Rick’s working late tonight, so Daryl was kind of expecting the text message that shows up in his inbox right around ten o’clock, asking him if he can drop by the house for a minute to check in on Beth and the kids. Daryl says yeah, sure, no problem, ’cause it ain’t like he minds doing the guy a favor in the rare instance that he asks for one, and because he has nothing else going on, anyway.
Except he hasn’t even made it halfway to Rick’s before he’s calling bullshit on his own damn self. ’Cause both of those things are true, sure, but neither one of them are the truth, and the truth is that he ain’t about to pass up on an opportunity to spend more time with Beth. The voice that lives in the back of his head, the one that sounds an awful lot like Merle, tells him he oughta be ashamed of himself, that he’s gone and gotten himself soundly pussy whipped, but Daryl’s too damn happy to pay it much mind.
Happy. That’s new. He’s been happy before, he supposes, but never for this long at a stretch. It’s all in Beth’s smile, he thinks, in the way it warms him up from the inside out like fine whiskey, in the way the tilt of her pretty pink mouth lingers in his mind long after they’ve said their goodbyes. Like he’s always carrying a little piece of her around with him, and, fuck, since when did he start thinking like a goddamn romance novel? That should piss him off, but, again, he’s too content with his lot in life to give a shit.
Content’s what he’s feeling when he mounts the short flight of steps to Rick’s whitewashed front porch, the bright motion-activated lights flicking automatically on. Content, but excited, too, the kind of excitement that leaves you feeling a little nauseated ’cause it’s so damn strong, every inch of his skin buzzing like he just tongued a live wire, ears thrumming with cicada song and the sound of his own thrumming pulse. He never knew he could feel so many conflicting emotions all at once until he met Beth—never knew a lot of things about himself before she skipped into his life and knocked him fucking sideways.
But he can’t go thinking of that shit right now, ’cause none of it’s gonna happen tonight, so he shoves one jittery hand wrist deep in his pocket like some kinda precautionary measure against poor impulse control and uses the other to knock. It’s long past Judith’s bedtime, and he ain’t about to wake her up with the blare of the doorbell, ’cause it practically takes a horse tranq to get the kid to sleep through the night, and Beth wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he undid all her hard work with the thoughtless push of a button.
It’s probably for the best that he’s got both hands in his pockets, now, because they start twitching like he’s a junkie jonesing for a hit when he gets a good look at Beth.
She’s dressed the same as she usually is, which means she’s dressed fit to send him into an early grave, golden hair bound back in a high ponytail that leaves her long white neck exposed and inviting the press of teeth, the hem of her sky-blue dress flirting with the tops of her freckled knees, nipples standing out clear through thin cotton because, shit, she went without a goddamn bra again today, didn’t she? Girl seems to think her tits are too small for anyone to tell the difference, but Daryl sure as hell can. He’s been able to tell the difference since long before he was allowed to look at her, let alone touch her.
He doesn’t touch her now, even though he’s pretty sure he’s allowed to, doesn’t give in to his itching fingers, because one thing always leads to another with this girl. Doesn’t get on his knees to suck on her little pink nipples or her little pink cunt, either, even though it’s all he can think about for more than five seconds at a time. Shit, goddammit, he’s fucked.
Or decidedly not fucked, if he knows what’s good for him.
“Hiya,” Beth says, polite and cheerful like she is with everyone, but she’s also blushing in a way that’s just for him, ’cause he wasn’t exactly subtle about eyeing her up. She steps aside to let him in and then shuts and locks the door, bare feet tap-tap-tapping up and down polished hardwood. “Mr. Grimes told me you’d be dropping by.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Daryl risks dragging one hand out of his pocket to tug on the ends of Beth’s silky ponytail, because, fuck it, she’s just too goddamn adorable and he’s gotta do something to let out what he’s feeling before he bursts all over the fucking walls. “Everybody tucked in for the night?”
