Archive of Our Own ^beta

The invitation had been innocent enough, though Daryl had found a way to make it a minefield in his head. Dinner at her house. Nothing fancy, she’d said. Just them, some canned spaghetti, and maybe a drink.

He’d almost said no, but the way she’d looked at him—smiling soft and easy, like she wanted him there more than anyone else—made him mutter, “Yeah, alright.”

Now, he’s sitting on her couch, shoulders stiff, his crossbow propped awkwardly by the door. She hums in the kitchen, clinking dishes together. He wonders if it’s too late to leave.

“Don’t sit too quiet in there,” she calls, teasing. “You’ll scare the furniture.”

Daryl huffs a laugh through his nose. “Furniture don’t need me to make it nervous.”

She steps into the room, carrying two mismatched bowls. “You kidding? You’re terrifying. Real menace, Dixon.” She hands him a bowl, sitting close enough for her thigh to press against his.

Daryl shifts, his grip tightening on the bowl. “S’not what people usually say.”

She gives him a sidelong glance, lips quirking. “What do they say?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the spaghetti like it’s gonna save him. She leans in, the bare skin of her arm brushing his, and he forgets how to breathe.

“You’re not used to this, huh?” Her tone is light, but her eyes are searching.

He shrugs. “Dunno what ‘this’ is.”

“Someone flirting with you,” she says, blunt as ever, setting her bowl aside. “How’s that feel, by the way?”

He almost chokes. “Ain’t what you’re doin’.”

“It’s exactly what I’m doing.”

His ears burn, and he fights the urge to stand up and bolt. “Y/N—”

She cuts him off, leaning closer, her voice dropping to something softer. “If I haven't made it abundantly clear lately: I like you. A lot.”

The words hit him harder than any walker ever could. He swallows, glancing at her, then quickly away. “Ain’t right.”

“Why not?”

“I’m… too old.” He shifts again, looking anywhere but her face. “You could do better.”

Her laugh is quiet, almost disbelieving. “You really think that?”

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Don’t got think ‘bout it. It’s true.”

She tilts her head, watching him for a long moment. Then, setting her hand lightly on his knee, she asks, “When’s the last time someone told you you’re wrong?”

He tenses under her touch but doesn’t pull away. “Not wrong—”

“Daryl,” she interrupts gently. “You’ve got this whole big, twisted idea in your head about what you deserve. And it’s bullshit.”

He stiffens. “Ain’t—”

“Bullshit,” she says again, firmer this time. “And I’m gonna prove it.”

She stands, setting her bowl aside, then his, and turns to face him. Her hands are on her hips, her gaze steady as she looks down at him. “Can I ask you something personal?”

He frowns but nods hesitantly.

“Have you ever… been with someone?”

His face flushes crimson, and he drops his gaze to the floor.

“That’s a no, then.” Her voice is warm, not teasing, but it makes him flinch anyway.

“Don’t mean nothin’,” he mumbles, fidgeting where he sits.

“It means everything,” she counters, stepping closer. “Because if no one’s shown you what it feels like to be wanted, how’re you supposed to know?”

His heart hammers against his ribs as she moves between his knees, crouching down and resting her hands lightly on his shins. He stares at her like a deer caught in headlights. “What’re you doin’?”

She smiles, tilting her head. “Only what you want me to. But you have to tell me if you do.”

He swallows hard, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. “I...I dunno.”

“It’s okay to want, Daryl,” she murmurs, moving her legs up and onto his lap with a slow, deliberate movement so she's straddling him, her hands now resting delicately on his shoulders.

His breath catches, and he freezes, his hands hovering uselessly in the air, "Okay," he breathes.

Her voice drops lower, softer. “You don’t even know where to put your hands, do you?”

“I— I can’t—”

She gently lifts his wrists, guiding his hands to the curve of her hips. “Start here.”

He stares at her, wide-eyed, his fingers twitching against her waist. “You sure ‘bout this?”

“I’ve never been more sure.” She says, her hand coming up to cup his jaw, the touch sending electricity into his skin, “I’ll show you what you’ve been missing. Only if you want me to.”

His grip tightens slightly, a shuddering breath escaping him. “Yeah. I want it. I want you.”

Daryl barely has time to process anything before she tilts his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Her hands are steady, her expression soft but laced with something deeper-desire, maybe? His throat goes dry.

"First things first," she murmurs, brushing her thumb along the line of his jaw. "You ever kissed anyone before?"

He shakes his head, his breathing becoming irregular.

Her smile softens as it spreads across her face, endearing and non judgmental. She leans in, her breath warm against his lips. "Then let me teach you."

Her mouth brushes his softly, testing, like she's giving him the chance to pull away. He doesn't. Instead, his hands tighten on her hips as she deepens the kiss, her lips moving against his in a way that makes his head spin.

"Relax," she whispers against his mouth, pulling back just enough to guide him. He exhales shakily, his shoulders dropping slightly. When she kisses him again, he leans into it this time, his lips parting hesitantly.

She hums in approval, her hands threading into his hair, tugging gently to encourage him. He nearly lets out an inhuman noise at the feeling of her fingers curling in his hair, but he swallows it down, instead focusing on her soft lips on his.

"That's it," she breathes, her voice low and sultry. "Just follow me."

Her tongue traces the seam of his lips, and he jerks slightly, his breath hitching. She pulls back, laughing softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he rasps, his face burning. "Just... wasn't expectin' that."

"Well, get used to it," she teases, leaning in again. This time, when her tongue slides tentatively into his mouth, he meets her halfway, mimicking her movements as best as he can. It's clumsy, but she doesn't seem to mind, her soft moans sending heat straight through him. It suddenly occurs to him that she might be enjoying this just as much as hime.

As the kiss deepens, her hips begin to move, rolling slowly against his lap. Daryl tenses, his fingers twitching against her sides as she grinds against him, finally drawing a low, shaky groan from his throat.

Her lips brushing against his stubble and eventually against the shell of his ear where she whispers, "You like that?"

"Yeah. Feels-feels good." he nods, swallowing hard.

She smiles, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pulling back just enough to grab the hem of her shirt. Slowly, she lifts it over her head, tossing it aside to reveal bare skin and soft curves that leave him staring, wide-eyed and trozen.

"You're beautiful," he mutters before he can stop himself, the words tumbling out unfiltered.

Her smile softens, and she cups his face in her hands, searching his eyes. "Could say the same about you. Touch me, Daryl."

His hands flex nervously on her hips, now pressing into bare skin that feels hot to the touch. "Don't wanna mess it up."

"You won't." She reaches for his hands again, guiding them upward until his calloused fingers brush the swell of her breasts. He sucks in a sharp breath, his touch featherlight and hesitant.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice rough with uncertainty.

"It's perfect," she murmurs, arching into his touch. "Here, let me show you."

