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She is going to kill Maggie one of these days. She really is.
***
The day starts like any other in her college dorm in Atlanta—drained from staying late at the library, a cup of coffee, and someone who hasn’t cleaned the shower after shaving.
From there on, her day just gets rougher, like she has to pay up for nailing three essays on musical history in a row, which had propelled her to the top of the class.
First, it starts raining—
—Pouring, really, and the short walk from the dorm to her car soaks her through without the guard of an umbrella. And then, of course, she gets a parking ticket while she’s getting the usual double mocha latte at her favorite cafe. She snatches the damn piece of paper off the windshield and crushes it. When she rounds the car to get in she stumbles, spills her coffee and stains her already rain-soaked shirt.
Beth wants to scream.
As she drives, she finds a hundred different reasons to regret agreeing to be Maggie’s errand girl. Especially on a Saturday.
And for who?
For Maggie’s good friend Daryl Dixon, she grimaces and mouthes the words snappily, while she parks the car and unbuckles her seatbelt. She’s heard her sister's praises about him for two years now and has never met the guy.
Beth grabs the jacket that rests on the passenger seat—the one she is supposed to drop off at his place—and briefly checks herself in the mirror, like she always does.
She showered this morning, lathered her hair in that vanilla and coconut conditioner she likes and had put on some nice lotion but now her hair is all frizzy and she isn’t wearing any make up. Her tired face stares back at her with heavy bags under her eyes and a fresh pimple forming at her chin from eating too much instant ramen the night before, and the stained shirt gives her appearance the rest.
Beth sighs, folds back the car mirror and inspects the ugly jacket for a second, imagining a disheveled, boring older man with a receding hairline wearing it and just wants the task to be done so she can crawl back into her bed.
She gets out of the car and sidesteps a puddle, hurrying through the rain until her phone tells her she arrived at Daryl Dixon's address. It’s a shabby apartment complex, awfully weathered, with several stories of streaked concrete and deep-seated grime. Torn trash bags spill across the bottom of the staircase as she climbs; her eyes linger on a half empty vodka bottle and a cluster of sodden cigarette butts.
Beth wonders where on earth Maggie scouts her friends—presumably somewhere with excellent narcotics and zero standards.
She opens the conversation with her sister, checking the number for the apartment, opens the big glass door—careful not to curl her whole hand around the handle—and follows the gloomy hallway to the elevator.
In her head, she rehearses some snappy lines she can throw at the old fart to alleviate some of the anger, tapping her foot restlessly on the ground.
The elevator arrives at the fourth floor, and she gets out, looking around until she finds the right door.
Beth rings the bell on 403 with chipped, blue nail polish, and drums on his jacket as she waits and waits and waits.
And waits some more.
After two whole minutes, she exhales. Rings again and taps her shoes a little more pronounced for good measure.
Really, this guy has some nerve.
She really does have much better things to do. Like study, or eat pizza in front of her laptop (like she typically would on a Saturday) or text with the cute guy from her practical music class or—
Then the door suddenly opens.
It opens and Beth’s anger evaporates—right through her mouth that gapes open at the guy before her.
Apparently, Maggie has left out the part where she mentions that Daryl Dixon is hot.
Really hot.
Her biology takes over, leaving her momentarily speechless.
He’s at least thirty, all chiselled cheeks and scruff around the lower area of his face. His brown, shaggy hair is full and hangs somewhat unkept over his brows. He wears blue, washed out jeans and a tight, dark gray muscle shirt that leaves his well corded, tanned arms on display for her.
He seems taken aback too, for some reason.
It is hard to think coherently as his steel blue eyes size her up, his gaze roaming up and down her body slowly and she is mortified, becoming painfully aware that the dishevelled one is her, not him.
Before she can collect herself, he frowns.
“Rosita?”
Beth blinks and frowns, too.
“Uh…no? I’m Beth,” she says, all further and probably useful information escaping her before she gets a hold of it. “I’m, uh—Maggie’s sister. She said y’ knew I was gonna drop by?”
Daryl Dixon stares at her for a second, then his hand goes to pinch the bridge of his nose and he looks like he is suffering.
It is obvious he has forgotten about it.
“Right, sorry—”
He nods at the crumpled up, black piece of clothing she is holding.
“This my jacket?”
Beth nods and hands it over as he reaches out. Her pulse jumps when his fingers graze hers accidentally.
“Oh, and—there’s a package for Glenn I’m supposed to pick up?” She remembers just in time. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother. I could come back another time.”
