53. Say My Name

'I don't know what love is;
teach me, show me,
make me feel
what love is.'
-georgy

*18+ MATURE CONTENT*
⤐

Zeppelin knew she was dreaming when she realized she could see her mother.. but not really see her.

She stood in the kitchen, deeply inhaling a cigarette that had already been burned down to the filter. Her mother tossed it in the sink, letting it sizzle out as she threw a few tubes of lipstick in her purse and slung it over her shoulder. When she turned, her face was there, but blurry.. out of focus, like looking at a picture of it while underwater.

Her mother always said Zeppelin looked just like her father and that she hated it, with the dark and wild curls, auburn freckles dotted across the sharp angles of her face, and eyes the color of a forest in spring. Vastly different from the stick-straight, mousy brown hair her mother kept streaked with golden highlights framing her heart-shaped face.

Her pale blue eyes narrowed in on her daughter cowering under her emotionless gaze.

Her mother jumped, startled to see her daughter standing in the doorway behind her. From the height of the rusted appliances around her and the angle of her neck, as she tilted her gaze to meet her mother's, she must be a child again, her matured mind trapped in this spindly body with weak arms and knobby knees.

"Ugh, Zeppelin, don't just stand behind me like that. It's creepy." Her mother rolled her eyes and adjusted the straps of her hot pink push-up bra, the neon fabric peeking out over the tight black dress. "I'm goin' out. There's some pizza in the box on the counter."

"What about him?" Her voice was small again, easily cracked, and barely above a whisper.
Her mother's stormy eyes darted to the recliner where her husband lounged, his head lolling to the side in a drunken stupor.

"Oh, he's out cold, honey. Wouldn't be no fun anyway," she drawled and tossed her hair over her exposed shoulder. "Help him get upstairs, though. He stays in that chair all night, he'll wake up in a pissy mood, and we'll both have to deal with it." Without another glance at either of them, she held her chin high and walked straight out, the door clicking softly behind her.

Zeppelin was left to her own devices, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary anyway. But something felt different this night.. significant.

She rubbed her thin arms to ward off an imaginary chill and took a few steps toward her stepfather's direction. His eyelids had fluttered closed, though she could see his eyes moving behind them in a dream-like state. She stood beside him now, holding her breath against the stink of whiskey she could smell rolling off his breath even from here.

One tap on his shoulder, he didn't respond. Then another. Still no answer, no sign of movement.

"Frank," she whispered, and some inner part of her that was still conscious of the fact that this was a dream recoiled at the name. The word escaping her lips felt like acid dripping from her tongue, like stuffing cotton into her esophagus. "Wake up. Mom says you should go to the bed."

He twitched then, snorting a choked inhale as he startled awake. His eyes darted wildly for a moment before they fell on her, tiny and frail in his radar. He grunted a response and raised a shoulder, brushing off whatever thoughts were running through his small, weak mind as he clicked off the TV and pulled himself out of the chair.

He swung an arm around her shoulder, and she shuddered in disgust at the contact. Still, she helped him hobble to the stairs and up to the bedroom. She looked down, remembering he twisted his ankle at work just a week ago. She remembered her mom accusing him of doing it on purpose to get the workman's comp check.

She struggled under his massive body weight as he barely held himself up on the banister, leaning onto her almost wholly when they finally reached the landing, and Zeppelin shoved open his and her mom's bedroom door. It used to be her grandmother's room, pristine and fresh, with flowery wallpaper and a faint trace of Chanel No. 5. That was before they forced Nan to move into an assisted living facility, now it belonged to them.

And they ruined it. Just like everything they touched.

Her stepfather plopped onto the fading maroon quilt and let out a deep sigh, folding his hands over his stomach. She grimaced at his house slippers resting on top of the bed, filthy with the mud he trekked in from the backyard, and remembered how much her grandmother despised shoes on the beds. She hesitantly took another step closer to him, softly slipping off his shoes carefully in the hope that she could go on unnoticed.

  His sick little chuckle affirmed that she would not be that lucky. Before she could turn away, he snagged her by the wrist and twisted her around, forcing her to look directly into his searing gaze. His drool-dripped mouth cocked in a grin as his grip on her arm tightened.

"Ain't you supposed to take my clothes off now too?"

"No!" Zeppelin shrieked and surged out of her place on the couch, ignoring the searing pain in her ribs and head as she fought to catch her ragged breaths.