She places her hands over his, guiding his fingers to knead and explore, her soft sighs of pleasure encouraging him. He grows bolder with each movement, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, drawing a gasp from her lips.

"Like that," she breathes, her hips grinding down harder against him. "You're doing so good, Daryl."

Her praise sends a jolt of heat through him, and he pulls her closer, burying his face against her neck as his confidence grows.

"Never done nothin' like this before," he admits, his voice muffled, his lips tracing the column of her neck and moving down to her shoulders, onto her clavicle and chest.

"You're a fast learner," she says breathlessly, tugging his hair gently to make him look at her. Her lips find his again, hungrier this time, and he responds with a desperation that surprises even him.

His hands continue their kneading of her breasts, traveling around her to hug her tight against him, the swell of them pressing into his clothed chest, his hips beginning to move instinctively beneath her. The thought occurs to him that he hates clothes.

She gasps against his mouth, breaking the kiss to press her forehead to his.

"You're incredible," she whispers, her voice breathy. "I've wanted this for so long."

Daryl swallows hard, his chest heaving.

"Don't know what you see in me, but... I don't wanna stop."

"Then don't," she murmurs, kissing him again. "I'll take care of you. Just let me."

With newfound confidence—or maybe just desperation—Daryl leans forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin of her chest. He works his way down, his kisses slow and clumsy, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her breath hitches when his mouth brushes between the swells of her breasts, and when he kisses the top, then the underside, he swears she arches into him on purpose, trying to drive him out of his damn mind.

Then, tentatively, he takes her nipple into his mouth. The sound she makes—low and ragged—has his cock straining so hard against his jeans he thinks he might lose it right there. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging lightly as his tongue flicks out, testing, tasting her. She gasps, and that sound drives a hunger in him he’s never felt before.

His hips shift beneath her as she continues grinding against him, her movements deliberate and unrelenting. The friction is almost too much, the ache in his lap unbearable. He grips her hips hard, trying to slow her down. “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he mutters, his voice rough, lips brushing against her neck.

She exhales a shaky laugh, a smile teasing her lips. “That’s kinda the point.”

Before he can respond, she leans back slightly, her hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. “Here,” she says, popping the button open with practiced ease. His breath catches as she begins to slide the zipper down, revealing the curve of her hip.

His mind races. He’s never had a woman like this before—so wanting for him, so sure of herself. His chest tightens at the thought of messing this up, of not being enough for her. But at the same time, his heart pounds with anticipation. God, he’s thought about her like this more times than he can admit. What her skin would feel like. What her lips would taste like. And now, it’s happening, and he feels so far out of his depth he doesn’t know where to begin.

She must notice his wide eyed stare, because her other hand tilts his chin up then, catching his gaze, "Only if you want to," she says again.

His throat is suddenly very dry, and all he can do is nod.

She smiles, and his chest tightens. She guides his hand beneath the waistband of her jeans, the soft skin of her pubic bone brushing his fingers first. The light tuft of hair there is the only thing rougher than her skin, and when his fingers graze lower, they slide easily over the slick heat of her center.

A growl rumbles in his chest, unbidden, as he realizes how wet she is. For him. His head spins, his blood roaring in his ears. When his fingers dip lower, pressing into her, her walls clench around them greedily. She moans—loud, uninhibited—and the sound nearly undoes him.

"Yes, Daryl, that's it," she breathes. "Curl them, baby."

He does as she says, his fingers pressing into her, finding that soft, spongy spot that makes her cry out and buck against him. His palm brushes against the swollen nub at the apex of her sex, and the way she moves against him, grinding against his hand, has him gripping her hip with his free hand to ground himself.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice raw as he watches her, awestruck.

She’s beautiful—blissed out and needy, her body moving with his like they’ve done this a hundred times before. He can’t take it anymore. His free hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around the back of her neck as he pulls her down to kiss him. The kiss is desperate, hungry, and the little sounds she makes against his lips make his body tighten unbearably.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps against his mouth, her voice trembling. “I’m so close.”

Her words send a jolt through him, and he groans low in his throat, the tension in his core mounting to an unbearable peak as he groans against her lips, gasping for breath as his high flushes through him. Before he can stop it, his release hits him hard and stars break against his vision. Her whimpers rise to full on ragged moans as she presses into his hand then one last time, his fingers knuckle deep inside her as they press against her spongey walls as she tightens around them, sucking his digits further into her as the climax breaks over her.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, her kisses trailing down his jaw and neck as her hips slow, her ragged breaths giving way to soft, contented sighs.

When she pulls back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hooded with lust, she looks down at him and smiles. “Did you just…?” she asks, her gaze dropping to his lap.

His face burns as he remembers himself, the wetness in his pants prominent as they both look down. Slowly, he pulls his hand from her, the loss of contact making her frown slightly. He bows his head, shame tightening his chest as he presses his hands into his lap.

“That is so hot,” she murmurs, her voice rich and warm, not even a hint of laughter behind it.

Daryl’s head jerks up, his breath catching in his throat. “Hot?” he rasps, his voice cracking slightly.

She nods, her smile soft and utterly disarming as her fingers trail along his jaw. “Yeah. You’re so worked up just from me, Daryl. That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her words make his head spin. She’s serious—dead serious—and it hits him like a freight train. She isn’t mocking him, isn’t annoyed or disappointed. She likes him. Wants him. And not just in some passing way.

“You really mean that?” he mumbles, his hands twitching where they return to rest awkwardly against her hips.

Her brow furrows slightly, her expression turning tender. “Of course I mean it. You have no idea how crazy you drive me, do you?”

He stares at her, stunned silent, his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t understand it—can’t wrap his head around why someone like her would want someone like him—but the look in her eyes leaves no room for doubt.

Her lips brush against his, slow and teasing. “Wanna go again?” she whispers, her voice like honey. “I’ve got a few more things I can teach you.”

His heart stutters, and he swears the heat in her gaze alone could undo him all over again. She’s not just enjoying herself—she’s reveling in it, like she’s been waiting for this moment as long as he has.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and hoarse. He swallows hard, his body stirring again despite the lingering haze of his release. “Yeah, okay.”

Her smile widens, and it’s nothing short of radiant. She leans in, her mouth covering his in a kiss that feels deeper this time, more confident. He lets himself relax, his hands finding her waist, and for the first time, he lets himself believe this is real—that she’s here, wanting him, and not judging him for a second.

Her hips roll against him again, slow and deliberate, and his fingers tighten instinctively on her waist. When she breaks the kiss, her lips curve into a smirk, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. “Good. ‘Cause we’re just getting started.”

“Come with me.”

The room is quiet, the air thick with heavy breathing but undeniably warm. Daryl’s chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his skin still tingling from the intensity of their last kiss. He’s never felt anything like it before—never let himself feel anything like it before—and now, as she pulls back slightly, her face flushed and open, he wonders how he’s even still breathing.

