A/N Thanks for sticking with me on this little side trip in the Walking Dead universe. After the heaviness of the last couple of chapters, here is a lighter one for you to enjoy. Please let me know what you think. (Bluecrush - you are amazing and I am forever grateful!).
Chapter Forty
After the grounds and entire house of the Twin Pine Inn are proven empty, Erin follows Rick up the beautiful grand staircase, its rosewood railing still standing honorably and impressive despite the absence of a daily dust rag. Though she admires the view of his ass as they climb each step, she doesn't like the way that his shoulders seem to be drooping under the weight of the world that he insists on carrying upon them. Merle's death just added another few ounces to that load. He may not be grieving the loss of that particular man - though knowing him he is probably carrying a tinge of guilt for losing Daryl's brother – but more than any other survivor, Rick seems to be mourning the loss of civilization and humanity itself.
He'd been unusually quiet in the car all afternoon, withdrawing further and further into himself with every roadblock they had faced. A curse, a muttering about Woodbury or a grumble about the murdering of society, and then he'd stay quiet until the next barricade rose up in front of them.
She couldn't wait to get him off the road, away from his thoughts and into a soft bed, God-willing. When they had seen the sign for the bed and breakfast sitting on the outskirts of Pineview, she was extremely happy and then tremendously relieved to find it walker-free.
Now, as everyone retreats to their chosen room, she follows him into a lovely bedroom on the third floor and sits down to remove her boots, the wicker bench waking with a squeak after its time of quiet solitude. He closes the door and then the queen-sized bed at her back groans slightly when he drops a duffel bag onto the pretty white quilt of patchwork red and blues. She sees the exhaustion in his eyes when he turns to place the lantern on the mantle of a small fireplace. From its perch, the soft light casts long shadows onto pale gold walls and cherry wood furniture.
He opens a large window that looks upon the overgrown lawn of the spacious inn. The evening chirp of crickets echoes across the neglected flower gardens and drifts into the quiet room. Shifting her weight upon the seat after removing her other boot, the wicker squeals again as T-Dog's voice cuts into the cricket song.
Rising quickly, Erin follows Rick across the green and gold area rug toward the small bay window that overlooks the front of the inn. Her breath catches when she sees their sentinel holding a rifle aimed across the parking lot. With the sun hiding just below the horizon, in the hazy light of dusk she sees a husky man who appears to be holding a woman in his arms.
"Please help us!"
Instinct kicks in and she reacts with the swiftness of an emergency responder. Years of training combined with her own generous spirit has her rushing toward the door without waiting to hear T-Dog's reply.
She twists the doorknob and pulls it inward only to have it pushed back with a strong stubborn force. Stunned, she turns to the man breathing irritably down her neck. "Rick!"
"What the hell are you doing?" he growls, sounding more than a little aggravated.
"I'm going to help them! What the hell are you doing?" she snaps.
"Keeping you safe!"
"She's hurt and I can help them!"
"We don't know that!"
"Rick!"
"We just pulled the same stunt ourselves for Christ's sake!"
His words carry enough weight to stall her fuming engine. He has a point. She swallows a hostile retort and shifts gears into neutral. "We had a reason to lie," she says calmly. "They don't." Seeing the dread and distrust in his eyes, she lays her palm against his cheek. "Not everyone out there is bad news, honey. She needs my help." Erin turns to pull on the door handle again but it doesn't budge. His strong stubborn hand refuses to move and her strength, even when fortified with annoyance, is no match for his. "Ugh!"
"You're not going out there, Red."
"Fine!" His attitude stokes the embers of her anger and her outrage burns hot once again. "We'll go out there. So let go of the fucking door so We can go help these people!" She sees the frustration that had held him in its grip all afternoon turn to pure indignation.
"No. I'm going out there while you sit your ass on the bed and wait for me to come back!"
"The hell I will! I'm trained to help people, Rick. I can't do that if my daddy sends me to my room!" she argues, her words drenched in bitter sarcasm. His intentions may be honorable in wanting to keep her from harm, but she refuses to be treated like a child.
"God damn it, Red!" He moves quicker than she'd ever thought he could. In a matter of seconds, with a flurry of flailing arms and colorful curses, she is hauled over his shoulder, thrown onto the bed and handcuffed to the wrought iron headboard.
"You bastard!" Her cries of angry protest are cut off by the slamming of the door.