“Everybody but us, anyway.” Her lips tilt into a smirk, and Daryl wants to kiss them until they go soft and slack. “Carl tried to convince me that his dad moved his bedtime back to eleven, but when I said I was gonna check with Mr. Grimes just to be sure, he got real sleepy all of a sudden.”
Daryl lets out an amused huff, and Beth’s smirk spreads into a pleased little grin. She likes making him laugh, for whatever reason, but he gets it. He likes it when she laughs, too. “Guess you showed him, huh?”
Beth makes a gun with her fingers and mimes pulling the trigger. “He oughta know better than to try an’ pull the wool over my eyes. I’ve been babysitting since I was even younger’n him. I’ve seen it all.”
Another laugh tickles in the back of Daryl’s throat, and he coughs to cover it up. Ruffles Beth’s hair ’cause she always wrinkles her nose like an indignant little bunny when he does that, and fuck if that ain’t the cutest shit he’s ever seen. “Yeah, alrigh’, Clint Eastwood. You always been this jaded an’ crusty?”
Daryl knows from the look on Beth’s face that whatever she says next is gonna annoy the fuck out of him. “I dunno. Have you?”
And there it is. He swats her on the ass, and she jumps and giggles and darts out of reach, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes shining all bright like she’s just daring him to do it again. And, goddammit, he fucking wants to, but he knows he can’t, ’cause if he does, shit’s gonna escalate fast.
“Don’t be a goddamn smartass.” He brings his thumb up to his mouth, bites down on the nail and sucks on the tip even though he’d much rather be sucking on something else. “You want me to stick around for a while or what?”
He shouldn’t be asking her that question. He oughta get the hell outta Dodge now that he’s done his duty by Rick, is what he oughta be doing, but, nah. God forbid he do the sensible thing for once in his sorry fucking life.
But Beth’s smile is pretty enough to almost make the agony he’s putting himself through worth it. Almost. “Want you to stick around for a while, if it ain’t too much trouble.” She wraps her soft little hand around his wrist—shit, goddammit—and tugs his thumb away from his gnawing mouth. Nudges her thumb against his like she don’t even mind that it’s all drenched in his slobber.
To be fair, she’s been all drenched in his slobber plenty of times before, so. Guess a little bit of spit really wouldn’t faze her, would it?
“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Daryl mutters, but his cantankerous tone don’t put her off one bit, ’cause it never fucking does. She just tangles their fingers the way Daryl wants to tangle their legs and leads him into the den, where the lights are all off but the TV’s on and playing some Reese Witherspoon-headed rom-com with the volume turned so low it might as well be on mute.
He thinks about retreating to the relative safety of Rick’s La-Z-Boy, but Beth’d probably just curl up in his lap if he did, so he lets her steer him towards the brown velour couch. And it ain’t like he expected Beth to leave room for Jesus or anything, but he still inhales hard through his nose when she cuddles up so close they’re practically sharing a cushion and slings her leg over his thigh, toes chafing at his calf like she’s tryna play fucking footsy or something.
Daryl wraps a restraining hand around her thigh, which of course turns out to be a big fucking mistake, because her skirt rode up when she sat down, and now he’s touching soft bare skin instead of fabric. His hand twitches spastically, and he tries to scowl at her, but he gets thoroughly distracted by the V of her spread legs, by the draping blue cotton that shapes itself to her strong thighs and the mound of her cunt, and, hand to God, his mouth actually starts fucking watering, saliva pooling up thick beneath his tongue.
Pavlov’s fucking dog, he thinks. That’s you, asshole.
“Knock that shit off,” he tells her, but his voice catches and rasps like he’s been chain smoking all night, and Beth’s already dilated pupils yawn a fraction wider, ’cause she knows what’s going on his head—and, hell, in his pants—when he sounds like that, and she knows what it means for her.
His thumb keeps chafing at her inner thigh, too, following the snaking line of her femoral artery. Fuck, if he’s gonna tell her to behave, then he oughta lead by example, oughtn’t he? Except he can’t seem to do that. Can’t seem to do anything but touch her like his life depends on it, and hell if it don’t feel that way sometimes.