He watches her for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest as he nods. The flickering candlelight catches the sheen of her skin, the rise and fall of her shoulders, and he can’t stop staring. When she reaches for him, her fingers lacing with his, the simple touch sends a jolt of warmth straight through him.

She doesn’t bother pulling her shirt back on as she takes him through the house and eventually toward the bed, her movements unhurried, deliberate. He watches the curve of her back, the gentle dips of her hips as she leads him into her bedroom, where the candlelight casts a soft glow over the walls. The space feels like her—calm, unpretentious, and more inviting than any place he’s ever been. The scent of her lingers in the air, and he wonders if she knows just how intoxicating it is.

She turns to him, her hands sliding up under his shirt, up the planes of his chest. The soft caress of her hands over the coarse hair of his chest leaves goosebumps along his skin.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice low and steady, like she’s offering him an escape if he needs it.

His breath hitches. It’s not just okay—it’s everything. Still, his words come out clumsy. “Yeah. It’s… yeah.”

As her hands lower, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt, Daryl feels his breath hitch. His heart thuds loud in his chest, and his thoughts start racing. The scars. They’re all he can think about now, the pale, crisscrossing reminders of a past he’s tried to bury.

His first instinct is to stop her, to pull back and keep those parts of himself hidden where they belong. He’s spent years keeping people at arm’s length, guarding the worst pieces of himself, and the thought of her seeing them now—seeing all the damage—it claws at the edges of his resolve.

But then, her touch pulls him back to the present. To the here and now. Her fingers don’t rush; they’re slow, deliberate, full of a gentleness he’s still learning to trust. He looks at her, at the way her eyes search his for any sign of hesitation, and something in him shifts.

More than anything, he wants to feel her. Every inch of her. The soft peaks of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her arms wrapped around his middle. He wants to let her in, to feel what it’s like to be vulnerable in a way that doesn’t tear him apart.

For her—for this moment here and now—he would.

He exhales shakily, nodding slightly as if giving her permission without words.

“You okay?” she murmurs, her voice soft and steady as her hands linger at the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice wavers. He clears his throat, his hands sliding over hers to still them for a moment. But despite the anxiety, despite his uncertainty, he nods. He wants this. More than anything.

Her lips quirk in a soft smile, and she leans even closer. “Let’s take it slow, okay?” she reassures, “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

When he shakily exhales with another nod, she carefully eases the fabric upward, revealing the hard planes of his stomach first. His skin jumps under her touch, his muscles taut, but he doesn’t stop her. When the shirt clears his chest and flits over his head, his instinct is to curl in, to shield himself from her gaze, but he doesn’t. He forces himself to meet her eyes.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Her expression doesn’t shift into pity or disgust like he feared it might. Instead, her fingers brush lightly over his chest, tracing the lines of old scars with reverence, like she’s trying to memorize him.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

His chest tightens at the tenderness in her, like she’s peeling away all the walls he’s spent years building. “You… you ain’t gotta do all this, y’know,” he mutters, his voice rough.

“I want to,” she says simply, her fingers soft along his bare shoulders now, “I want you, Daryl. Just as you are.”

The word seep into him, sliding deep into the cracks of his heart, where he never thought a person could reach. The sincerity in her voice makes something raw and vulnerable crack open inside him. His lips part, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to tell her what those words mean to him—that he’s never heard anything like them in his life.

When she kisses him again, slow and deliberate, it feels like she’s giving him a chance to breathe. His hands find her waist instinctively, trembling against her warmth, but for the first time, he doesn’t pull back. He lets himself feel it.

The sensation of her bare chest against his overwhelming in a way he wasn’t expecting, every nerve in his body alight. He feels her heart beating against his, steady and strong, and it grounds him even as it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Her skin against his is like fire and silk, all at once. He can’t stop the shudder that runs through him when her chest shifts against his, her breath mingling with his as her hands move to cradle his face. It’s so intimate, so raw, that it takes his breath away, and all he can think is that nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing has ever felt this right.

Their tongues slide against each other now with a growing ease, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Daryl loses himself in the rhythm of it—a soft push and pull, each movement teasing and tender, punctuated by the faint, electric graze of teeth. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but when his teeth catch her bottom lip, just barely nibbling, the sound she makes—sharp and breathless—lights something molten in his gut.

Her gasp breaks against his mouth, and his hands tighten instinctively on her waist. “Was that okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and shaky, his lips brushing hers as he speaks.

“More than okay,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering open. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils wide, and he can’t help but stare, trying to etch the image of her into his memory. “That was… really good.”

Something in him twists—pride, maybe. He doesn’t feel it often, but the way she looks at him, the way she shivers between his hands, makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he’s doing something right.

“You’re full of surprises, Dixon,” she teases softly, her lips curving into a faint smile. 

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, surprising even him. Then, she guides him backward, her touch so gentle it makes his skin prickle with awareness. When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he freezes, panic flickering in his chest. But she’s there, grounding him with her hands on his arms, her voice a soft murmur.

“It’s just me,” she says, her eyes holding his, “You’re alright,”

She catches his chin again, drawing him back to her, her fingers brushing tenderly along the scruff of his jaw. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice laced with a mix of want and encouragement. 

The words send another surge of heat through him, his skin buzzing where she touches him. He finally sits back, with her following, and he leans in again, his lips finding hers with more confidence this time. Their mouths move together, building a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. As she sits on her knees between his legs, her fingers tug gently at his hair, the feeling of her nails causing a low groan in his throat, and she answers with a soft, breathy sound that sends his pulse racing.

“I want to show you something,” she says, her voice quiet but full of intent.

As she pulls back slightly, his eyes fall to her face, and he feels his breath catch. The bright flush of her skin—warm and glowing—paints her cheeks, her neck, and deeper still, crimson splotches blooming across her clavicle. It’s breathtaking, and he’s completely transfixed by it.

Her hands drop from his chest to rest on his knees, palms gently massaging the muscles along his thighs in slow, soothing motions. The air around him feels thinner as her hands shift slightly higher, moving inch by inch toward his lap but still keeping a respectful distance from the ache that’s grown there once again. His heart thuds heavily in his chest, his nerves and desire tangling together in an electrifying mess.

“Let’s get these off of you,” she whispers, her fingers pinching the denim clinging to his thighs.

He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but the earlier debacle in his briefs had gone from wet and sticky to dry and tacky, leaving him desperate to shed the discomfort. Embarrassment flashes hot in his chest as the thought of taking them off in front of her settles in his mind. She sees his hesitation, and coos gently, reassuring with softness in her voice, and tenderness in her touch. Together, they work to shed his jeans, the rough fabric slipping from his legs with her help. His briefs follow soon after, discarded onto the floor and forgotten.

The freedom of the warm air makes Daryl sigh in relief, though his nerves spark alive again as he watches her intently, searching for any sign of trepidation or uncertainty in her expression. No one has ever seen him like this—laid bare, vulnerable, and so… needy. His cock stands hard and flushed against his stomach, the tip red and eager for attention, but his gaze stays locked on her face, waiting for a reaction.

