AN: Here we are, another chapter to this one.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Carol was jarred awake rather harshly by the shrill noise of the alarm. She jumped and took a moment to take in her surroundings.
Her bed—though terribly disheveled to the point that it would need to be stripped down and made again, which was a practice that could wait—was still comfortable and inviting. As she woke and remembered where she was, she instantly felt the comfort that she'd cultivated here. She felt something else, too.
Carol's body reminded her of everything that she'd done the night before—everything they'd done—and how she wasn't accustomed to the amount of physical energy and, to some degree, acrobatics that she'd put into a few things. Daryl was inexperienced, and that made him, perhaps, a touch clumsy, but he had enthusiasm by the boatload.
What was more than Daryl's enthusiasm was what appeared to be absolute, unwavering acceptance of Carol and her body.
Carol had been naked—absolutely naked—in Daryl's presence for most of the night. She hadn't had so much as a single piece of clothing to make her feel physically secure and, oftentimes, he had pulled the blanket back when she'd covered herself like he preferred her to be there in all her naked glory instead of hiding behind a blanket.
Naked, Carol had eaten in front of Daryl. With dimples and rolls, and unflattering folds falling where they might, she'd eaten—repeatedly—in front of Daryl. She hadn't eaten salads, either, or picked at her food like she might really prefer to live only on air if given the choice. Daryl had heaped her plates with the same fattening Chinese food that he was eating, and he'd nudged her to eat more when she showed any reluctance to partake of something. The food tasted better, Carol had learned, when her choice to eat it was celebrated rather than condemned, and she wasn't sneaking it out of leftover containers during hours when she was left alone—rearranging the remainder to try to make it look as thought she hadn't taken any.
Daryl had not pinched anything on Carol's body. He hadn't poked or prodded her body in disapproving ways. He hadn't pointed out, questioned, or demanded explanations for anything—not scars, not dimples, not any imperfection. He hadn't criticized or condemned anything about her.
He had simply accepted her body as what it was—a body, imperfect as many were, though she knew there were celebrated celebrities and perfect porn stars that somehow had achieved a perfection that she never would – and he'd seemed to enjoy it for exactly what it was.
Daryl also hadn't scolded Carol for her pleasure. Ed had scolded if she ever seemed to accidentally enjoy anything. He had seemed to see sex as something that really only had to do with his pleasure—and if she was too excited, it probably meant that she was promiscuous. He didn't want her to enjoy sex. He didn't want her to enjoy anything.
Daryl seemed to like to see her enjoy—whatever that might be. He liked to see her enjoy the Chinese food. He liked to see her enjoy the sex. He liked to see her enjoy the way that he touched her body, especially with her guidance to show him what she thought felt good. He even like to see her enjoy the space that he'd worked to make comfortable for her. He liked that she enjoyed the yellow towels.
For the first time since Ed had busted her lip open for suggesting something in bed that he thought was proof that she was either already a whore or destined to be one, Carol had dared to be a bit more involved in sex than just feeling like some sort of receptacle for whatever Ed wanted to put inside of her.
Carol had been bold enough to try what she'd wanted to try—and she'd thrown her leg over Daryl and ridden him to the best of her ability. She had been clumsy at it, she was sure. She hadn't been sure if she was doing it right—if there was a certain correct way to do it—but she'd done what she'd wanted. She'd gone with what felt good, and Daryl hadn't complained at all. In fact, he'd seemed to enjoy it quite a bit—not at all threatened by her being in a physical position over him or, as Ed had said the one time that she'd suggested trying it, being bothered by the fact that those were whore suggestions. Daryl had held her hands at one point while she'd slowly worked her hips, eyes closed, enjoying the new sensations. He'd asked permission, which he seemed to believe he had to do at every turn, though Carol had told him otherwise, and, given that permission, he'd massaged her breasts while she'd ridden him. He'd let his fingers go on a tour of her body, and she'd been spurred on by the simple acceptance that she'd felt.
Carol had learned, in one night, that acceptance was sexy. She'd learned that acceptance, arguably, was her biggest turn-on. And, she'd learned that, given acceptance, she could accept nearly anything herself, and even find it endearing.