Beth tilts her head, sharp little chin digging into his bunched shoulder. She’s actually got the goddamn nerve to bat her baby blue eyes at him, long lashes fluttering hard enough to kick up a little breeze that Daryl can feel stirring against his throat.
“Knock what off?” she drawls, slow and sweet as warm molasses, so obviously exaggerated that Daryl wouldn’t buy it even if he didn’t know her any better. “Can’t I cuddle with my man?”
Her man. It’s almost enough to distract Daryl, hearing her call him that, just ’cause it sounds so goddamn good. He never wanted to belong to anybody before, but this girl could snap a collar ’round his neck with a laser-engraved tag that reads Property of Beth Greene, and he probably wouldn’t think to complain.
He ain’t complaining right now, exactly, but, fuck, they gotta be smart about this. “Don’t you play dumb with me, girl. Ain’t fuckin’ around with you when there’s kids in the house.”
“You have before,” Beth reminds him, mouth pushing into an exaggerated pout so he can see the shiny inner rims of her lips, one hand smoothing up his chest and coming to rest over his thrumming heart in a gesture that’s somehow even more possessive than a tagged collar locked ’round his throat.
And, motherfuck, but she’s got him there. Sure, it was in a rented beach house and not Rick’s actual house, but that’s just semantics, ain’t it? He fucked Beth silly on a pullout couch while their friends and family slept one floor away from them, and it’s only by the grace of a God Daryl doesn’t even believe in that no one heard them going at it.
Well. Maybe no one. That Jimmy kid still looks at Daryl all funny sometimes, like he might’ve heard more than either of them would be comfortable with him hearing, but Daryl can’t think about that right now. Or ever.
“Yeah, well, I ain’t doin’ it again, y’hear?” He ain’t gonna call their first time a mistake, because nothing to do with Beth could ever rightly be called that, but it’s not a risk he’s willing to take a second time. “Rick sent me over here t’look after you an’ the kids, an’ I ain’t fuckin’ you in the man’s goddamn house, for Christ’s sake.”
“Alright,” Beth says, easy as that, a contrite frown replacing her pout. She drops her head down on his shoulder, curls her fingers against his chest. “I ain’t gonna push you into somethin’ you don’t wanna do. I’m real sorry if I made it seem that way.”
Daryl gets a pinch in his chest when she says that, because, fuck, doesn’t she get it? It ain’t that he doesn’t wanna do it; it’s that he damn well knows he shouldn’t. But Beth’s looking all sad now, not ’cause she’s disappointed—although disappointment might factor into it a little bit—but because she thinks she made him uncomfortable or some shit, and that he’s just too much of a fucking pushover for her to say so out loud.
Fuck that noise. He ain’t no pushover, and everything he’s ever done with this girl, he’s done because he wanted to do it, because he wants her in ways he’s never wanted anyone before in his entire goddamn life. And if she still doesn’t get that, then he’ll just have to work harder at showing her, won’t he?
Even if it means taking another dumbass risk. Hell. He should start keeping a tally or something.
“Hey.” He strokes his hand up her thigh, gets it tucked under that rucked-up skirt. Curls his other hand around her neck, feels her pulse pick up beneath the press of his thumb. “Y’gotta be quiet, alright? Can ya do that for me?”
That soft pink mouth trembles. Daryl kisses it, sucks up the taste of her pumpkin spice Chapstick just ’cause he wants to, because he’s allowed to. Her lips shape a question against his. “I thought—I thought you didn’t want—”
Nope. Daryl kisses the hesitance right out of her mouth, like if he crams his tongue far enough down her throat, there won’t be any room left for her doubts. How the fuck can she doubt him, anyway? Hasn’t he made it goddamn clear that he’s never wanted anybody the way he wants her, and that he never fucking will again? He breaks off from kissing her lips just to suck on the soft vulnerable spot beneath her ear, rumbling what he wants to say into the skin he intends to mark up.
“Toldja to be quiet, didn’t I? Huh? You gonna mind me, girl?”