Her eyes widen slightly as she takes him in, her lips parting in what looks like awe. He holds his breath, unsure what it could mean, but before his mind has the chance to spiral, her gaze lifts to his again.

A fresh wave of blush paints her cheeks and neck, scarlet creeping up as her eyes meet his, and it’s so breathtaking that it steals his breath all over again.

She leans in, her small hand wrapping around him with a gentleness that has his head falling back, his breath choking in his throat.

Her hand is soft, impossibly so, her touch smooth and steady as it slides along his length. The feeling is so overwhelming that it nearly knocks him flat. Even through the grit of the apocalypse, her hands are silk against the hardness of him.

“Daryl,” she breathes, her voice like a caress as she leans closer. Her hand moves with excruciating care, testing, learning, and every brush of her fingers sends sparks shooting down his spine, pooling heat in his belly.

His eyes flutter closed, his breath ragged as he tries to focus, but then—suddenly—he feels something else. A warm breath against him.

His eyes snap open, wide and disbelieving, just as he feels it: hot, wet, incredible lips wrapping around the sensitive tip of his cock. His entire body jerks at the sensation, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat as if his lungs have forgotten how to work. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, his hands gripping uselessly at the bedspread, trembling with restraint as every nerve in his body seems to spark to life.

She doesn’t move at first, holding him there in her mouth, letting him adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. It’s as though she knows how much he needs this moment, to gather himself, to breathe. Why would she do this? Why would she want to serve him like this, so beautifully, so selflessly? He can barely fathom it, barely believe this is real, and not some dream he’ll wake from, empty and aching. He’ll never take it for granted, never forget this moment for as long as he lives.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves, “Holy shit,” his voice full of awe, his fingers curling deeper into the bed beneath him.

She hums softly around him at his words, the vibration sending a shockwave through his body that makes him groan, low and desperate. Slowly, achingly slow, she takes him deeper into her mouth. His breath hitches, his hands twitching at his sides as he watches her, utterly transfixed.

The thickness of him stretches her mouth wide, her jaw looking like it nearly unhinges as she pushes him further in, her lips sliding down the shaft with deliberate care. When the tip hits the soft, warm walls of the back of her throat, his entire body trembles, a broken moan escaping him before he can stop it.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His hands suddenly lift to hover above her, unsure, desperate to touch her but afraid to break the moment.

She pulls back, her lips slick and glistening, and looks up at him through her lashes. Her eyes are warm, inviting, and he swears he’s never seen anything as beautiful in his life. Gently, she lifts herself off of him for a moment, though her hands stay wrapped around the base of his cock.

“You’re doing so good,” she murmurs, her voice full of praise and affection, “Put your hands in my hair, show me what you want, Dare.”

His heart skips at the sound of his name on her lips like that, soft and coaxing, full of trust. His hands hover in the air for a moment, trembling, as though he’s unsure if he’s allowed to take what she’s offering. But the way she looks at him—her eyes warm, encouraging—gives him the courage to move. She leans back in, hand sliding up to meet her lips again, stroking him gently as she waits for him to find his courage.

Slowly, his fingers thread into her hair, strands sliding between his calloused fingertips. He’s gentle at first, testing, his grip hesitant as he tangles his hands deeper into her hair. It feels surreal—too good, too much—but she hums her approval, the vibration sending another jolt through his body that makes his hips shift instinctively. She starts again, taking him deeper and picking up the pace this time, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length in a way that makes his whole body tense with pleasure.

“Jesus,” he chokes out, his voice raw, his fingers tightening in her hair without meaning to. He starts to pull back, afraid he’s being too rough, but she makes a soft, pleased sound and moves her head forward, taking more of him.

The wet heat of her mouth surrounds him, and he can feel the deliberate care in every movement. Her hand works in tandem with her lips, stroking him in perfect rhythm, and all he can do is hold on, his chest heaving as she drives him higher and higher.

“You feel so good,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against his head with every word. “Don’t hold back, Daryl. I want all of you.”

Her words undo him, and the next time his cock hits the back of her throat, it sends a wave of desperate need crashing over him that leaves him trembling beneath her. His hips buck despite himself, and she meets his movements with ease, her lips stretching around him. 

The sounds that escape him are raw and unrestrained—a mix of whimpers and low, guttural groans that fill the air around them as he cums. He can’t help it, can’t hold back the shaky, desperate noises that tumble from his throat as she works him over with her mouth and hand. Each movement of her tongue elicits another broken moan, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

“God,” he gasps, his voice cracking as a strangled whimper slips out, followed by a low, drawn-out groan that vibrates deep in his chest. He tries to stifle it, biting down on his bottom lip, but another sharp cry tears free when her tongue presses flat against the sensitive underside of him, milking every last drop from him as she moans with fervor.

His fingers tighten in her hair, not pulling but gripping like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. The noises keep coming—soft, needy breaths mingled with shaky groans and whispered curses, each one raw and involuntary, spilling out of him without thought. His chest heaves, his body trembling beneath her as he rides the waves of his release.

When her lips finally slide away, his eyes flutter open, the haze of pleasure leaving him dazed and breathless. He watches her, transfixed, as she wipes the spit from the corner of her mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. Her tongue swipes along her top lip, catching the lingering taste of him, and the sight makes his cock twitch, a mix of overstimulation and desperate loss tightening low in his belly.

His gaze locks with hers, and the look in her hooded eyes mirrors his own—heat, awe, and something deeper that neither of them dares to name. 

The room is quiet now, save for their shared breaths slowly evening out. Daryl watches her with wide, glassy eyes as she shifts back to sit on her heels, her movements graceful and unhurried. Her touch is soft, almost reverent, as she trails her fingers along his thighs before leaning over him to press a tender kiss to his lips. It’s slow and gentle, nothing like the fire they just shared, but it makes his chest tighten all the same.

She begins to stand and tugs at his arm, coaxing him to move, and he lets her guide him like he has since the start. She helps him ease back onto the bed, pulling the covers loose and gesturing for him to crawl beneath them. He feels awkward and out of place, the aftershocks of what just happened still sparking in his nerves, but the way she looks at him—warm, steady, so damn sure—makes it impossible to refuse.

Sliding in beside him, she nestles close, her body fitting seamlessly against his. The heat of her skin against his own feels like nothing he’s ever known, and his arms instinctively wrap around her, holding her close. He’s stiff at first, uncertain, but the steady rise and fall of her breathing against his chest calms him, slowly easing the tension from his limbs.

Her hand drifts lazily over his stomach, her fingers tracing the lines of his scars in a way that feels more like a silent promise than a question. His fingers twitch where they rest on her back, unsure of what to do, but when she shifts even closer, pressing her nose against the crook of his neck, he lets himself relax into her touch.