“Nah. Might take me a few minutes to find it though. Y’ wanna come in for a sec?” He points his thumb over his shoulder.
“Um…sure,” she says.
She takes a breath, entering his apartment and stepping past him as he makes room for her. He’s at least a head taller and his body comes so close to her for a moment she gets a whiff of his aftershave, the musky notes mixing in with pine tar and cigarette smoke.
Beth’s stomach makes a weird little flip, leaving her nervous as she walks into the hallway, the door closing behind her and then all of a sudden, she is in his space and it feels like something.
She’s never been in a guy’s apartment before, she realises. Jimmy had still lived with his parents when they’d dated two years ago.
Daryl puts his jacket on a coat hanger and she stands awkwardly in the dimly lit, small hallway, looking around with curious eyes. She almost jumps when she catches a glance at her full, chaotic appearance in a long mirror that’s right behind her.
“What happened to yer shirt?” He asks and brushes past her.
“Tripped,” she replies and purses her lips.
Beth follows him and stops to stand idly in the doorframe, looking at a small living area with a kitchenette that, together with a kitchen island, occupies half of the room.
“Clumsy, huh?” He says. “Wait here a sec.”
Daryl disappears behind a door next to a couch and a TV set for a second while she leans against the wall.
His apartment is sparse at first glance. Neat. His shoes line up next to the door and a crossbow. No dirty laundry laying around. No dishes piling up in the sink. There is even a plant in the corner of the big window behind the couch, and it smells like wood and laundry detergent.
She can also smell he smokes in here, and notices the ashtray on the coffee table.
Beth finds herself surprised and weirdly intrigued. Daryl Dixon is none of the things she imagined him to be.
Self conscious, she tries to flatten some of the hair she knows is curling all around her forehead; sniffs her armpits while she’s at it and is relieved to find she might look, but doesn’t smell homeless.
He comes back out with a pile in his hand and offers it to her. Beth is puzzled.
A towel.
“Oh—” she says, caught off guard. “Thank you.”
He nods and then rubs his hand over his chin. “Want a soda or something?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
“Alright, jus’ make yourself at home,” he says and walks over to a pile of stuff in the corner next to the kitchen. “I know I have it layin’ around here somewhere.”
Beth steps over to the small, worn couch, sits down at the very edge of it and starts towel drying her wet hair. She watches as his back is to her in front of a pile of books, paper stacks and packages, the muscles in his arms flexing as he goes through it.
Beth can’t stop looking at him. Pretty sure she is struck by him. Can’t stop peeking at him while she busies herself looking around the room.
Beth keeps wondering about the woman he mentioned at the door and can’t help but ruminate on why Daryl wouldn’t know what Rosita looked like. Is it a blind date of some sort?
“So, yer in college?” He interrupts her internal monologue.
“Huh?”
He looks over to her as he stands, shuffles through some stuff in his hands and pinches the neckline of his shirt.
“Yer shirt. Georgia State University?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Started last year,” she replies, feeling nothing less than stupid.
“Whatcha studyin’?”
“Music theory.”
He hums.
Beth squirms, somewhat embarrassed at his short answer. She knows it isn’t the most interesting thing to talk about and feels a burst of shyness washing over her.
“I, uh—I always liked to sing, so—” she explains anyway, “kinda seemed like the thing to go for.”
“Your singin’ any good?” He asks.
Beth laughs awkwardly.
“I hope so. Otherwise I’ll definitely embarrass myself next week at the open mic night.”
“Open mic night? At a bar or somethin’?”
“Yeah, the Golden Eagle. Dunno if y’ heard of it,” she says and secretly hopes he has. Would be a real shame if he, you know, accidentally turned up or something for some reason.
“The one that survives mostly on drunk college kids?”
She grins. “Mhm, that one, yeah.”
There is a pause, his hands slowing down a bit as he still goes through the pile. She notices he’s chewing on his lip.
“If y’ let me know the time, I might stop by for a beer or two,” he says and then clears his throat. “Keep the creeps off yer back.”
Beth straightens her back and laughs, delighted. “What? Like my chaperone?”
He shrugs. “Yer Maggie’s baby sister.”
Oh.
She feels a tinge of disappointment in her chest.
“It’s next Saturday at 8,” she says as his questioning eyes prompt her and then quickly adds, “But it’s probably really not your crowd, so, only if y’ have nothing better to do.”
“Who knows, yer singin’ might be worth puttin' up with the college idiots for an hour,” he replies casually.