Jesus Christ, who even knew he had it in him to think this kinda shit, let alone say it out loud? But Beth likes it, and he’s a real simple guy, so if she’s happy, he’s happy.
She’s happy right now, he knows she is, because a contented little hum sings in her throat right up against his mouth, and she nods, fast, damp chin bumping his cheek and ruffling his beard. Her fingers snag in his hair, the rounded tips of her polished nails scratching his scalp in a way that makes him tingle all over, and then she just fucking mounts him, soft little tits rubbing up on his chest, her hot pussy lining up with his dick.
Goddamn, this girl’s got a way of going after what she wants. He still can’t believe that what she wants is him, but it ain’t like he’s complaining, no siree.
Couldn’t complain even if he wanted to, not around the mouthfuls of Beth he keeps taking, first her sweet little lips and then the long line of her throat, not even giving a fuck about hickeys because it ain’t like there aren’t ways of covering that shit up, and because maybe a very fucked-up part of him wants her to go around town wearing a necklace of love bites like a string of pearls just in case some asshole goes getting ideas.
“Hmmm.” Beth’s fingers sink deeper into his hair; she tilts her head and suckles on his earlobe the way he wants to suck on her clit, and, fuck, he’s gonna. “What’s in it for me, though? You gonna gimme a reward if I’m good, Daddy?”
Oh, fuck. Daryl’s hands flex on her hips, fingers sinking into all that soft flesh like a predator’s claws, unable to stifle the groan that rumbles in his chest if his life depended on it. Fucking her in Rick’s living room is one thing; he can’t hear her call him that and be expected to keep it down. He can’t fucking do this.
He can’t, but his dick seems to think he can, anyway. Damn thing was already halfway to hard, but it went stiff as a rod as soon as she called him that in that breathy little sex voice of hers.
“All’s m’gonna do is spank your ass raw, you don’t fuckin’ quit it.” He says it all harsh like the warning it is, but his hands are gentle, almost fucking reverent—because why wouldn’t they be, when he’s touching her?—when he slides them up her waist and smooths them over her arms, when he drags down her spaghetti straps so her firm little tits pop out, white as mounds of vanilla ice cream topped by the fat red cherries of her nipples, ripe and waiting for his slavering mouth.
He barely even gets to suck on them, though, before Beth’s sliding out of his lap and onto the floor, kneeling between his legs and getting his belt unbuckled and his pants unzipped in the time it takes his sex-addled brain to catch up to what the fuck she’s doing. She blinks up at him, all doe eyed in a way that half turns him on, half makes him deeply uncomfortable, pretty face striped by the blue light coming off the TV. She parts her lips and dips her chin, and Daryl wraps his hand around the base of her frazzled ponytail, nudges her back up so she’s looking at his face and not the leaking bulge in his shorts.
“Fuck’re you doin’?”
Beth tilts her head, strands of corn silk hair dragging through Daryl’s fingers. He loosens his grip a little, so he doesn’t accidentally pull on her. “What’s it look like I’m doin’, Daddy?”
Jesus. Christ. Putting aside the fact that her calling him that’s almost enough to make him come without any direct stimulation to his dick, he’s not sure if he wants this to go where she obviously intends it to go. He can hear Merle scoffing at him, saying, Some man you are, don’t want his girl suckin’ him off, the fuck you think your dick’s for anyways, but the fact is the notion of putting Beth in that position discomfits the hell out of him. She can’t get off on it, for starters, and that’s all he really cares about, is getting her off. His pleasure’s secondary. Hell, it’s tertiary.
And for another thing, well—he knows this is bullshit, knows it ain’t degrading or nothing so long as she wants to do it, but he’s seen too many men use too many women like this to not associate the act with some deeply fucked-up shit.
He shakes his head and nudges her off of him, and before any sort of hurt expression can blossom on her face, he follows her down to the floor, knees biting uncomfortably into the hardwood, but who even cares about that shit when he’s spreading Beth Greene out on her back and licking her cute little titties the way he wanted to before she went and derailed him.
