AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl didn't have too much trouble getting the tree set up in the stand. He felt like everything was working with him—like Nature, herself, was working with him. Of course, he recognized that he was probably simply fueled by his excitement over what was coming, and that made it easier to bound right through his tasks. When he was satisfied that the tree was as straight as he could possibly make it, and it was properly watered according to the instructions that he googled on his phone, he moved Sprout's little tree to a table-top spot of honor, and silently decided that it would be a new Christmas tradition that Sprout would have a tree each year.
The thought crossed Daryl's mind, too, that he might drop back by Clyde's place. He might see about another tree…or two.
But for now, he had other things to which he needed to attend.
Carol was in the bedroom. She'd gone to use the bathroom, change, and do all the things she called "freshening up."
Daryl washed his hands in the kitchen, checked the locks and made sure the house was secure in case they fell asleep after their fun together. He found the pair of scissors they kept in the kitchen junk drawer for removing tags and anything else that needed to be clipped, and he tore a few sheets of paper from the scratchpad where they recorded notes, numbers, and grocery lists. He cut the pages into strips, gathering together a small handful of white paper strips. It wasn't cash, but it would do for this particular strip joint. He didn't know what he might need, but he wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen.
"Carol!" Daryl called out. He waited until he heard her response. "You wanna—do it here or…you want me to bring a chair in there or somethin'?"
He heard her response of "we've got the bed" before he took his scraps of paper, just in case they might enhance the experience, and headed toward the bedroom.
"Is that OK?" Carol asked, meeting Daryl as he came into the bedroom. She was wearing her pajamas—her Christmas pajamas with the red plaid.
"I get a private event with a headlining stripper at this particular establishment, and it's in the bed? Hell—yeah that oughta be just fine." Carol blushed red—very red—and Daryl didn't know how far they'd make it into this, but it didn't matter. "You fresh?" He asked. She nodded. "I'ma go," he said, gesturing toward the bathroom. She nodded. Before he went to the bathroom, he grabbed a clean pair of boxers. In the bathroom, Daryl stripped off his clothes. There was no need for much of a show from him. Running warm water in the sink, he took what Merle called a "whore bath" with soap and water. He hit all the high spots so he'd be fresh for Carol.
Wearing nothing but the fresh boxers, he met Carol in the bedroom. He couldn't help but smile at her, and she came willingly when he held his arms out to her. She sunk into his arms and he snuggled her against him, dancing her in place by rocking from side to side.
"Please don't look so scared," he offered. "I'd rather we didn't do anything than have you look scared."
She pulled away so that he could see her. Her bottom lashes were damp, but Sprout made that a regular occurrence. The smallest and silliest things could stir up some emotion in Carol, and she couldn't help it. She was at the mercy of their little one's whims. Her bottom lip, too, protruded slightly as she searched his face.
"I don't know how to be a stripper," she said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Just—take your clothes off," he said. "Then—you stripped, right?" That earned him a bored expression and a hint of an eyeroll, but he would take it over sadness.
"You know what I mean," Carol said. "They—dance. I'm not much of a dancer."
"You own and operate this establishment," Daryl said. "And—I'm your number one patron. If things get run different here, then that's how they get run. Obviously, I don't care, because I'm here to see the headliner—the beautiful, and very sexy, Christmas Carol."
The redness in Carol's face was renewed.
Daryl could feel her hesitation and her tension. He accepted it and immediately changed strategies. Tipping her head with his fingers, he begged a kiss from her and she indulged him. He held her neck and purposefully nipped her lip—and she moaned at him.
"I come here to see her damn near every night," Daryl said.
He could practically feel Carol relax. He could practically feel the release of a bit of her tension moving from her body and into his.
"You must—really like her," Carol said. He nodded.
"Never seen nobody like her," Daryl said. "Let me tell you—she's got a face like an angel. And eyes? Shit—they gonna haunt your ass."
"You come to a—to strip joint for that?" Carol asked.
"Special strip joint," Daryl said. "And she ain't no ordinary woman. And you ain't let me finish."
"Go ahead," Carol said, shifting her weight on her bare feet.
"She's got some tits—let me tell you…nicest tits you ever fuckin' seen."
"Tits are just tits," Carol said.