Beth smiles a little. The idea of him coming to see her sing is exciting, but a part of her fears he isn’t serious, that he is just being nice. He probably feels obligated to entertain his friend's sister.
Daryl doesn’t say anything after that, so the conversation dies, since Beth is too afraid to ask him any of the hundred questions that run through her mind.
So she keeps herself busy drying her hair and dabs her face off, too.
After a few minutes, Beth notices with a sinking feeling that he keeps looking at the clock above the fridge. She folds the towel neatly and stands up, walking over to where he crouches and leans her back on the kitchen island.
“If y’ tell me what the package looks like, I could help,” she offers.
He huffs out in frustration.
“Swear I had it here somewhere.” Daryl stands up, checks the time again and then briefly glances at her. Beth realises it is time to leave.
“You know, I can really come back another time, it’s not that big of a drive,” she says, although he is pretty far out. “I don’t wanna be in the way when yer date arrives.”
“‘S fine,” he replies. “Ain’t a date.”
She frowns a little, more so at herself. Then her mouth opens before her brain can intervene, blurting out the question.
“No?”
Daryl and Beth look at each other for a moment, puzzled. He seems mortified, too, for some reason and promptly turns away to busy himself with sorting through another pile of packages. But the question stands in the room like a big elephant now and eventually he clears his throat.
“Rosita’s uh, a call girl I ordered fer today,” he says.
Beth hears the words.
Hears them in his deep, raspy voice and sees them in her mind.
Watches her brain replace the call girl with herself, his arms all muscles around her, fucking her. And she blushes.
Then she remembers she looks like a bedraggled cat and shakes herself out of her mind.
“Really?” She asks. “What for?”
Daryl doesn’t seem like a guy who’d use paid services to get laid. She tries to imagine him sitting at his phone, searching a website, scrolling down until he finds a woman he likes. Wonders what his type is. Wonders what Rosita looks like. Beth realises that Rosita is probably on her way right now, minutes away from ringing at his door. The way her own stomach clenches in response leaves her more than a little irritated with herself.
Daryl glances at her, scoffs and shakes his head as if he can’t believe she's for real. He turns his attention back to the task in his hand.
“Yer sister never gave y’ the birds and bees talk?”
Beth’s blush takes on an even darker shade of pink and she makes an indignant sound. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“That’s not what I meant,” she snaps. “I know what a call girl is. I’ve had sex.”
He snorts. “Yeah, bet y’ did.”
She is taken aback by the bite in his tone. “Excuse me?”
“Awkward fumbles in the back of some barn don’t count.”
She rolls her eyes, a frustrated huff escaping her. “By all means, enlighten me. What qualifies as sex in your world?”
Daryl gives her a look over his shoulder, rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
“Me bendin’ y’ over that counter.”
Beth feels the heat shoot through her body like lightning. Her mouth falls open. She stares back at him with her pulse in her throat while her brain tries to catch up.
Daryl chuckles darkly and turns back around.
She realises with a sudden burst of embarrassment and frustration that he is fucking with her, and not how she wants him to.
A sudden wave of defiance sweeps through her and Beth pushes off the counter. She grips the hem of her damp shirt and takes it off, throws it next to his feet, and the noise makes him turn around.
His eyes widen.
“The fuck are y’ doin’?”
She shrugs, although her heart is racing.
“Thought y’ were offerin’,” she plainly states, raising her chin a little.
Daryl freezes.
He probably thinks she’s lost her marbles, and Beth hopes Maggie has never mentioned anything about her or the months she spent at the hospital.
They stare at each other and as the seconds tick by, she sees the intent building in his eyes.
Sees how he waits for her to start laughing. But she doesn’t, because she’s not joking.
She underlines that point by reaching down with her hands and unbuttoning her jeans. His eyes follow her movements like he’s hypnotised as she bends to peel the fabric down her legs, kicking her shoes and jeans off and standing there in a simple bralette and underwear. (Thank god her and Amy had gone underwear shopping just the other week.)
His eyes flick back to hers, sharp, pupils blown.
“Girl,” he rumbles.
He throws to the side whatever he is holding in his hands. Chews on the inside of his lips as he looks her up and down.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” she says.
And she sees the worry in his eyes.
Beth knows somewhere in her mind she should be worried, too. Doesn’t know what’s making her act as if she has done this a thousand times before.