Those breaths came harder and faster as she searched for anything familiar, anything for her brain to latch onto as reality in her unfamiliar surroundings. She heard a slight choking cough forced out through soft cries and realized those noises came from her. The world was closing in around her, the dark walls swirling into adamant black.

Then warm, rough hands were on her face, in her hair. And everything froze.

"Hey, Ace, it's okay, shh.." Daryl whispered, his rumbling voice like a purr. "Come back to me, come back." Even in the darkness, she could make out each detail of his face, every line and dot and feature. She could find his face in a crowd of thousands; she could see him even if she was blind.

He was simply a part of her now.

Her chest finally slowed, though her heartbeat was still racing as one of his hands cupped the side of her face, the other gently stroking a chunk of curls near the base of her skull. His touch... she almost had forgotten what it felt like, how her muscles instantly relaxed under it. Tension escaped from her shoulders and snaked deep into her core, far, far down her abdomen.

"Just a dream," he murmured, trailing a soft finger down the line of her neck. He kept up the calm movements, though she still hadn't been able to do anything more than stare into the darkness. "You're safe."

Safe. An abnormal, otherworldly feeling. One she had never been able to grasp before.. before Daryl.

Without another thought, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed her lips into his, no longer caring that the pressure stung against her split lip. The taste of his mouth against her own was sweeter than any candy. The swirl of his tongue around hers sent a shudder down her spine.

He hadn't kissed her in the hours since they left the Sanctuary, and even now, he held back, not kissing too hard, not grabbing her tender flesh too firmly. Keeping the full extent of his desire on the edge, there was a restrained tension in his muscles. When he pulled away, she could have wept then and there.

"Hmm," he hummed breathily, lazily swiping the pad of his thumb underneath the angle of her jaw. "God, I missed you." His words were soft, a whisper on the wind, almost like he didn't realize he was saying them out loud. His eyes continued their search across her face as if they were soaking in every detail. His roaming hands stayed higher than she wanted them, never drifting lower than her collarbone.

"I missed you." She finally found the strength to speak, though her voice strained against her swollen throat. Her body was still trembling, though now she couldn't tell if it was from the nightmare or his achingly soft touches.

"Why did you do it?" His eyes narrowed, and he winced as his gaze darted down to the gash in her arm. He shifted in his spot on the armchair beside her, leaning closer. "Why did you come for me?"

She was shocked that he would even ask when coming for him had never been a question in her mind. "I had to," she whispered and shifted too, their knees touching and their faces so close their breath intermingled. His warmth enveloped her, wrapping around her veins until the nightmarish chill had dissipated.

"You could've been hurt. You could've been killed. It's my fault, I shouldn't have..." he grumbled and trailed off, his brows knitting together in worry. "I'm not worth it, Zepp."

Her heart ached at the words, slamming into her breastbone. How could he think that? How could he not know? She clutched his hands where they rested against her throat, lacing her fingers into his and pulling them in her lap. "You are everything to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

She knew her words were more vulnerable than ever before, laying her truth out bare for him to see. But another part of her knew he felt the same, saw it in the way he only smiled for her. The way he subtly placed his body between her own and any danger nearby. The small touches, even before they had ever kissed, as if his body ached to be near hers in the same way hers did for him.

He dropped his head, releasing a shaky breath. She freed his hands to put her own under his chin, gently tilting his face to look at her. "I mean it. All of it. If I had to do it all again and go through all the loss and pain, I would. I'd make the same choices that led me to you. You are worth it. You're everything." He looks away again, and she thinks he doesn't believe he's worth much of anything.

"I love you, Zeppelin.." he trailed off in a whisper as if he was afraid to say the words. Or maybe he was just scared of her response since he never gave her the chance to tell him back before.

She couldn't help the grin that spread over her face then, and knew he would see it even in the dim moonlight streaming through the cracks of the blinds. "I love you," she murmured and let her fingers dance over his jawline. "I think I always have." She knew.. knew it was there the whole time.

  Zeppelin had always considered Veronica to be her first love, and there was a time when she thought she would be her only love. But now... she wasn't so sure anymore. She loved V, yes, but in the way children understand love. Butterflies, uncontrollable giggles, the need to be around each other at all times, that anxious rush of a first kiss. What she felt for Daryl...

  It consumed her.