"Then, you ain't really seen tits," Daryl said. "Because these? They perfect. Hang just right. Got just the right curve. Sit so damn good in your hand when you're holdin' 'em." Daryl was certain he saw a flash of movement in Carol's pupils—and her eyes were suddenly darker for it. "Why don't'cha—gimme a lil' reminder of them incredible ass tits?"
Carol backed off from him and worked the buttons of her over-sized pajama shirt until she'd undone them all. The shirt fell open, catching on her nipples which were, without a doubt, erect at the moment. She was turned on, and Daryl knew it. He could practically smell it, and that made his dick pretty damn keen to join in the discussion and see how things were progressing.
The section of white skin that was visible was, for the moment, more arousing than it would have been if she'd shucked the shirt entirely. Daryl slipped his hand inside the shirt and cupped her breast.
"I didn't think you could touch," Carol said.
"You want me not to?" Daryl asked.
"I want you to have—whatever you want," Carol said.
"Then, I'ma touch," Daryl said, winking at her. He ran his thumb over her hard nipple and the sound she made gave him a pretty clear indication that she didn't mind the touching. "She's got some nipples—perfect little nipples." He pinched one between his fingertips and gently rolled it. "Perfect shape. Perfect size. I love suckin' on 'em…"
He didn't ask permission to slide the shirt out of the way and lean down to do just what he'd told her he liked to do. She thrust her chest forward, helping him to fill his mouth with her breast. Her enthusiasm was enough to tell him that she approved.
"They gonna be workin' nipples soon," Daryl said, not caring if he broke any kind of character. "I better enjoy 'em while I can, because they gonna be Sprout's one day."
"I think Sprout will share," Carol offered, her fingers tugging at Daryl's hair.
"Let's see if we can't—get rid of this," Daryl said. Carol understood that he meant the shirt and she flicked it backward so that she could easily shimmy out of it. It dropped to the floor behind her feet. "Even her fuckin' shoulders are about as damn sexy as I ever seen…" Daryl growled.
"You want to talk about sexy shoulders," Carol offered, "then…you ought to see my favorite client. Do they say client?" She added with a laugh.
"I don't care what you call me," Daryl said, picking up the laughter as he brought his hands to rest on the soft skin of her waist.
"His shoulders are so perfect," Carol said. "Strong. Hard. His arms are…muscular. He feels so strong. So capable…but…"
"But?" Daryl asked, swallowing back some amusement. Carol's expression changed. It was more sincere than it had been.
"Safe," Carol said. Daryl's heart responded to the word by skipping a beat. He nodded.
"Safe," he echoed. "Always safe. Always…always…safe." He licked his lips. Dropped his hands down to touch the elastic waistband of her pajama pants. "Let me tell you what else she's got—she's got some hips…the kind that give your ass whiplash just watchin' her walkin' away from you." Carol giggled. "And an ass? Hate to see her goin', but hell do I love watchin' her walk away…so damn sexy."
"Yeah?" Carol asked. Daryl nodded and she replaced his hands, slipping her hands into the waistband of her own pants, she pushed them down and stepped out of them when they hit the floor. She was wearing panties—plain, cotton, white ones. They looked good on her—simple, comfortable, welcoming. They looked like home to Daryl, and comfortable, happy nights with his wife. He liked them more than the fancy ones, and Carol knew that. They felt like a reminder that this was familiar and simply normal.
Immediately, Daryl had the overwhelming urge to hold Carol, so he wrapped his arms around her and did just that. She laughed, quietly, as he pulled her off balance. He didn't let her fall, though, and she seemed to trust that he wouldn't, so she didn't struggle against him. As soon as her balance was restored, she simply hugged him back. She held on to him. Her fingertips kneaded his back muscles gently. They trailed over his skin. She touched the scars he had shuddered at, so many times, while looking over his shoulder in a mirror. When she touched them, they felt different.
"Carol?"
"Hmmm?" Carol asked, burying her face against him as he held her tight.
"I wanna take you to bed," Daryl said.
"I wish you would," Carol said. "But—I wasn't very good…at this."
Daryl laughed to himself and squeezed her gently before backing up, tugging her with him, without really relinquishing his hold on her.
"Perfect to me," he said. "And—since there ain't nobody else involved, I'd say that's all the hell that matters."