So, when Daryl had come a bit earlier than he'd expected the second time they'd had sex, she'd accepted that without complaint or ridicule. In fact, she'd worked so hard to make him feel like she found it flattering that he found her so attractive that he could hardly hold back on coming, that she'd made herself realize how flattering it was, and she'd certainly made him feel better. By making him feel better, too, she'd gotten quite the treat because he'd been eager to spend his recovery time learning a little about the oral sex that, apparently, he'd heard his brother boast about being a favorite pastime. Daryl might not be a veritable professional at it just yet, but Ed had refused to even do it, and Daryl's attempts had been further proof that enthusiasm was valuable and, also, that acceptance was truly one of Carol's greatest turn-ons.
Carol's stomach tightened as she realized that Daryl was waking in the tangle of blankets and sheets next to her. He groaned out his disapproval after silencing the phone, and he stretched dramatically like a cat stretching from the ends of his fingertips all the way to his toes.
Carol smiled at the gesture, and felt her whole body grow warm in response. Her pulse kicked up.
Daryl was supposed to leave the night before. He'd come as a part of their business transaction. She was having the baby that they would, in some ways, share. Essentially, the visit the night before had been meant to boil down to nothing more than a deposit made in a more comfortable manner than what she might have experienced injecting what Daryl had to offer her into her body with the plastic syringes that sat in the baby-making bag. What had happened the night before was supposed to have been nothing more than a business transaction with no more feeling, really, attached to it than going through the motions to order a cake or something of the like.
Daryl wasn't supposed to have spent the night, but in hindsight, Carol had fallen asleep before he'd left. She'd never told him goodnight. She'd never thanked him for the food or the pleasure—if such a thanks was expected or even allowed in this kind of situation. She'd simply fallen asleep while they were talking—trying to decide if they might go another round or simply accept that they'd done what they could do, for one night, toward building the future that Daryl had envisioned and shared with her.
It was obvious that Daryl had simply fallen asleep, too. There was absolutely no reason to read more into things than that. There was nothing more to read into it.
There shouldn't be. There couldn't be.
And, yet, Carol felt a stirring in her gut that she couldn't attribute to Chinese food, a night of more sex than she could remember having, all at once, in a very long time, or anything else she might use to look at what had happened diplomatically.
The feelings stirring inside her made her feel warm—in more than one way—and she almost felt ashamed of that. She was newly free from Ed. She was new to the promise that she'd made to herself that she'd never fall for a man again—she'd never let a man hurt her like Ed had done.
She wasn't supposed to feel even the slightest bit of what she was feeling, even though she told herself that Daryl hadn't hurt her—not at all—and, therefore, that somehow nullified the promise she'd made to herself.
But Daryl didn't want a relationship. He didn't want complication. And she had no right to even be thinking the things she was thinking.
Still—he was naked in bed beside her, and the sleepy smile that he gave her the moment that they made eye contact sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.
"Mornin'," he offered.
"Morning," Carol said back, hoping her smile looked as sleepy as his did and wasn't nearly the huge, goofy grin that she feared it was from the way her face felt.
"Didn't know what time you needed to get up," Daryl said. "Gotta confess—I set it early. You can probably go back to sleep, if you want."
"What time is it?" Carol asked.
"Five," Daryl admitted, looking a little chagrined. "I don't know why I set it this early. Just—didn't want you to be late and I didn't wanna wake you up to ask you what time you ought to get up."
Carol found it all endearing—the expression, the apology in his tone, the thoughtfulness of an alarm set too early just because he didn't want her to be late or to feel stressed about getting ready.
"It gives us time for a real breakfast," Carol said. "You hungry?"
Daryl hummed.
"I could eat," he offered.
"Eggs, bacon, toast?" Carol asked.
"Sounds good to me," Daryl said. "If you say you got coffee, I'm really gonna like it."
"Of course, there's coffee!" Carol said.
Carol laughed. She rolled toward him—it was an action she performed without thinking and without careful planning of what she was doing. Instead of shying away from her, he caught her. He let her roll right into his arms. He held her, against him, for a moment and the warmth of his skin touching hers warmed her from the chill of the morning.