He’s never really understood the point of throw pillows, but he makes use of them now, snagging two off the couch and tucking one under Beth’s head while the other goes beneath her ass. She stretches and smiles and spreads her legs without prompting, making room for him to settle between them. He flips up the front of her skirt, tucks his fingers in her pink panties’ waistband.
And, Jesus Christ, of course they’re fucking pink. Pink like her nipples, pink like her pussy.
But, right, shit. He’s got something needs saying before he gets to eating that pussy like he wants to, like he fucking needs to. And the sooner he says it, the sooner he can get down to doing exactly that.
“You make too much noise an’ m’gonna stop, y’hear me?” He means it, too. This ain’t some power play, or not just that, ’cause if she gets too loud the way she does sometimes—all the time—he really will have to stop unless he wants to wake up the kids.
And he fucking does not wanna do that, for, Jesus, so many reasons.
But Beth’s a good girl, his good girl, so she nods, the static in her hair sticking the ends of her ponytail to the throw pillow. “Yeah, Daddy,” she whispers, flushing as she says it, and Daryl palms himself through his shorts, stifling a groan that could wake the dead, let alone two notoriously light sleepers.
He lets his cock go after taking a second to try and compose himself and palms Beth’s knees instead, spreading them even farther apart as he looks her over. The crotch of her pink fucking panties is filmed over with slick, the damp cotton clinging to her pussy lips and hugging them so close they may as well not be covered at all.
Daryl rubs two fingers up and down those fat, pretty lips, thumb seeking out the push of her hard clit and making her writhe around on the floor, his every fantasy—because every last one of those fantasies have only ever been about her—rolled into one beautiful reality. And he wants to tease her some more, because it serves her fucking right for riling him up, but he’d only be torturing himself if he did. He needs to get his mouth on that sweet pussy; he’s practically fucking gagging for it.
So he tugs her panties off, and he ain’t gentle about it—so very not gentle that he’s surprised when he doesn’t tear a seam. Beth suppresses a whine, legs sawing, and something like an epiphany hits Daryl square between the eyes. He balls her wet panties up, presses them against her lips, and her eyes flare wide with confusion before darkening with arousal.
She gets it. Of course she does. More than that, she’s on board with it, because she’s fucking perfect. She’s perfect for him.
“G’on,” he says, so turned on it comes out sounding gruff even though he means to be gentle. “Open on up.”
He’s not gonna make her. He knows it and she knows it, but still, he nearly backpedals when she hesitates—fuck, did he read her wrong?—the strengthening smell of her arousal diverting his attention, plugging up his nostrils like perfume and making him all the more desperate to get his tongue up her pussy. Fuck, screw this anyway, he doesn’t even know what the fuck he was thinking—
Beth’s jaw loosens, and her lips part, and she’s letting him stuff her panties in her mouth. And, fuck, Daryl has to palm himself again when he thinks about the aftertaste of her own arousal that must be spreading across her little pink tongue at this very second.
Jesus fucking Christ, it’s just as well that he’s never liked porn, because the sight of Beth like this would ruin it for him forever if he did.
He squeezes his dick through his shorts one last time, then spreads himself out on his stomach, barely fucking able to fit his shoulders between Beth’s legs even though they’re spread as wide as they’ll go, so wide that her thighs have started to tremble from the strain. He gets his face poised right over her pretty pussy and inhales that salty sweet musk through his parted lips, combing the pubic hair that’s been crushed flat by her panties out of the way so he can get an unobstructed view of her puffy cunt.
And, fuck him, what a goddamn view it is. He licks his lips reflexively as he takes her in, her clit that’s pushing out from under its hood, fat and round as a pearl, pink and naked like the head of a cock. The crinkly folds of her cunt are dark like the center of a rose, plump like a cream-filled cake, a treat that Daryl absolutely intends to sink his teeth into.