"Can I tell you why you're perfect?" Carol asked. She pulled away from him enough to pull back the covers on the bed. She crawled in and invited him to follow. She didn't have to beg him. Without asking permission, he kissed her neck and nibbled at the skin just at the crook of it. He was pleased when she handed over complete control of her body to him like this—and when she looked so entirely relaxed doing so. He brushed his fingers against the white cotton panties, pleased to find that they were soaked.
"Far from perfect," he offered. She didn't object when he started to pull the panties off. She lifted her hips to help him, and he worked them down her legs. He tossed them over the side of the bed.
"Perfect to me," she said. He lifted her hips and she allowed him to rearrange her. She spread her legs for him as he dipped his head between them and ran his tongue along her opening, tasting the moisture that her body put there in anticipation of his entry later. She groaned. "Handsome—ruggedly, handsome. Like my cowboys." He hummed at her. She always appreciated certain sounds he made when he was latched onto her clit. By now he knew exactly where it was—exactly what made her make those sweet sounds. She made a sound of approval. Her body tensed, and he knew it was a good kind of tension. He let his tongue tease her, alternating between licking and sucking. He was pleased when she rolled her hips and thrashed against him a little—seeking more, but also fighting slightly against the pleasure that he knew, when done just right, bordered on a kind of pain all its own. "Oh—so…fucking…perfect…" she panted. The sound of "fucking" coming out of her mouth, at that moment, and said that way, only spurred Daryl on. He barely heard her as she ticked off, sometimes in a choked voice, everything she loved about him. He did hear her, though, when she cried out, begging him to keep going just like that, before she was swept up in her orgasm.
They were harder these days, and Daryl didn't know if he was simply learning her better, or if Sprout's presence might be enhancing her pleasure. Daryl stayed where he was, working her body as he'd been doing, until he was sure that she was coming down. He slipped his finger into her—she was sloppy wet, as he often told her, and it was sexy. It told him, more than any words, how much she liked this time with him. She flinched at the entrance of his finger and her muscles pulsed around it. Suddenly he couldn't stand it any longer. He wiped his mouth with his arm and pulled his boxers down, freeing himself, but not even bothering to remove them entirely. He pushed into her and she rejected him at first, her body squeezing hard enough to deny him access. He laughed to himself.
"Hey—lemme in," he teased. He could have forced his way into her, of course, but he knew enough to know that would hurt—and he didn't want to hurt her. He knew that she had to ride out the sensitivity.
"Come on," she urged. He moved his head and went straight for her nipples. They were so hard—she was so aroused. Her arousal only fed his. Waiting was growing painful. He latched onto one of her nipples as he pushed into her, and he stilled as she clamped hard around him and gargled her response in her throat. He waited, allowing her body to tell him, a second later, when it wanted more from him. He felt her relax, allowing him more movement.
He didn't ask permission—he didn't have to. He was welcome, here. He was perfect—she'd told him so. He knew just how to love her. He knew just how to make her feel good—so good. She'd told him so while he'd been feasting between her thighs.
She felt so fucking good to him, and he growled just those words at her as he held her eyes with his own for a moment and moved just the way that he wanted—watching her face as it twisted in response. There was the finest line between pleasure and pain, and her face was beautiful as she walked it. She must have sensed what he wanted because she did her best, mouth open and head slightly bent back into the pillow, to hold Daryl's eyes as he varied his thrusts, studying how each felt different to him and changed her expression slightly.
He didn't look away from her until it felt like he couldn't help it, and he closed his eyes as his own orgasm hit him hard, his hips almost moving practically on their own as they were desperate for those final thrusts.
"So good," she assured him. He could hear her praises as the roaring of his blood past his ears quieted some. He rolled away from her only when his body fell free from hers of its own accord, and he immediately pulled her with him. There was always a heavy feeling, in Daryl's opinion, following sex. There was a feeling of something missing or lost. There was the reminder that they weren't as close, now, as they had been only moments before. Holding Carol close to him while he rested was one way to lessen that sadness. He trailed his fingers over her skin as he held her.
"Still the best Christmas Carol there is," he offered. She laughed and rubbed her face against him.
"I made a horrible stripper," Carol said.
"You're outta your clothes. I'd call that a success."
"You know what I mean."
"Still my favorite," Daryl said. He smiled at her when she raised up to look at him. "You are."
"You're my favorite, too," Carol offered.
"Stripper?" Daryl asked with a laugh.
"Everything," Carol offered, laying her head against him again.