This is Maggie’s friend. A good friend—and one twice her age, at that. And for a second, she thinks she really doesn’t want him to get in trouble. But then she kinda does want to get him into trouble. With her. Starts to like the idea of that secret as her eyes glance down and she can see he’s hard.
So she makes another bold move, steps forward and kisses him, making sure to softly hold onto his sturdy arm as she pushes herself up onto her toes to reach him.
She doesn’t expect the jolt that moves through her and he doesn’t either, judging from the way he desperately sucks in the air when their lips touch. The way he starts trembling.
Part of Beth expects him to push her away. To reject her.
But then he starts kissing her back and he groans, puts an arm around her waist and yanks her forward. Her palms land flat on his chest and she pushes closer, fingers curling into his shirt as he digs his fingers into her back. She feels his scruff burn over her skin and she can’t believe that this is actually happening.
“Fuck—” he breathes in between kisses. “Y’ sure about this?”
Beth looks up into his eyes, pupils blown and so entirely focused on her. She doesn’t think she ever wanted anyone this much, so she swallows and nods.
“Unless you’re real hung up on Rosita…”
“Nah,” he grunts. “M’ gonna fuck you.”
Beth feels a hot pulse of heat burst in her stomach, making her eyelids flutter and her knees weak.
Then his mouth is back on hers, trapping her in a bruising kiss. His hands grab her ass, yanking her forward until she can feel him. Feels his hard-on against the thin fabric of her cotton panties and she moans. Daryl licks into her mouth as they stumble backwards and her back hits the edge of the kitchen island.
He lifts her up in one swift movement, Beth’s arms curling around his neck, his mouth never leaving hers. Grabs her thighs so they hook around his body and pushes her forward until he can grind into her pelvis. He groans with need, hot air tingling on her skin, his tongue wet and hot against hers, tasting of mint chewing gum and cigarettes.
Beth sighs needily when he puts a hand in her hair and deepens the kiss like he wants to drink her in. When he grinds against her, letting her feel how ready he is for her already, she hears herself whimper and feels his fingers dig into the soft skin of her ass to drag her closer.
She can feel her cunt clenching tight as Daryl keeps thrusting, keeps feeling his hard-on through her drenched panties that have been ruined since the moment he opened the door.
Beth’s hands move from his neck to his chest and find their way down to his jeans, frantic fingers trying to make quick work of the undressing. Her fingers are shaking so she keeps fumbling at the buttons and Daryl's hands reach down to help her.
They are both breathing hard when he kicks the piece of clothing away and gets back to her, eyes taking her in and she blushes under his gaze.
It’s intense, the way his blue irises are fixed on her and he takes a moment. His jaw is tight as he puts his hand to work, exploring her body with a heavy touch. Moves from her thigh to her neck, down over her collarbones and shoulders. Leaves her shuddering and tingling all over.
He’s restless. He wants to do so much and all at once and she knows, because she wants it too.
Her whole body is thrumming with need.
“Take yer bra off,” he rasps and his voice sends another shiver down her spine.
Beth slowly reaches back to unclasp her bra with trembling fingers, letting it fall down onto the floor. She’s aware her breasts are small and she almost wants to hide, like she has so many times before, reflexively, after Jimmy and the way he used to comment on her body.
But then Daryl pushes her long, blonde hair back over her shoulder, slides his fingers down her chest and cups one of her tits.
“Fuck,” he exhales. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”
She squirms, almost, but whimpers instead when he pinches her nipple gently and smoothes his rough palm over it right after.
Daryl chuckles. A deep, dark tenor vibrating through his chest.
“Y’ like that?”
“Yeah—” she manages to breathe out as he does it again, her body leaning into his touch.
Beth bites her lip, the tension inside of her building up quick. Her hands reach out to palm his cock through his black briefs and he moans, his body losing some of its tension as he gets overwhelmed with need, and then he is back to kissing her.
He hauls her forward, groans and licks at her neck as his hand makes its way down to her core. She bites back a moan as his fingers graze the hemline of her panties and starts teasing her, letting his knuckles graze back and forth over the fabric. They both feel how wet she is as he glides his fingers over her fabric-covered pussy. Lets her shiver and shudder with unspent energy until he finally pushes the panty aside.
He groans deep from his throat when he finds her all wet for him, fingertips dipping into her pulsing center, and she keens as his fingers gather her wetness and push through her folds.
“Shit, y’ really want this, don’t ya,” he says. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my fingers, girl.”