Carol froze as Daryl held her there, hovering over him. His eyes held hers for a moment. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if his mind could possibly be as busy as hers. She wondered if he was regretting his night there, thinking that maybe breakfast was too much, or even wondering how he might escape. She wondered if he thought they'd crossed a line they'd never meant to cross, or was he simply enjoying her company?
Her heart drummed in her chest. She asked herself if she was doing the right thing even as she moved her face toward his with a silent, fearful request for something she wasn't sure she was supposed to have. A kiss in the heat of things—when they were trying to make the baby they'd agreed to make together—was one thing. A kiss in the morning, when they were only getting read to separate to go to work—it was possible that was another thing entirely.
Daryl met her, and he kissed her, and the kiss touched every nerve in Carol's body for a split-second. She moved her body against his as a natural reaction to the kiss—considering, in the back of her mind, if they might do something more than have coffee and breakfast before he left. He might have been thinking the same thing because, when the kiss broke, there was clear evidence that he was interested.
Carol smiled at him. She bit her lip and considered if she dared to say anything.
"We have a little time," she said. "If you want to—stack the odds in our favor a bit more."
She accepted when Daryl rolled her over, and she went readily in the direction he indicated. He kissed her, this time, and she rearranged herself to be more comfortable. From among the mess of sheets and blankets, she found the bottle she'd bumped earlier while stretching. She offered it to him. She was already throbbing in anticipation of his touch. He took the bottle, already understanding its purpose.
"Shouldn't take long," she teased. "There will be plenty of time for breakfast."
Daryl laughed to himself, coating himself with the lubricant.
"That some kinda joke about my stamina?" He asked, not really displaying any sign of true disapproval. "Because—I thought I was gettin' better by the last time."
"You absolutely were," Carol assured him, touching herself as he came to kiss her again. His kisses were softer this morning, and Carol moaned out her approval. He took that as an invitation, and she didn't mind. She was a little sore, but that mostly came from the fact that he was larger than Ed had been—and she was unaccustomed to so much sex in such a short span of time. As he rearranged her, squeezing one of her thighs as he guided himself into her, Carol felt the satisfied sensation of a piece sliding into a place for which it simply seemed meant. She groaned out her approval, and could have sworn that he somehow found some reserve to fill her even more in response.
"Good?" He asked, somewhat grunting out the word. He rocked his hips slowly, establishing a gentle starting rhythm that, if Carol was right, wouldn't last for long.
"Perfect," Carol assured him, running her heel down the back of his leg and feeling, with her fingertips, the muscles in his back flex as he practiced the thrust that he was still learning to control. She didn't care if he controlled himself or not. She enjoyed it either way, simply because it seemed to matter to him that she did enjoy it. Carol closed her eyes, and she focused on every positive sensation she felt, and she allowed her enjoyment to roll through her body. She felt the warmth building in her belly, and Daryl did his best to respond to her directions to keep stoking that fire. When she came, she gave herself over to the feeling entirely, and she was still savoring the aftertaste of it when Daryl, having given himself permission to satisfy only his desires for the moment, came hard, grunting and groaning out his pleasure with their morning activities.
When Carol opened her eyes, he nuzzled the side of her face and moved to kiss her. She closed her eyes again, accepting the soft kiss.
"Let me make you breakfast," she said, when the kiss broke.
"Ain't you supposed to—put your hips up?" He asked.
Carol smiled at him, a soft laugh escaping her.
"We'll take our chances this one time," she said. "Maybe someone in this batch is strong enough not to need the extra help."
Daryl raised his eyebrows at her. He still hadn't moved from above her, his weight somewhat pressing down on her and pushing her into the mattress, but she wasn't complaining.
"Sounds like the best winner, anyway," he offered. "If you'll show me where you keep everything—I'll start the coffee."
Carol giggled in response—the sound surprising her.
"I keep it right where you put it when you cleaned and organized my kitchen," she said.
"In that case, I ought to be able to find it," Daryl said. "You start the breakfast, and I'll get the coffee."
"Sounds like a deal," Carol said.