For over thirty minutes she waits. She seethes. She rattles the cuffs locking both of her hands behind her head and curses the blasted man who owns her heart. The sweltering stuffiness of the closed up room doesn't help the rage boiling her bloodstream. Restless and hot, she kicks the duffel over the edge and then works her toes to push the socks off of her feet, scratching a layer of skin off of her ankle in the process. Fuck! She doesn't remember ever being this angry in her life. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him dead.
When she finally hears the doorknob rattling, her blood pressure is at an all-time high. He crosses the threshold, straight into her line of fire. "Get these fucking things off of me!" she explodes. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
"I'm the man who's gonna keep you safe!" he yells, clearly enraged himself.
"You son of a bitch! You had no right!" She twists her body in an attempt to kick at him when he sits on the bed at her hip.
Ignoring her tirade - and the knee pounding into his back, he bends over to leisurely remove his boots as if he'd had no pressing business to attend to, such as freeing his lover from her imprisonment.
"Rick!" His air of indifference grates on her last nerve. Asshole!
He sits up and she sees him take a deep, steadying breath to repair his own frayed nerves. "If you'll calm down, I'll fill you in on Eugene and Tara."
"Who the f- ?!" The thought of the newcomers immediately distracts her from her own predicament. "Oh. That's the couple out there?" she asks as he shifts to face her. "How is she? Does she need me?"
"Yes, and no she doesn't need you. She just sprained her ankle."
"Okay. So let me go to her."
"The only thing she needs is an icepack, which we already gave her," he replies.
Doing a quick mental run through of treatment for this particular injury, she realizes that there really isn't anything else she can do for the woman. But she can prove her point to the man sitting beside her. "See, I told you they weren't a threat."
"We didn't know, Erin. I had to keep you safe."
"Fine, I'm safe," she says shortly. "Where are they now?"
"With Morgan and Michonne."
"Alright, get these things off of me."
"Not until you promise that you'll listen to me from now on," he says, laying a warm hand on her belly.
"When you don't get in my way of helping people, yes I will listen to you," she responds brusquely.
"That's not how this works, honey." His words are spoken tenderly but she is still too irritated to let them thaw her rage."You have to let me assess the situation first, and if I don't-,"
"I'm not a child, Rick!" She cuts him off, her Scottish blood bristling with anger once again.
"No, you certainly aren't." Something changes in his expression; a very subtle, slight gleam in his darkening eyes. She knows that look well. And she is helpless against that heated gaze.
Crap.
"Don't look at me like that, I'm mad at you!"
"I know." His fingers slip under her tee shirt to caress the soft skin of her belly. "You're adorable when you're mad."
"Get these things off of me, you ass!" she snarls, rattling the handcuffs against the metalwork of the headboard.
He ignores her indignant demand. "And sexy as hell too. Did you know that your cheeks get as rosy as your nipples?"
He lifts her dark gray tee shirt until it lies just above her chest and then pulls the satiny cup of her bra down below her bosom, forcing the swell upward as the material bites gently into her flesh.
An involuntary moan escapes her throat and she bucks beneath him as he skims a finger over the tip of her breast and dips his mouth to her navel."Get off me, damn it!" She chokes back a chuckle and holds tight to her exasperation. "We're not doing this, Rick!"
"No?" Shifting over her, he flicks the tip of his tongue across her nipple until it stretches to a point. "Are you sure about that?" he asks softly, slipping a hand inside the hem of her yoga pants and slowly inserting a finger deep between her folds.
Her traitorous little flutter weeps with joy.
"You bastard," she murmurs, too aroused to put any fury behind the words. "Damn you," she moans, damning the betrayal of her own body even more than the man himself.
Pulling his hand from her body, he lifts it to his mouth and sucks her moisture from his finger. "Don't tell me you don't want this as much as I do, Red."
She wants to tell him no. She wants to tell him to go to hell. But like a junkie strung out on heroin, she can't deny her body the one thing that it craves above all else; Rick Grimes. Son of a bitch. He is her drug and she is completely addicted to him. "Please, Rick." She squirms beneath him, fury and fire in a war between pride and passion.
"Please what, baby?" He rubs a warm palm over her taut belly, his fingers barely brushing the underside of her breasts and then dipping just slightly inside of her pants, caught somewhere between pleasing her and teasing her.
Passion wins the battle over pride and she groans in frustrated arousal. "Love me."
"If you insist." He crushes her mouth with a burning kiss as he shifts to lie between her thighs.
