~9~
The sun is shining through dust layered windows. The noises from the outside are muffled.
Daryl and Carol still are in bed, in their very own private bubble. Enveloped in a tight embrace.
Lost in each other.
He massages her inner walls with long, languid strokes.
There is no rush, no goal to achieve.
Their eyes are open, their gaze is locked.
Nothing matters.
The world outside could crush, they wouldn't even notice.
Too caught up in each other.
When her insides begin to flutter, he picks up his pace, together they reach their peak.
This is the epitome of a lazy sunday morning.