He’s gonna, but first he’s gotta savor her like the luxury she is, so he presses his nose up against the crux of her cunt and inhales deep, the smell of her so strong he can fucking taste it even though he hasn’t gotten his tongue on her yet. She whimpers around her improvised gag, sinks her fingers into his hair and scratches his scalp, collecting oil beneath her pretty polished nails.
“Uh-uh.” Daryl turns his face into the crease of her muscular thigh, rubbing his stubble against her pussy lips and getting them all scratched up like her cheeks when they kiss, smearing the musky smell of her over his beard. “We’re doin’ this my way, girl, or we ain’t doin’ it at all. You got me?”
He glances up the length of her body, past her tits and towards her face, catches her nod. Her pupils are so wide they’ve eclipsed all but the thinnest rings of blue, and Daryl feels like he’s staring through them straight to the very heart of her, like he’s seeing something that no one else has ever gotten to see.
Fuck, but that’s almost as hot as the smell of her cunt in his nose. Hotter, even. Hot enough to make his dick pulse and spit out a glob of pre-come so thick it leaks right through his shorts.
She’s gonna kill him for real one of these days. She really goddamn is.
“Good girl,” he mumbles, lipping at the fatty upper mound of her cunt even as his eyes stay pinned to her face. It still embarrasses him a little to say shit like this, but it’s worth the look in her eyes, worth her hitched breath and her clinging fingers. He wraps his hands around her thighs to hold her open wide, drops a light kiss onto her wet lips. “Tha’s my good girl, c’mon. Open up f’r me sweetheart, g’on.”
Beth’s moan hums in her throat, shivers down her body like the resonance from a tuning fork, and that moan only gets louder when Daryl sticks out his tongue and runs it over her clit, pressure too light to be anything but a tease. He tongues that hard little bead some more when her legs try to clench, wraps his lips around it and gives a long, indulgent suck, and her heels knock against his back, dig into his spine. She makes a noise around her gag, something that sounds a lot like his name.
Fuck, goddammit, he wishes they didn’t have to be quiet. Wishes he could hear that sweet high voice bouncing off the goddamn ceiling.
He can’t. He fucking can’t. But he will. After this, he’s taking her back to his place—she can tell her folks she’s staying at a friend’s; he doesn’t fucking care—and then he’ll get to hear as much of that pretty voice as he damn well wants.
He releases her clit, roots down deeper between her legs, pushing into the wet little hollow that’s nestled between her protruding lips and drinking her come like he’s drinking from a well in the desert, getting her slippery cunt even slipperier with the ropes of his spit. Not that she needs his help, to be honest; she’s already fucking soaked, more and more of the stuff pouring out of her pussy and into his mouth, and maybe sticking that throw pillow beneath her ass was a bad idea, after all, because at this rate she’s gonna drip right through her skirt and all over the polyester.
Daryl spares a moment to wonder if Rick’ll notice one of his throw pillows going missing, but then Beth’s fingers scrape over his scalp and tug on his hair like she’s trying to coax him back to her clit, and all he can think about anymore is eating her pussy.
Sometimes it feels like all he can ever think about is eating her pussy.
“So fuckin’ wet, Beth.” He slurs it into her cunt, forces the words out between long hard laps of his tongue, and he doesn’t even know if she can understand him like this, but the scrape of his sex-wrecked voice alone must be doing something for her, because her fingers squeeze rhythmically against the crown of his skull every time he talks. “So fuckin’ good for me.” He sucks on her clit the way he likes to suck on her neck, then lets off the suction for a second to part her lips with his tongue. “Gonna let me eat this pussy whenever I want, ain’t ya?” He drops a wet kiss onto her thigh, right over her throbbing artery. “Huh? Y’gonna?”
“Mhmmm,” Beth hums, ’cause that’s all she can really do with that gag in her mouth. And she’s being a good girl, so Daryl peels his hand off her thigh and sinks two fingers into her clutching pussy, grinds his thumb against her clit and then tilts it aside to suck on her some more, alternating back and forth until she’s panting, until she’s trembling, until one long hard suck finally draws her orgasm right out of her.