The quiet feels different now. It’s not heavy or awkward—it’s warm, safe. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of her fill him completely. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but his heart slows, steadying against the soft weight of her head on his chest.

But the thoughts creeping into his mind refuse to leave him alone. The memory of her—on her knees, lips wrapped around him, giving so selflessly—sends a mix of gratitude and longing coursing through him. He swallows hard, his breath hitching slightly as the question forms at the edges of his mind.

His hand tightens on her back, just enough for her to notice, and she shifts slightly, looking up at him. He can feel the heat crawling up his neck, spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his voice.

“Can I…” His words trail off, rough and barely audible. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes, his throat tightening with nerves.

She waits, her expression patient and kind, her hand still tracing light, soothing patterns on his stomach. The steady rhythm of her touch is the only thing keeping him in place as he struggles to force the words out.

He clears his throat, revising his previous start. “Will you show me,” he whispers, the words so soft they almost don’t make it out. His heart pounds, each beat rattling against his ribs. “Show me how to…”

Her lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her head tilting slightly as she looks at him. He can tell—she knows what he means. Of course she knows. But she doesn’t let him off easily, her eyes glimmering with playful intent.

“I want to make you feel good,” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush, his voice rough and raw with vulnerability.

Her smile widens, warm and teasing all at once. “You do, huh?” she murmurs, her hand pausing on his stomach, her fingers curling lightly against his skin. “What do you want me to show you, Daryl?”

Heat floods his face, spreading down his neck and chest as he glances away, his hand flexing where it rests on her hip. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse.

Her laughter is soft and melodic, her fingers drifting up to brush against his jaw, coaxing him to look at her again. “I do,” she admits, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

His eyes find hers then, and for a moment, he just stares, taking her in. The way her smile lights up her face, the way her gaze is steady and sure, like she has all the time in the world for him. It’s disarming, leaving him with a warmth blooming in his chest that he doesn’t know how to describe.

He can’t fight down the grin that spreads across his face, his mouth twisting as his eyes crinkle at the corners. Emboldened by her openness, her patience, he finally lets the words spill out, low and rough, “Wanna taste you. Let me.”

A brand new flush paints her cheeks, the pink spreading down to her neck and chest as she nods, her voice soft but sure. “Yeah, alright.”

“Dunno—” he starts, squirming a little where he sits, nerves creeping in again, but she stops him before he can spiral. Her hands cup his jaw, warm and steady, grounding him instantly.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, her thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones as she tilts his face to meet hers. Her lips hover close, brushing against his in the faintest of kisses. “Remember how we kissed?”

He nods, swallowing hard, though he doesn’t lean into the closeness this time, waiting for her to go on.

“Kiss me,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting, her gaze holding his with unshakable trust. “Down there. Just the same.”

The words send a shiver through him, equal parts anticipation and awe. He exhales shakily, moving his body to hover over her. She hums to herself, the warmth of him on her a welcome touch. 

His lips meet the bare skin of her chest first, pressing soft, reverent kisses along the curve of her breast before trailing lower. His movements are deliberate, his lips peppering gentle pecks down her stomach, lingering just enough to feel her shiver beneath him. When he reaches the waistband of her shorts, he pauses, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His hands rest lightly on the fabric, already loosened from earlier, but he doesn’t move further. Daryl is nothing if not careful. He needs to be sure she wants this just as much, needs to see it in her eyes before he lets himself go any further.

Her smile widens, her cheeks flushed, and she nods softly, her hips shifting up in quiet encouragement. He takes her silent permission, his hands steady as he slips her shorts down her legs. The fabric pools on the floor beside the bed, forgotten, his attention entirely on her as she opens her legs for him.

Glistening, wet and welcoming, his eyes look at her center. It’s like some sort of innate human instinct to want to bury himself between her legs. He forces himself to go slow, his hands moving almost on their own to slide along her thighs, his touch careful and deliberate as he shifts down the bed. The warmth of her skin beneath his palms steadies him, guiding him as he settles between her legs.

Her breathing deepens, her chest rising and falling as his lips brush softly against the inside of her knee. The first kiss is tentative, testing, but when she lets out a quiet sigh, her fingers threading into his hair, it’s like every hesitation in him melts away.

He kisses her again, further up this time, his lips grazing over her sensitive skin. Each press of his mouth grows bolder, his confidence building with every soft sound she makes above him. Her thighs tremble slightly under his hands, and the sensation sends a thrill through him, igniting a need to keep going, to keep making her feel this way.

When his lips finally find her, the heat of her, he swears the world stops. His breath catches as he pauses, letting himself take it in—the softness of her, the warmth, the way her body seems to move toward him instinctively.

“That’s it, Dare. Kiss me there,” she says again. So he does, his lips pressing against her pussy with the same care he gave her mouth, slow and deliberate, learning her like he’s memorizing every inch.

Her gasp is soft, a mix of surprise and pleasure, and it drives him on, his tongue darting out to taste her for the first time. The sound both of them make in response—her low, breathy sigh, his guttural groan—is enough to send a spark of pride and awe coursing through him, his hands tightening slightly on her thighs as he settles in to show her just how much he wants this.

Her moans are soft, delicate at first, but as his tongue glides against her, teasing and testing, they grow richer, her body responding instinctively to his every movement. The sounds she makes—half sighs, half gasps—wrap around him, filling the room with something intimate and electric.

His hands remain firm on her thighs, grounding him as he works to memorize the way she feels, the way she tastes. Every motion is deliberate, his lips and tongue tracing her with a quiet intensity that feels more like devotion than anything else. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push too hard, letting her body guide him as he explores this uncharted territory.

Her fingers thread deeper into his hair, tugging lightly when he finds a particularly sensitive spot, and the quiet, breathless “Oh, Daryl,” that follows makes his head spin. His chest tightens, and a groan rumbles low in his throat, vibrating against her in a way that makes her hips shift toward him, seeking more.

She’s soft and warm, and the way she moves—deliberate but unthinking, like her body can’t help but reach for him—sends another jolt of confidence through him.

“You’re… so good,” she breathes, her voice trembling as her hips tilt toward him.

Encouraged, he presses closer, his tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves he’s just beginning to understand, his lips closing gently around her. Her body arches in response, a sharp gasp escaping her as her thighs clench slightly around his head. He groans again, the sound low and guttural, and shifts his hands to hold her hips steady, guiding her gently as he continues.

Her breaths grow faster, more uneven, and the tension in her body builds beneath his hands. He can feel it, the way her thighs shake, the way her fingers tighten in his hair, and it drives him to give her more. Her sex pulses as he continues, moving his tongue with growing confidence, drawing her higher and higher, until her soft, shaky moans turn into something louder, more raw.

“Daryl,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her hips jerk against him. “I’m—oh, God—right there.”