He leans back and watches her come undone under his touch. Watches with heavy lids and blown pupils as he pushes a finger inside of her pussy and she grabs at his arms, her head falling into the crook of his neck and she moans. Daryl adds another finger and starts fucking her with his hand, his thick fingers hitting her in just the right spots as he pulls the little oh’s and ah’s from her mouth.
She can feel her climax building inside of her, can feel her own neediness as she pushes in closer.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she pants.
“Yeah?”
His voice is dark and thick with lust.
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “I’m gonna—”
She forgets what she wants to say when he puts his thumb on her clit and starts rubbing, gathering her sticky wetness and making her gasp. Hears him pant into her ear, sweat and perspiration building where their mouths hold on to the other.
“Y’ gonna come for me, girl?”
Her jaw goes slack, another wave of arousal washing over her, pulling her in and spitting her out as she’s coming undone moaning his name, her hands bruising the skin of his flexed arms. He catches her mouth, swallows her breath while her body spasms and licks at her tongue, his fingers flexing inside her pulsing sex.
And she is, pulsing.
Needy.
So much that it hurts and suddenly, he’s too far away. And he can sense it too.
Wants it.
Wants her.
Daryl drags her wobbly limbs down the counter. She barely registers how he turns her around, bends her over and pushes her down, her tits flattening against the cold surface. His hands brush over her back.
Once. Twice.
“Got a nice ass,” he says as he palms it and gives it a good squeeze.
She can’t help but smirk and glance over her shoulder. Glances at the man behind her. Her smile falls and she bites her lip because she realises he is about to fuck her.
He grabs her and grinds his cock into her pussy from behind. Grinds and gives her sensitive clit delicious friction as the cotton rubs back and forth over the wetness. She can feel he is huge and Beth’s breath becomes shallow.
“Fuck me, Daryl,” she begs.
That and the desperate noise she makes seem to push him over the edge and beyond control.
He pushes her underwear down so fast she can hear the fabric rip, can feel him pull down his own, and her stomach churns with excitement.
He digs into her soft flesh, and exhales the air sharply through his nose. “Gonna get a condom,” he says.
She reaches out and grabs the hem of his shirt before he can get away.
“I’m on the pill, actually.”
He swallows heavily, and she can feel his presence behind her, can see the flex of his muscles and the tendons in his neck as his hands cup her ass again.
“Y’ sure? I mean…you’re okay with that?”
He looks so concerned for her in that moment that Beth’s heart skips for an entirely different reason.
“Just fuck me already, Dixon,” she grins. “I don’t have all day, you know.”
She bites her lip in jest as she looks over her shoulder.
He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh.
“Bossy, huh?”
“U-huh. Y’ gonna do me or—”
Beth chokes on her words as the head of Daryl’s cock teases her wet slit, one hand on her ass while he uses the other to rub his hard-on back and forth over her clit with intent before he pushes into her without hesitation.
They both moan in unison as his thick cock stretches her walls and finally gives her relief.
He leans down, caging her body with his. She shivers as she feels his tongue lick over her neck, feels him graze his teeth along her skin.
“So fuckin’ warm and tight for me,” he whispers hoarsely, and the gush of his breath against her ear sends a fresh wave of arousal down her spine.
She feels hot. Like she is burning up, her heart thumping against where her ribcage is pressed against the counter. Burns up where his hands curl around her waist as he lets his cock slide out all the way before he thrusts back into her, slow and careful at first, holding her trapped under his body as he slowly picks up the pace and finds a rhythm.
He starts thrusting into her pussy in earnest. Grunting out with every hit, making her clench with every sound he makes. She can feel the edge of the counter digging into her hip bones, knows his hands will leave marks on her body, but she’s so far gone that she doesn’t care. She wants it to hurt, wants him to mark her.
Beth's eyes squeeze shut while her lips part when he hits her deep. Hits her in a way that sets her insides on fire.
“Oh my god—” she sputters.
She shoves her hips back to meet him, to urge him on, and Daryl leans back, the new angle giving him more leverage as he fucks her, skin slapping everytime he thrusts.
“Your cock feels so good, Daryl. Ah—”
Beth’s nails dig into his forearm for something to hold onto as he speeds up. He makes a content sound, something between a hum and air gushing out of his nostrils sharply.
“Fuckin’ love hearin’ y’ say my name,” he says.
She twists her head, her whole body shaking with every impact as he pounds her. He’s biting his lip, brows furrowed, veins popping out on his forehead. And his eyes never leave hers, like he wants to burn the image of her into his mind.
Before she knows it, he’s back over her.
“C’mere, girl,” he grunts.
