Michonne braced herself on the counter, pushing back with a muffled groan. Rick's hands tightened around her waist, driving her forward.
"…God, baby—"
Her words died on another choked moan. She could feel his smirk against her shoulder, the gentle pressure of his mouth on her a stark contrast to the hard snap of his hips against her. She reached back with one hand, nails scraping at his muscles thighs, desperate to hold on.
He grappled for her, cutting a rough trail up her body until he could pull her flush against him. She screamed outright when a hand found its way between her thighs. She tossed her head back to receive burning kisses, panting shamelessly when he whispered in her ear.
"Feels so good, darling…" His gravelly voice was like a prayer. "So tight…"
"For you," she promised, squirming against him.
He doubled down, fingers burning into her skin, stretching her to her limit. She screamed into his mouth when she fell apart, bucking against him until he followed her.
He held her while they both came down, laughing against one another's slick skin.
"Going to need another shower," Rick murmured. He lifted her just slightly, away from the tangled mess of his discarded jeans.
Michonne's dress was a lost cause. She maneuvered out of it, lifting the wrinkled garment over her head. "And whose fault is that?"
He zeroed in on her newly exposed skin, tracing a delicate line over her collarbone. "I didn't hear you complaining," he pointed out, bending to kiss her neck.
She threaded her arms around his shoulders, tugging his shirt off until they were skin on skin. It joined the ungainly pile on the floor.
"I'm not complaining," she promised him. "But we're going to be very late to dinner."
He lifted her, carrying her to the oven. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turned it off. "Dinner can wait."
Laughing, he carried her to the living room to continue their private celebrations.