The words send a surge of determination through him, and he doubles down, his tongue and lips working together to push her over the edge. Her body tightens suddenly, her back arching off the bed as a cry spills from her lips, raw and beautiful, and he holds her through it, his hands steady on her hips as she rides out her release on his tongue.

When she finally begins to relax, her body softening beneath his touch, he pulls back slightly, his lips and chin slick, his breath heavy as he watches her, planting more kissing along her inner thigh and at the crevice of her leg and center. Her chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, her skin flushed and glowing, and her eyes flutter open to meet his.

The look she gives him is full of wonder, her lips curving into a soft, breathless smile. She reaches for him, her fingers untangling from his hair to brush against his cheek.

“Daryl,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “That was… incredible.”

He swallows hard, his cheeks flushing as he pushes himself up, crawling up the bed to settle beside her. His movements are tentative, his arms hovering for a moment before he wraps them around her waist, pulling her gently into his chest. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough, almost hesitant, like he can’t quite believe her.

She nods, her smile soft and full of warmth as her hand comes up to wipe his chin gently of her slick, “Yeah,” she murmurs, her gaze meeting his.

His heart stumbles in his chest, and he can’t hold back the lopsided grin that tugs at his lips. “Never… never done nothin’ like that before,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She leans in, still holding his chin between her thumb and finger, her lips brushing his in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, full of unspoken affection. Her hand slides up to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking lightly over his scruff as the kiss deepens. It’s different from before—softer, unhurried, as if she’s savoring every moment.

“I know, baby,” she says gently against his lips, “but it was perfect,”

His cheeks burn hotter, and he huffs a quiet laugh, pulling his head back slightly to look at her despite the flush spreading down his neck. “Ain’t perfect,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words, only quiet humility.

She presses a kiss to his jaw, then to the corner of his mouth, and his hold on her tightens instinctively. “You are to me,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the quiet of the room.

They shift together, her naked body fitting snugly against his as they settle under the covers. The warmth of her skin against his, the weight of her head resting on his shoulder, feels impossibly right. His hand drifts up to stroke her hair, his fingers tangling gently in the strands as her arm drapes across his chest.

For a while, they just lie there in silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing filling the space between them. Daryl’s mind buzzes with thoughts—gratitude, disbelief, a quiet, overwhelming sense of wonder—but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, and lets himself hold her close.

The late afternoon bathes the room in golden light, casting soft shadows as Daryl watches her. She’s standing there, completely absorbed in some meaningless task—folding laundry, shifting supplies, something so mundane he can’t understand how she’s focused on it when he’s right here. She’s been taking up all the space in his mind, all the air in his lungs, and she has no idea.

Well, maybe she does. She’s the one who did this to him. The one who made him feel insatiable, so utterly out of control over his own thoughts and body.

Daryl leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s just to steady himself. His blood is running too hot, his heart pounding too fast, and it’s all because of her. His gaze drags over her, over the way her shirt clings to her back, the soft curve of her hips, the little furrow in her brow as she concentrates. She’s so calm, so collected, like she hasn’t absolutely ruined him.

Ever since that first night—hell, every night since—she’s been all he can think about. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Feels her. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she felt under him—warm and soft and his. His cock has never been this hard, not at midnight, not first thing in the morning, and definitely not all goddamn day. And it’s all because of her.

His jaw clenches as the memories flood back: her taste, sweet and heady on his tongue. The way she whispered his name, gasping and desperate, like he was the only man in the world who could make her feel that way. Taking her for the first time, the way her body shifted and shivered beneath him as he rocked into her. It was like a switch he didn’t even know existed had flipped inside him, and now he’s nothing but want, need—fucking hunger.

His hands twitch at his sides. He tries to rein it in, to give her space, but it’s useless. His thoughts are wild and untamed, like he’s been starved his whole damn life and she’s the only thing that can satisfy him. He wants to feel her again, taste her again, bury himself so deep inside her that neither of them knows where one ends and the other begins.

And she’s just standing there, so calm, so unbothered. How can she not feel it? Doesn’t she know what she’s done to him?

“Alright,” he growls, the sound low and guttural as he finally pushes off the doorframe, done with just standing by and watching her as he unravels.

Her head snaps up, her hands pausing mid-motion. “Daryl?” she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion at the intensity in his voice.

But he doesn’t answer. He can’t. Words won’t do it, won’t scratch the itch clawing at him, the fire burning through his veins. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his movements rough and purposeful. His hands grip her waist before she can react, lifting her clean off the floor and tossing her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.

“Daryl!” she squeals, her fists playfully tapping at his back, though there’s laughter in her voice. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

He doesn’t bother answering, doesn’t stop. He’s already heading for the nearest surface—the couch, the bed, the table, he doesn’t fucking care. All that matters is her, laid out for him, ready for him to take her apart.

When he reaches the couch, he lowers her just enough to drop her onto the cushions, her legs still dangling over the edge as he looms over her. She looks up at him, her chest rising and falling as she takes him in, her eyes widening slightly at the look on his face.

“You’ve ruined me,” he growls, his voice like gravel as his hands cage her in on either side. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you feel. About how you taste. I can’t think straight, can’t sleep. You’ve fucked me up, woman.”

Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she looks up at him, her breath catching in her throat. She’s not used to this—him talking so much, his words spilling out in a frantic, unfiltered rush. He knows it too. Knows he can be a little aloof, a bit of a dick when it comes to talking about what’s on his mind. But she’d broken him, shattered whatever walls he’d kept so carefully constructed, and now he couldn’t stop the rambling, couldn’t stop the truth from pouring out of him.

His hands travel up her body, sliding over her sides, his rough fingertips grazing her ribs before skimming over her stomach. He slots his hips between her legs, pressing her further into the couch as her thighs fall open for him.

“I—” she starts, but he cuts her off, his hands finding her waist, his touch rough but trembling.

“Please,” he mutters, his voice low and desperate, almost trembling with the weight of his need. His hands glide over her sides, brushing against her ribs, feeling the heat of her skin through her thin shirt. “I need you. Every inch of you. Right fuckin’ now. Tell me yes. Please, say yes.”

Her cheeks flush even deeper, the red blooming across her neck and chest as she stares up at him. And then, slowly, her hands lift, sliding up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice a soft, breathless sigh. “Yes, Daryl. Always yes.”

It’s all he needs. An inhuman noise rumbles deep in his chest, primal and desperate, as his lips crash against hers, needy and unrelenting. His hands grip her thighs, pulling her flush against him as he kisses her like a man possessed, all teeth and tongue and sheer, insatiable hunger.

"Goddamn," he mutters against her lips, his voice shaking as he pulls back just enough to look at her. His hands slide further up her legs, gripping her ass, his thumbs imprinting into the soft curves of her skin. "You've got me so fucked up. I can't think about anything else. Just you. Just this.'