She opens her mouth for his insistent tongue and draws him inside. Though her pheromones have taken command of her senses, a tiny spark of anger still burns hotly in her spine. She bites his tongue.
"Unn!" he groans but she quickly soothes him, caressing his tongue with her own and stroking the inside of his mouth before he can break the kiss. When he tilts his head to deepen their connection, he steals her breath with a furor that is screaming for control.
Her chest is heaving when he finally relinquishes her mouth for a lungful of air.
Breathing deeply, she watches him as he stands to pull his white tee shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. She squirms under his lustful gaze as he crawls over her on the bed, holding himself just inches from her trembling body. Pulling futilely against the handcuffs, she wraps her legs around his thighs in an effort to pull him closer. "Damn it, Rick. Don't make me beg," she says just short of a whine, hating the tinge of desperation in her voice. Hating him for putting it there. And for making her feel so good when she wants to hit him so bad.
He lowers his head slowly and she lifts her mouth to meet him. Opening her lips to welcome his return, she is startled when his teeth suddenly clamp down on her bottom lip. She squeals in surprise more than in pain and curses him to the Gods as he unceremoniously yanks her yoga pants down off of her legs. Her panties follow in a slow, deliberate slink that makes every nerve ending moan his name in frustrated anticipation; retribution for the unkindness that had rolled off of her tongue. Finally, he spreads her thighs wide and drops his mouth to her opening.
"Sweet baby Jesus," she breathes, gripping the cold metal of the bedframe behind her head.
His tongue dips, swirls and dives, searching for and finding the most sensitive parts of her sex. She writhes beneath his mouth, moaning deeply and then inhaling sharply when he flicks across the tightest bundle of nerves at her clit and gently traps the slickness between his lips.
With his strong hands stroking her thighs as his tongue dances over and inside her, she soars over the edge into a maelstrom of sensuous love and burning lust.
Her heart is beating profusely when he rises from the bed. She watches him quickly loosen his belt and blue jeans and then push them just low enough to free his erection. Though her legs are still limp and languid, she emits a greedy groan as he positions himself above her.
"Are you okay, honey?" he asks softly after pressing his lips to hers for a quick but tender kiss.
"Oh, yeah." She grins, both blissfully relaxed and utterly aroused as she feels the tip of his cock at her opening. His eyes shine warm and wicked as he gazes down at her.
"Good!" The sweetly acidic word bites the air between them as he buries himself in one powerful thrust that steals her breath, arches her back, and rattles her soul.
Helpless to hold him in the way that her fingers are burning to touch him, she wraps her legs tight around his hips and takes him in, again and again and again.
When he finally collapses on top of her as his seed swims homeward, her heaving chest aches for oxygen as her second orgasm shimmies down to her toes.
"God, I love you, Red," he says into her neck.
"Love you back." She sucks in some much needed air before adding through several struggling breaths, "Now… can you please… get the key… to get me out of these."
He mumbles something into her hair that her sex-addled brain can't decipher.
"What?"
He shifts his head and repeats himself more clearly. "You don't need a key."
"What do you mean, honey? Come on, get these off of me."
He lifts his head and looks down at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sweetheart, you never needed a key." Reaching over her head, he presses something on the cuff and she hears a click that opens the shackles binding her to the bed frame.
"What the hell, Rick?!" she fumes as she lowers her arms.
He dangles the toy handcuffs in front of her in an infuriatingly teasing manner. "I found these the other day on the run with Daryl. You were never really locked in here, honey."
With her blood boiling again – and not in the good, fun way that heats her flutter – she wants to smack the smile from his gorgeous face. "You son of a bitch!" She settles for attacking his ribs with angry jabs of her small fists.
"Ow!" The laughter bubbling from his chest makes her even more furious, and when he captures her hands and easily pins them above her head, she hates him almost as much as she loves him, especially when - completely against her will - he makes her laugh.
"Stop!" she cries, trying to contain the deep chuckles that erupt from her chest as he blows wet strawberries against her throat.
"Not until you apologize for calling me a bastard and an S.O.B. and all the really nasty ones that you didn't say out loud."
"Never!" she laughs and drops her chin defensively when he resumes his attack on her neck.
When he leans back again, he pulls her hand down to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fist. "You drive me crazy, woman," he says softly. "You know that?"
She smiles up at his tender expression. "Yeah," she breathes. "Right back atcha sheriff."
"And if you ever force me to do that again, it won't be the toy cuffs next time."
Her flutter grins fervently as the battle of wills continues…