Shelter from the Storm
Written August 2013
Rated a very strong R
Synopsis: A routine supply run turns dangerous as Daryl and Carol find themselves battling against Mother Nature … but the storm brewing within their shelter might be more intense than the one raging outside.
Disclaimer: The characters and universe herein were created by Robert Kirkman et al. The series is produced by AMC and other corporations. No infringement is intended.
His lips softened, mouth moving with hers, but otherwise he was motionless, uncertain. Whether it was the wine or the discussion, she was certain that this … whatever this was between them had potential. It had promise. She wasn’t going to let the moment pass.
Her hands traveled slowly down his chest, the quilt falling away as she traced a path to his waist. He didn’t try to retrieve it as he watched her remove her own quilt and bare herself to him, staring at her shoulders, breasts, stomach. She straddled him, easing her body against his, guiding him inside her. She had never been this bold before, had never taken charge or been the seducer, and he seemed mystified by this side of her as well.
She nuzzled his neck, feeling his pulse hammering against her lips. While his heart may have been beating at double time, her hips moved at half time, an almost leisurely pace. Part of her believed she was dreaming again, and she was soon awaken alone and heated in her cell. Another part expected him to push her away and admonish her for such an intimate violation of their friendship. But neither had happened yet, and she felt no need to race to an inevitable disappointment.
Tempting fate once more, she brought her mouth to his, cupping his head in her hands. A small moan escaped as their tongues lightly grazed against one another, sending a shock of electricity to her core. This was better than her dreams, better than the time she kissed Jimmy Lewis. It was sweaty-palmed, weak-kneed, take-your-breath-away good.
Daryl’s fingers unexpectedly gripped her hips, pulling her hard toward him as he let out a small grunt. Breath uneven, teeth digging into her neck, he convulsed once then shuddered and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She readjusted her quilt to cover both of them and nestled herself into his trembling embrace.
A deafening boom forced Carol upright, heart racing, hands clenched like a boxer. For a brief moment, she was disoriented, unsure of where she was or what was happening.
“Storm’s back,” came a voice, and she looked at Daryl, who lay on the quilt beside her, awake and alert and naked.
“Been ragin’ for a while now,” he continued as he sat up. “Surprised you just now heard it.”
“I was asleep,” she replied stupidly, drawing the quilt over her breasts with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. Her memories were coming back in droves.
She felt him staring, but she was hesitant to look at him. The bravery from the wine had definitely fizzled out and been replaced by awkwardness and fear. There was nowhere to hide in the tiny room, no way to escape the inescapable conversation that they would most certainly be forced to have.
So she turned her head toward him, expecting to see regret, and opened her mouth to apologize. The words died before they had a chance to be spoken because what she saw was not regret or embarrassment or anger. It was pure, unmistakable desire.
Hooded eyes regarded her hungrily, and he did nothing to hide or diminish his erection. His tongue flitted out to wet his lips, his gaze moving deliberately from her face to her shoulders to the parts that were hidden beneath the quilt.
She didn’t know what to do.
Everything that happened before had felt like a dream – and still did. The wine had caressed her fantasies and brought them into the light. She had never taken the initiative, never been the one controlling the rhythm, never done it for true enjoyment. For all of her assumed expertise, she really was completely ignorant.
And now here they sat, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Slowly, she leaned back into a supine position on the floor. He perched himself up an elbow, hovering over her. It occurred to her that perhaps he wasn’t that experienced either, that perhaps he was just as nervous as she was.
“You can touch me, Daryl.”
Her permission was apparently all he needed because the ferocity with which he kissed her took her breath away. Unlike their timid lovemaking before, this was heat and sweat and passion and yearning. He ripped the quilt away and positioned himself between her legs. His hands were all over her body, mouth and tongue working her into a frenzy.
She renounced her earlier assumption as he lifted her hips and thrust deep inside. He was definitely experienced, a redneck Casanova. A giggle bubbled up but turned into a moan. Sex had never been fun and had certainly never brought her pleasure, but this was everything that a trashy romance novel promised it would be. Every masterful stroke brought her closer to the precipice, something she had only dreamed about.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder, trying to maintain the angle between them, and he increased his pace. She knew what was happening, but at the same time she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. This was different. She’d never been to this place except on her own, and even then it hadn’t felt like this. She knew that Daryl was looking at her, studying her, but she couldn’t focus on his face. She writhed beneath him, hips still suspended by his left palm. Her mind was blank, her body only focused on his rhythm.
She shouted a word or a name or a sound as she convulsed, blood rushing through her body and roaring in her ears. She wrapped both legs around him and held on; each wave was a mixture of pain and pleasure so intense that she wanted to sob. Her body continued to shudder as Daryl came into her, and they collapsed onto the quilt, breaths heaving and hearts racing.
She rolled into his arms, feeling safe and warm and secure. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow, didn’t want to acknowledge that her feelings had changed, didn’t want logic to ruin the moment. For now this was all she had, all she may ever have, and it was enough.
End of chapter 4