And she fucking seizes up like she’s been electrocuted, belly trembling, thighs quaking, a long guttural groan tearing out of her throat as she fucking gushes right into his mouth, holy fucking shit.
Fuck. Holy goddamn fuck.
Daryl rears back, not in disgust—never in disgust—but in blindsided arousal, dick kicking in his shorts as he processes the fact that his girl just squirted all over his fucking face.
And Beth—Beth hasn’t even come all the way down, hasn’t even stopped trembling, before she’s ripping her panties out of her mouth, fingers tracing the edge of Daryl’s jaw as she mops up the moisture that’s dripping in ropes off his beard. He’s never seen her turn this red before, not even in the thick of sex, and she almost looks like she’s crying.
What the fuck? Why?
“Daryl, m’sorry—I dunno what—”
Fuck. Has she never done this before? Is this all ’cause of him?
Honestly, it’s a wonder he’s yet to literally cream his shorts over this girl. One day, probably.
But he can’t have her looking like that, so he licks the taste of her off his lips—God, fuck—and shakes his head. “Nah, don’t, s’fine.” It’s a helluva lot more than fucking fine, actually, but it seems to pacify her, anyway, and she lies back against her pillows, trembling fingers circling her clit as she tries to prolong her aftershocks. Daryl rears back on his knees, pushes his jeans and shorts down and pulls his throbbing dick out. He takes himself in hand, thinking about jerking off onto Beth’s tits, but now she’s the one who’s shaking her head.
“Nah, don’t, I—I wanna—”
Daryl’s toes curl in his fucking boots. He ain’t got no condoms in his wallet because he genuinely didn’t come over here expecting to get laid, but Beth can’t mean—
She seems to take a bracing sort of breath. Sticks out her chin. “I can pick up some morning after pills on the way home.”
No. Yeah. That’s exactly what she means.
If Daryl had any sense left in his empty skull, he’d say no, no fucking way is he gonna risk it, ’cause, sure, they’re both clean, but even if he pulls out his pre-come still has a small chance of knocking her up, and his dick’s leaking that shit like a broken faucet.
But then Beth hooks her leg around his, runs the heel of her foot up his calf and looks at him from under drowsy lids like she’s thinking about how it would feel to take him bare, and then she fucking destroys him with a one-hit K.O. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Daryl folds like a cheap fucking suit, because fuck it, you know? Just fuck it. If this is what she wants, then he’s gonna give it to her. He’ll give her anything she wants.
“Alright, fuck, alright.” He gets her pretty dress the rest of the way off so she’s spread out totally naked for him, pushes one of her legs back and uses his free hand to steady his dick and point it at her gaping cunt. His eyes flutter open and shut as he rubs his shaft up and down her slippery pussy, gets her spongy opening lipping at the flushed head of his dick. This much, he’s felt before, but he’s never felt what’s coming next, and he’s practically sick with the anticipation of it all.
But if he thought the anticipation was gonna kill him, that’s fucking nothing compared to how it feels to push into her without a thin layer of latex between them, and it can’t prepare him for how hot she is, how sticky, can’t get him braced for the way she drools all over his dick. She seizes up around him like she’s gonna come again, and he had a lot of nerve telling her to keep her trap shut when he’s the one who sounds like he’s dying, now.
Shit. Motherfucking shit. He can’t—he can’t do this. He’s gonna bust a nut right this fucking instant—
And you’d think that looking at Beth’s face right now would only be counterproductive, that’d it push him that much closer to coming too soon, but seeing her pink cheeks, her fluttering lashes, her slack mouth, seeing how much she’s blatantly fucking enjoying this—it makes him want to draw this out for her. Makes him want to give her as much as he can. So he puts the agonized pressure simmering in his gut and his balls on lockdown and sits back on his haunches, gets her long legs pretzeled around his waist. Fucks her slow, so agonizingly goddamn slow, because, right, they gotta be fucking quiet.
Quiet, right, but that doesn’t stop him from talking to her, doesn’t stop him from murmuring filth that’s just barely drowned out by the hum of noise coming off the TV.
