. I shook my head no.

"Hungry?" - scrape. "No? Need a bedtime story?" - tug. "Hmm, not that. Lullaby?" - scrape. "Need ta take a piss?" - tug.

He knelt over me and slowly pushed my shirt up over my bare chest, exposing me to him. "Then how am I going to get you ready for bed?" he teased, cupping my breasts and twisting my nipples the way he knew would drive me crazy.

"Fuck, Daryl," I moaned, more turned on than I wanted to admit at his patronizing dirty talk that was playing off my shyness. He brought his lips down to my ear and whispered, "Watch yer language, young lady. Is your pretty pussy too wet to fall asleep?" and I nodded, lifting my hips up to get the message across.

"Hmmm. Do you need me to help ya out?" he rasped against my neck, still not touching me where I needed it. "If so, yer gonna have to ask me nicely, with yer best manners."

He tilted his head to meet my eyes, checking to make sure I was okay with this, and I nodded, pupils blown, core throbbing.

"Good," he said, leaning back on his heels. "Now sit up, and show me where ya need help. If you show me exactly where and ask real nice, maybe I'll take care of ya."

I bit my lip and pushed my legs under me until I was in a sitting position, legs splayed in front of me. I hooked my hands under the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down along with my panties, watching Daryl's face carefully to see if I was on the right track.

He had schooled his face into a neutral expression, but his eyes were dark with desire and I could feel myself getting wetter. I pushed my shirt up over my breasts again, and leaned back on my elbows, slowly parting my knees.

"Gonna need to be more specific, sweetheart," Daryl said, his voice rough. "Use your words and your fingers to show me."

I ran one hand down between my legs and used my fingers to spread my folds apart, slipping them through the wetness, and arching my back at the sensation without meaning to. "I . . . I need you to help me right here, please. 'Cuz I'm so wet and my pussy is aching and I can't sleep."

My voice was high and breathless, even without trying to make it sound more innocent, and he practically growled, pulling my fingers from my pussy and tugging me up toward him.

"Good girls," he said, sucking my slick fingers into his mouth one by one. "Don't touch their wet pussies." I ducked my head and looked up at him through my lashes. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know. I won't do it again."

Daryl took my hands and guided them to the small shelf that ran along the top of the camper over the curtained windows, so I had to get up on my knees to reach. "Your hands stay here," he said, wrapping my fingers around the edge to grip tightly. "Don't move them, or I stop." I nodded nervously, and he shifted so he was seated against the pillows and I was braced over him, unable to sit down in his lap without letting go of the shelf.

He began teasing my nipples, tugging and rolling one between his fingers while he sucked and gently scraped his teeth against the other, at a frustratingly slow pace. I whined and tried to shift so I could press my core against him, but he stopped what he was doing and gripped my hips tightly. "Huh-uh. You gotta be patient if ya want me to make ya feel better," he ordered, and I gritted my teeth and held still.

It was torture, little waves of pleasure that he pulled through me with his ministrations, but never enough for any satisfaction, and I whimpered at each touch. I could see that his cock was rigid and throbbing, glistening with pre-cum and I knew he was as ready as I was, but determined to make us wait.

Eventually, the pressure built so much that my thighs were shaking with the effort of holding my body up, and tears of frustration were building at the corner of my eyes, but I didn't let go. He slid around behind me and ran his hands up my stomach, cupping my breasts and rolling my nipples as he spoke, voice low. "You were so good baby, holding still and dripping over my cock so patiently. Good girls get to feel better." He trailed his fingers through my soaked folds and ghosted over my clit. "Jesus," he muttered as my hips jerked in response, and his hard length slid between my slick thighs.

I couldn't help the moans and breathless whining that I made, pressing back as much as I could while keeping my hands where he'd told me to. He made me wait several more seconds, using feather-light touches to drive me even more crazy. Then, without warning, he grabbed my hips tightly, buried himself inside me, and slid his wet fingers firmly across my clit, cursing quietly and pressing his forehead to my shoulder blade.

I came immediately, almost sobbing with relief, and thankful we were in our own space where I didn't have to worry about the noise, provided no one was outside. He fucked me hard through my orgasm, immediately building another climax. The position was almost painful after so long on my knees, but his body pressed behind me took most of my weight, and his iron grip held my hips, pulling them back to meet every thrust.

I tipped over the edge of bliss again, and he finally came with a growled "Jesus fucking Christ!" My fingers were still gripping the edge of the shelf, and he gently pried them off, massaging them gently to get the blood flowing, and lowered me down to the bed. I was a shaking, sweaty mess, but he smoothed my hair back from my face and kissed away the tear stains. He cleaned me up, moving my legs and shifting me into a more comfortable position, and then lay next to me and pulled me in to rest my head on his chest.

"You okay?" he said quietly, running a hand down my back. "More than okay," I said in a shaky voice, and his chest rumbled in a quiet laugh. "You're way too fuckin' good at that innocent shit," he said. "That what you were like at fifteen?"

I shook my head, tracing absent patterns on his hip and side. "At fifteen using the word 'pussy' would never have crossed my mind," I admitted. "I barely even knew that foreplay existed. I learned about it in a book that my mom didn't know I was reading when I was sixteen. I never even . . ." I was suddenly mortified at my sheltered adolescence, "I never even touched myself until after I'd started having sex so I had no idea what I liked. And clearly, I'm still figuring that out."

Daryl's hand slowed and came to rest on my lower back. "You've only been with two people?" he said quietly. "Yeah. I mean I told you I didn't really date before Raph, right?" I said. "And we never . . . I mean, it was always very vanilla. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it wasn't something I craved, like I do with you."

"I guess I jus' didn' really think about it like that," he said. "You were always comfortable with whatever I did, didn' think about it bein' new."

"I just . . . trust you." I said finally, "and that turns me on more than anything, I think. Letting you do whatever you want, not being the one to decide everything, or overthink it. It's the only time in my life I'm not thinking, really, just feeling and reacting, and everything you do just makes me want more."

He rolled over, hovering above me, and traced my lips with his index finger, clearly working through what he wanted to say. "I never . . . I mean, I've been with plenty a people, but always jus' casual fucks. It . . . was never like this, ya know?"

I nodded, aware that it was closest he'd probably get to saying he loved me. "Yeah," I whispered. "And I never did the casual thing, but I still didn't know it could be like this. Everything you do turns me on, even if it's pushing me out of my comfort zone."

"You'll tell me if I do somethin' y'don like?" he asked, and I nodded. "I will, I promise. But I think you already know my limits somehow." We didn't usually address my trauma directly, but it was clear that he'd thought about it. He never restrained my hands - even when control of my body was central to what he was doing, I was always able to move them if I wanted to, like tonight.

And as much as I loved the sex itself, him cleaning me up and putting me back together after I fell apart was a big part of why I liked letting him control me. It felt like I could let go of everything and he'd make sure I was okay in the end. I didn't know if that was something I always would have liked, or if being in the midst of an apocalypse had changed me, but I didn't care. I needed what he gave me, he needed what I gave him, and nothing else mattered.