  Daryl cocked his head to the side, like a predator noting a flash of movement in the brush. She felt it then, the way he started to pull away.

  He sucked in a breath and rose to his feet, pacing away from her to stand by the windows and pull the blinds out an inch. He stared outside for what seemed like hours, and every second that passed crushed Zepp's heart a little more.

  "I'm sorry.." he breathed. "What were you dreaming about?"

  She closed her eyes, feeling her heart break one more time at the change in tone, the complete dismissal of her words. She shook it off, sealing a shield around herself as she wrapped the blanket he had laid on her around her shoulders.

  "It was nothing."

  He turned then, and she could barely make him out in the dark. "Don't lie to me." His voice was a speck of dust in the wind, his shoulders tight. She sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself as she shifted on the couch.

Then his words finally clicked.

"Wait, what do you mean you're sorry?" Suddenly, the blanket was too warm. Sweat trickled down her neck, and the scratchy wool irritated her skin, suffocating her. She threw it off her shoulders, rose on shaky legs, and quickly locked her bones in place so he wouldn't see the way they trembled.

He looked back out the window, checking for something that wasn't there. She took a step forward and froze. He moved because he didn't want to be near her, and she should respect that.

  "Daryl.. look at me."

  He didn't budge.

  "Tell me why you're sorry." She couldn't help the crack in her voice, though she hated herself for it.

  His head tilted then, up at the moon. Finally, he brought his gaze to her face. If it was the way her muscles were tense, fingers clenched into fists at her sides, or the stinging tears gathering in her eyes that made him move in a flash, she didn't know. But suddenly, he was across the room, mere inches from her. His hands were on her face again, soft and gentle with an edge of possessiveness.

  "I'm sorry 'cause I'm never gonna stop fucking things up. And you loving me.." His voice broke, too, and she grabbed his hands in her own. "It's all I could ever ask for, but it's just.. it's not good for you. I care about people, and I try to save them, and I... I end up hurting them." He tried to release her grip, to pull away from her again, and she only clung to his fingers tighter.

  "I can fight my own battles, Daryl. I don't need saving. You need to have that trust in me."

  "I trust you." He blew out a long breath. "It's not that.. it's- I," he broke off, the words failing him, but she could see he was trying. A man who never cared enough to offer more than a grunt most times was forcing himself to find the words for her.

She stepped back, pulling him down with her as she gently sat on the couch. His warmth wrapped around her every nerve, soaking into her skin like steam from a hot shower. She waited patiently.

He freed one of his hands to run it along her jaw, over the crooked bone of her nose, the welt in her lip. "Look at you..." he moaned softly. "You did this for me. When I was in that cell, all I could think about was you. I saw your face over and over again, and when I saw you in the hall, it felt like everything stopped. All I could think about was how beautiful you were, and all I could feel was just.. rage.. when I saw the blood, but then, after a while, I realized... I did this to myself. I provoked him.. and only I shoulda had to pay the consequences. You deserve better than that. I've always vowed to put you first, I'm sorry I didn't do that."

"Don't." Zepp's tone came out sharper than she meant, but maybe that's what he needed. "Don't do that. Don't push me away. It won't work. I told you I'm all in, and I meant it.. and I know you did too."

His throat bobbed, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, looking down at his lap. She scooted closer to him, nearly on top of him at this point.

"You have to let go," she pleaded with him. "You have to let go of the guilt you feel. For all of them."

She could see the faces of everyone who met an unfair ending she knew Daryl blamed himself for. Merle's sacrifice, Hershel's execution, Beth's disappearance, Veronica's demise, Denise's murder, Glenn.. there were no words for Glenn.

She could still smell the metallic tang of his blood permeating the air, could still hear Abe's flesh splatting against the barbed bat, could still feel Negan's gaze searing into her like a brand. She gritted her teeth hard and forced the images away. 

  "Maggie..." he croaked, snapping her mind back into the present. "How is she?"

  "Resting, last I saw her. The baby's okay, so.." she trailed off, suddenly finding it very difficult to swallow. "We should go see her. And Rick, too.. I need to talk to him."

He sniffed and let his head droop below his shoulders. He started fidgeting with her fingers, lacing and twisting them through his own, running the pads of them across her knuckles. "We will.. but first, you need to rest. We're not going anywhere till I'm sure you ain't gonna pass out on me."