“Y’ever let anybody else fuck ya like this before?” He knows she hasn’t, knows she hardly fucked anyone at all before him, same as he hardly fucked anyone before her, but he still wants to hear her say it, still wants the affirmation. He digs his blunt fingernails into her thighs, watches her pussy lips clench around the slow smooth glide of his dick, all shimmery wet with her come. “Y’ever let anybody ’sides your daddy fuck ya raw like this, huh?”
“N-no, no, ohGod.” Beth folds one hand over her mouth and tangles the other in her hair, face scrunched up like she’s in pain even though she’s feeling the exact opposite. “No, Daddy, I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I don’t want anybody else fuckin’ me like this, God.”
“What I tell you ’bout that dirty mouth’a yours, huh?” He brushes her hand aside, slicks his thumb into her mouth and holds down her tongue, feels her drool all over his hand, feels the hard jut of her teeth. The taste of her’s still smeared all over his mouth, and it only seems to be getting stronger the more he talks. “Gonna spank the skin right off your ass, you don’t watch what you say ’round me.”
Beth’s cunt seizes up even tighter around him, sweet constriction that he can feel like a pinch in his chest. She moans around his thumb, slurs, “I won’, Daddy, I won’, m’sorry.”
“Y’fuckin’ will be,” he grunts, working his hips harder despite himself, and, fuck, he’s gotta slow down, but he can’t, he can’t stop chasing how it feels to have her hot sticky cunt flexing all around his dick, can’t look away from the sight of it pushing in and out of her, shiny with her come, the come he can taste on his tongue and smell on his beard. She’s all over him, and he wants to be all up in her, not just his dick but his spunk, so she can still feel him even when he’s gone soft, feel him dripping out of her, white and viscous and nasty—
“Gonna let me come in you?” What—what the fuck is he saying? What the fuck? “Gonna let me come in this pussy, huh? S’my pussy, ain’t it, girl? You gonna let your daddy come in this cunt, ain’t you? Ain’t you?”
Beth grunts. Her fingers find her clit, circle it hard as her eyes roll back in her fucking head. “Uh-huh. Want you—want you to come in me, Daddy, wanna feel it, c’mon.”
Oh, fuck. Daryl rears back and drags her with him, gets her straddling his lap like she had the first time they fucked, the first time she called him Daddy and made him come so hard he went half blind. Her strong smooth legs bracket his hips, her open mouth drools all over his shoulder. Her fingers tear at his buttons, rip open his sweat-soaked shirt, gets the hair on his chest rubbing all up on her tits.
And she’s squealing into the crook of his neck, calling him Daddy while he calls her his good girl, so fuckin’ good, and her cunt flexes into another orgasm, slurping the come out of his dick, and he’s fucking wheezing, would be bent double if Beth weren’t in the way, coming all up in her pussy, getting them both so goddamn dirty, and he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die right here and he won’t even mind.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He can’t feel his fucking legs anymore, anyway, so he lies Beth down and spreads himself out on top of her, working his come deeper into her cunt with lazy pushes of his hips, aftershocks rippling through him at the filthy squelch they make together. The throw pillow that was under her hips’s been knocked to one side, and it definitely smells like pussy.
Yeah. He’s burning that shit.
He doesn’t wanna pull out, but his dick’s going soft so he has to, and he groans all over again at the sight of his come leaking out of her with every twitch of her shuddering cunt, dripping into the crack of her ass and onto the hardwood floor.
“Whoops,” Beth mumbles, content and drowsy. Of course she’s content; the goddamn brat got exactly what she wanted. “Gonna hafta mop that up ’fore Rick gets home, huh, Daddy?”
Jesus Christ. Just. Jesus Christ. “You’re trouble, girl,” he grumbles, but he kisses the bolt of her jaw when he says it.
“But I’m your trouble,” Beth reminds him, her grin unrepentant, and, yeah.
She is, though, ain’t she? She really goddamn is.