His lips trail down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point as his fingers hook into her shorts. He doesn't wait for permission this time; he knows she's all in, knows she's just as wanton as he is. He tugs them down in one rough motion, taking her panties with them, leaving her bare and spread out before him.

His gaze drops to her center, and he groans, his head tipping back for a moment as he fights to keep himself together. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and reverent,"So fuckin' beautiful. So goddamn perfect." His hands grip her knees then, spreading her wider as he lowers himself between her legs.

His breath is hot against her skin, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she wants him most. Her sex glistens for him already, the sheen of slick luring him in.

"Daryl," she whines breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips lift off the couch.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against her slick heat, dragging up to circle her clit with slow, deliberate precision. The taste of her hits him like a drug, and he groans, his hands tightening on her thighs as he pulls her closer, needing more. 

"You taste so fuckin' sweet," he mutters against her, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

Her cries spur him on, her thighs trembling against his shoulders as he works her over, his mouth relentless and hungry. He licks and sucks and nips at her, devouring her like she's the only thing keeping him alive, like her pussy is the last source of water in a barren desert. He still didn’t know how to do this right, not really, but he knew what her gasps meant, knew what the shiver in her thighs told him. And God, he just wanted to keep making her feel that way. His tongue falters for a moment, unsure if he’s going too fast or too slow, but then her hips roll against him, and he takes that as a sign to keep going.

"Daryl," she whimpers, her voice trembling as her fingers tug harder at his hair. "Oh, fuck-don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Her pleading only fuels him, his tongue moving faster, his lips sealing around her clit as he slides two fingers inside her. Her body arches off the couch, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as he curls his fingers, stroking her exactly where she needs him. Her body responds instinctively, her words no longer coherent as her hips buck against him, riding the wave of her climax as it crashes over her.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. His mouth and fingers work her through every shudder, every breathless gasp, coaxing every ounce of pleasure out of her until she’s trembling beneath him, her chest heaving as she collapses back onto the cushions.

But he’s far from done.

She’s still shaking when his pace begins to slow, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her slick heat as if to soothe her overstimulated body. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts, her fingers gripping the cushions beneath her, but before she can catch her breath, his fingers curl again, pressing against that spongy spot inside her.

A sharp cry tears from her throat, her hips jerking involuntarily as the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through her.

“Daryl—” she starts, her voice trembling, but he just hums against her, his tongue dragging over her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Want another,” he mutters, his voice muffled against her skin, his words punctuated by the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers working her over. “Want more. Gotta see you like this again.”

Her head tips back, her body arching as overstimulation teeters dangerously close to overwhelming. “I—Daryl, it’s too much—” she gasps, but the words are lost in another moan as his fingers curl deeper, stroking that spot inside her with an almost maddening precision. If there was anything Daryl learned from their first time together, it was that he needed to know every single nook and crevice of her that made her come undone. Either with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He was determined to learn her body inside and out. 

“You can take it,” he growls as his lips seal around her clit again. His tongue flicks against her, faster now, relentless, as if her pleasure is the only thing that matters. “You’re so good for me, baby.”

Her body tightens beneath him, her nails clawing at the cushions as her thighs tremble around his head. She’s teetering on the edge again, the line between pleasure and too much blurring as his words and his touch send her spiraling. The second always comes so much faster than the first, it’s like a domino falling inside her lower belly.

She was falling apart because of him. He couldn’t believe it—still didn’t really know what he was doing—but her gasps, her moans, they told him he was doing something right.

“Cum for me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse but commanding. “Wanna feel you again. Wanna hear you,”

Her body responds before her mind can catch up, her hips bucking against his mouth as another wave crashes over her. She cries out, her voice raw and broken, her walls clenching around his fingers as she tumbles over the edge for the second time.

He groans against her, his tongue slowing as he works her through it, coaxing every last shudder and gasp from her trembling frame. When she finally collapses fully against the couch, her body spent and trembling, he presses one last kiss to her inner thigh, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

As he moves to kneel between her legs again, her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as her legs wrap around his waist, anchoring him to her. She’s still trembling from her release, her body pliant and warm beneath him, but she reaches up to capture his lips in hers, tasting herself on his now swollen, wet lips.

“Please, Daryl,” she says against his lips–now it was her begging him, and God if it didn’t take every last drop of restraint to wait for him to hear what she wanted next. How the hell did she look like that, sound like that, just because of him? He didn’t understand it, didn’t feel like he deserved it, but he was desperate to be worthy of her. He’d give her anything. Anything. 

“What is it, baby? What do you want? Tell me,” he groans against her, his hips rutting into her, the wetness of her center staining his jeans where his bugle meets her clit. “Need you,” she whines, gasping when he drags his hips against her harder, “Please. Fuck me, Daryl.”

That’s all he needs. His hands fumble at his waistband, his urgency making his movements clumsy as he shoves his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself. His cock is already hard, throbbing and aching with need as he grips the base, positioning himself at her entrance.

He pauses, his breath ragged as he meets her gaze again, his forehead pressing against hers. “Tell me if I’m hurtin’ you,” he murmurs, his voice low and shaky.

“You won’t,” she reassures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his arms, her touch grounding him. “I trust you.”

The words send a wave of warmth through him, his chest tightening as he pushes forward, the tip of him sliding into her with an agonizing slowness. He groans, low and guttural, as the heat of her surrounds him, and her gasp mirrors his, her nails digging lightly into his skin. 

This is all he’s thought about for days—taking her on the nearest surface, spreading her open, and burying himself deep inside her. The way she’d feel wrapped around him, her body clenching tight, pulling him in. But no amount of imagination, no desperate strokes of his own hand, could have prepared him for the way the real thing feels.

“God,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he sinks deeper, his hands trembling against her hips. “You’re so—fuck, you’re so tight.”

Her walls flutter around him, pulling a low groan from his throat. He can barely hold himself together, the heat and wetness of her stealing every coherent thought from his mind.

She moans softly, her hips tilting to take him in further, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “It’s too—too much, too big—” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and something he can’t quite place.

His movements falter, his body stiffening as a rush of panic washes over him. He freezes, afraid of hurting her, afraid of pushing too far. His hips still as her words echo in his head, his hands trembling where they grip her hips. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” he asks, his voice tight with worry, his brow furrowing as he looks down at her.

Her hands slide up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his scruff. Her breath is shaky, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no fear in her eyes—only heat, only need.

“No,” she breathes, her voice trembling but steady. “It’s not that. I just—” She pauses, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly. “I’ve never—never had someone so goddamn big.” Her voice breaks, her hands tightening on his arms as her hips shift beneath him. “You stretch me so good, Daryl. It’s just… overwhelming. In the best way.”

Her words send a bolt of heat straight through him, his cock twitching inside her as a low groan escapes his lips. “Jesus,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against hers. “You can’t say shit like that, woman. Gonna make me lose my mind,”

She laughs softly, the sound breathy and full of affection, and leans up to kiss him, her lips warm and teasing. “Then let me take over,” she whispers against his mouth, her fingers sliding down to his chest. “Let me show you how good you make me feel.”

He hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing against her hips. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low and rough, his gaze searching hers.

She nods, her smile widening as she cups his face again. “I’m sure,” she murmurs.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, his arms steadying her as she shifts beneath him. When his cock slips out of her, both of them hiss at the sudden loss of warmth, but she gently pushes at his chest to move up. And he moves with her, settling back against the cushions as she straddles his hips.

The sight of her above him, her body glowing in the soft afternoon light, takes his breath away. Her hands rest on his chest for balance, her legs bracketing his sides as she sinks down slowly, taking him back inside her inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands finding her thighs, his fingers pressing into her soft skin as his head tips back. 

Her moans match his, her body adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. “You feel so good,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she begins to move, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. “So good, Daryl.”

His hands slide to her waist under the hem of her shirt, steadying her as she sets the pace, her movements growing bolder with every passing second. The rhythm she creates is intoxicating, her body rising and falling above him, her warmth enveloping him completely.

“Let me see you,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent as his hands slide up her sides, his thumbs brushing over her ribs, his touch deliberate and worshipful. “Let me see these incredible tits, hunny.”

Her smile widens, her lips parting as her hands slide up her body, grazing over where his own rest on her waist. She takes her time, teasing, before finally gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. The discarded fabric lands somewhere behind the couch, forgotten, as her bare skin is revealed to him.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate. His head leans forward like he’s being pulled by some gravitational force he could never—would never—ignore. His lips find her breast, his mouth latching onto a nipple with a low, guttural groan.

His tongue flicks over the hardened peak before drawing it into his mouth, sucking softly. Hands tightening on her waist, his thumbs brush over the curve of her ribs as he holds her steady while her hips continue to rock over him. 

She gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her hips grind against his. “Daryl,” she breathes, her voice trembling with pleasure. “God, yes, yes, yes,”

Her words spur him on, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his mouth moves to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His tongue swirls, his lips pressing kisses along the soft swell of her skin, as though he’s worshipping every inch of her.

“You’re incredible,” he mutters between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with awe. “Fuckin’ incredible.”

Her head tips back, her moans spilling from her lips as her hips roll against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through them both. “You’re the one making me feel this good,” she whispers, her voice thick and breathy. Her hands slide down to his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin as she pulls him closer. “This is all you, Daryl.”

Her words ignite something primal in him, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, guiding her movements as she rides him. The pace quickens, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, their breaths mingling as the tension builds between them.

“You’re all I want,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he looks up at her, his gaze dark and full of need. “All I fuckin’ think about.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she sighs, kissing him between breaths, “You’re all I ever think about, Daryl,” you shift your hips and panting, add: “Only man I want, that I need.”

And then it happens. The control he’s been clinging to, the restraint he’s forced himself to maintain, snaps like a taut string stretched too far. Something wild and unhinged breaks free inside him, the monster he’s tried to keep buried roaring to the surface.

Before she can even register the shift, his arms are wrapping around her, pulling her down against him so her stomach is flush to his chest, her breasts pressed into his face. She lets out a surprised yelp, her hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders, but it’s quickly overtaken by a sharp, guttural moan as he buries himself deeper inside her.

“Daryl!” she gasps, her voice trembling as her hands cling to him, the couch, anything she can grab to stay steady.

He holds her tight, his muscles flexing as his arms cage her in, his body taking over completely. His hips snap up into her, relentless and unyielding, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with her cries and his ragged groans, creating a symphony of raw, primal need.

Her head falls back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she screams his name, her voice hoarse and broken with pleasure. And if she wasn’t moaning loud enough to disturb the neighborhood before, she sure as shit was now. The sheer force of his movements has her teetering on the edge of oblivion, her body trembling and she takes everything he’s giving, not able to form words or coherent thoughts anymore.

“That’s right, baby.” he growls, his voice raw and unrecognizable, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he knows he’ll leave marks. “Take that fucking cock, you’re so good, so perfect for it. Like your sweet pussy was made for me,”

The words pour out of him without thought, his mouth brushing against her chest, her neck, her collarbone, anywhere he can reach. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, barely aware of anything except the overwhelming need to take her, to claim her, to lose himself completely in the heat and softness of her. He’s never known anything like this, where the words are even coming from, where this monster in his chest has escaped from.

Her body arches against him, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as she clings to him, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling his hair, “Daryl—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he growls, his hips driving up into her harder, deeper, his cock swelling as his own release builds. “Wanna feel you. Wanna hear you scream my fuckin’ name.”

And she does. Her body tenses, her thighs trembling as her release slams into her like a tidal wave. She cries out, her voice raw and ragged as her walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, her pleasure washing over her in uncontrollable waves.

The way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes and shudders in his arms, is enough to send him spiraling after her. He groans, his head tipping back as his hips jerk erratically, his cock pulsing as he spills into her, filling her completely.

His chest heaves as he holds her against him, his body trembling from the force of his release. They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, their breaths mingling as the intensity of what just happened sinks in.

When he finally loosens his grip, his hands slide to her back, stroking her soothingly as her head rests against his shoulder. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against her ear.

She nods, a breathless laugh escaping her as she lifts her head to meet his gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair sticking to her damp skin, but her smile is soft and curious, a hint of awe in her expression.

“I’m more than okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of lingering pleasure and surprise. Her fingers trail lightly over his chest, and her lips curve into a teasing grin. “But… I feel like I unleashed something in you I didn’t know was there.”

His brows furrow slightly, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he looks away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…” he mutters, his voice rough with embarrassment. “Ain’t never felt like this before. Never had—never been like this with anyone.” His gaze flickers back to hers, unsure but steady. “Guess you… bring somethin’ out in me.”

Her eyes soften, her fingers tracing along his jaw as she tilts his face back toward her. “Something incredible,” she says softly, her smile widening. “I like it. A lot.”

His lips twitch into a small, lopsided grin, his hand coming up to cup her face as his thumb brushes over her cheek. “You… you’re somethin’ else,” he mutters, his voice low and full of affection. “Don’t even feel like the same person I was before you.”

Her heart swells at his words, her chest tightening as she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulls back, her smile is full of warmth. “Guess I ruined you in the best way, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, his forehead pressing against hers as his arms tighten around her. “Yeah,” he says, his voice soft but sure. “Guess you did.”

“S’okay,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder. “Think you’ve ruined me too.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, his breath stuttering as his grip on her tightens. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough and low, like he doesn’t quite believe her but wants to more than anything.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a soft smile as she breathes in, her forehead still against his, “Never thought I could feel like this—this full, this… complete. It’s all you, Daryl. You’ve changed everything.”

For a moment, he can’t speak, his throat too tight, his chest too full. Instead, he presses his lips to hers again, the kiss deep and slow, filled with everything he can’t quite say.