His lips are hungry when he twists her body up, kisses her and claims her mouth. His biceps reach under her body, one hand cupping her tit and squeezing. He holds her like this, relentlessly thrusting into her, fucking her so good she doesn’t know any other words than his name and the sounds of her own pleasure slowly warping into an incoherent harmony of grunts and high pitched moans.
There is fire building in her tummy, reaching all the way up to where her heart muscle pounds against her chest, the air forced out of her lungs in a sob with every movement and Beth is sure she’s never been so close to losing her mind—
“Shit—Daryl I’m—”
Suddenly the doorbell rings.
It's like a gunshot through the lewd sounds they're making and it jerks them out of their rhythm. Daryl stills for a moment and Beth collects herself as much as possible with him being inside of her. Before she can say anything, it rings again. She glances back at him in question.
Daryl seems to think for a brief second, before he makes up his mind and picks her up so that her back is pressed to his chest and his head is right on the side of hers, both arms curling around her to hold her up—so tight she wouldn’t be able to escape. She can’t hold back the moans when Daryl starts hitting her deep but tantalizingly slow.
It rings again.
Then there is a knock.
“That must be Rosita,” she manages to say in between thrusts.
Daryl hums knowingly, the hand palming one of her breasts starting to move, his calloused palm massaging her hardened nipple while his lips find the side of her neck and she yields—the hot tingling washing over her body and up to her scalp.
“Ah—Aren’t y’ gonna…open?” She mumbles.
He chuckles. Snorts, almost, and catches her lips, bends her neck like he wants to, and the way he kisses her is just like he is fucking her: slow, tongue licking over her lip as he murmurs thickly, “Why? Y’ want me to?”
Beth shakes her head. That’s the last thing she wants. In fact, she’s both thrilled and surprised he doesn’t care more.
“Just don’ want y’ to get in trouble,” she presses out.
“Already in trouble, girl,” he says and Beth knows he means that he’s currently fucking his friend’s little sister. “So why don’t y’ be a good girl now and let me make you come all over my cock, how’s that sound? Mh?”
His voice is a rough presence in her ear and Beth's eyes close shut from the shudder that runs through her body. The arm that’s grabbing her by the waist slides down between her legs and his fingers find her wet cunt. She jerks but Daryl keeps her in place as he starts rubbing her clit. The pressure of his cock pounding her simultaneously from behind builds up the tension in her gut so fast she forgets what she wants to say and holds on to him where she can as he keeps fucking her like he owns her body.
“Y’ feel so fuckin’ good Beth,” he groans in her ear. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.”
“Oh—yes—fuck, I want you to,” she cries out.
Her needy little sounds turn into full blown sobs as he starts rutting in and out of her hard and fast, skin slapping, his guttural sounds filling her ear—the doorbell long forgotten.
It only takes another moment for her to overflow with pressure and she seizes up against him with a helpless cry, her whole body exploding with pleasure.
“Fuuck—” He moans behind her, deep and almost animalistic as he jerks out of rhythm and holds her tight while he comes inside of her.
He drops his head on her shoulder and they both pant heavily as they stand, coming down from their orgasms, tangled up in one another. She can feel the sweat beneath where he is pressed to her skin, her heart beating frantically against her chest.
She hisses slightly when Daryl slowly but surely slips out of her and untacks himself from her. He presses a kiss to the curve of her neck, mutters something that the blood rushing in her ears obfuscates and then disappears without another word into the hall.
The minutes roll by as she stands there naked and her stomach sinks as all her insecurities enter the room. A fear creeps into Beth's mind—some sort of—post nut clarity. Suddenly, she sees herself waiting on Jimmy’s bed while he showers. Sees his annoyed face and hears the shortness in his voice.
Immediately, she starts picking up her clothes and scrambles to put them back on. She doesn’t bother to wipe off the cum that’s dripping out of her and bites her lip because—no, she will not feel dirty about this—no matter what.
So what if this might be a one time thing? It’s not like she has a crush on him.
She is just about to button up her pants as she hears footsteps and Daryl appears in the doorway with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He frowns. Beth looks at him like a deer caught in headlights.
“Where do y’ think yer goin’?”
Beth opens her mouth and stutters.
“I—Uh—I thought you might want me to, uh—to go.”
Daryl huffs.
“I ain’t done with you, girl,” he says and holds up the phone in his hand. “What kind of pizza y’ like?”
Beth feels her whole heart swell, bites her lip and grins.
“Pineapple.”