He leaned back against the couch, the watery moonlight faintly streaking through the blinds, creating soft lines across his face. He pulled her against him and she let her head rest on his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other around her neck.

  "Ya know, you're right.. I meant it," he whispered into her ear. The warmth and vibration snaked a web of chills down her spine, into her core. "When I said I'm all in. But also when I said that I can't lose you. To run when I say and never look back. That's the most important, I need you to understand that. That if it comes down to it, you come first."

His hands stroked lazy circles on the exposed bit of skin between her shirt and jeans, and she felt it hard to concentrate on anything else. "You can hate me for it if you want, there might even be a day when you do, but if you live to see another sunset, then I can accept that."

  "Live together, die together," she argued, like a stubborn ass, though she softly shifted her hips to give him more access to her skin. "You're stuck with me, always." If she had to fight him tooth and nail the rest of their lives to make him see he was worth it, so be it.

  He didn't say anything for a long moment, and she steeled herself for another crushing blow to her heart. But before she could let her thoughts and doubts overreact, he kissed the top of her head and murmured against her hair. "That's not so bad."

  "Promise me something." She absentmindedly picked at the dried blood on her jeans, cringing a little but not enough to move from the fuzzy bubble of his warmth. "If you're scared or worried, or think you need to protect me from something.. just don't push me away. Promise me you'll talk to me."

  His answer was quick this time, with no hesitation holding his tongue.

  "I promise."

⤐

  Daryl didn't know how he could have gotten this lucky. How a piece of shit, no good redneck, drifter asshole, and all the other names people called him, did anything to deserve Zeppelin. She saw every part of himself, the dark and the ugly, and matched it with fierceness flashing in her eyes. She felt the scars marring his back that one beautiful night and did not ask any questions. She accepted him, more than he could even accept himself.

She leaned against him in silence, the two of them squished together on the couch with matching soft breaths in the darkness. He was grateful for the muted dark, though he wanted to see every inch of her; the black eyes and swollen flesh that he could've saved her from made his chest ache and his eyes sting.

  He brushed against her skin every so often, savoring the feeling, or he twirled his fingers through her hair. As long as he was touching her, the demons in his brain quieted their screaming.

  "You should get some rest," he broke the blissful silence reluctantly. "You only slept an hour or two, not enough to cure a head injury."

"I can't sleep," she insisted, though her voice was laced with exhaustion. "Too anxious." True, she had been fidgeting since they sat down, whether it was picking at her clothes or rubbing her own fingers, or occupying her hands by running them up and down the arm he had linked around her waist, she hadn't stopped moving once.

"You gonna tell me what you were dreaming about?" He felt her muscles tense, heard her sharp intake of breath.

"I told you, it was nothin'."

"Didn't you just make me promise not to push you away? To always talk to you?" He raised his brows and continued rubbing slow circles on her hip bone. He waited for her to tell him that he was the reason her sleep was haunted by screaming.

She sighed and rubbed her fists against her eyes like she could rub away her demons. "I saw him.." she whispered. "My stepfather. It was like I was there again, trapped in that house. He.. I couldn't get away." She moved to lean forward, and he released his grip on her waist, though it struck an icy ping in his chest. All he wanted was to keep her there, close to him.

"After Benji.. my mom was gone for most of the time, and I wasn't allowed to go anywhere except school and the backyard. I always wondered if she knew... what.. he did to me. But if she did, she didn't care."

His blood boiled in his veins, red splashes seeping into his vision as the rage overpowered him. He didn't know what to say, if there were even any words he could say now.

You prick. Shoulda just let her keep her dreams to herself like she wanted.

Maybe it was a good thing he didn't know Zepp before all this madness, that he didn't meet her stepfather when she was still so young. He would've been sent to prison for murder a long time ago.

"It never went too far." She turned to him, noting the way he clenched his hands into fists over and over. "But... I see him in my dreams all the time," she continued with her elbows on her knees, staring off into an unknown distance. "I can.. feel him, like he's right next to me."

  She fully twisted to him then, and even in the dark, he could see the tear streaming down her soft cheek.

"The nightmares stopped once... well, after you, I guess. That first night we laid by the fire, and our hands touched all night, remember?" A ghost of a smile whispered across her lips. "I haven't slept since you were taken... I guess my mind was just catching up."

"You got out," he murmured and softly trailed one finger down her arm. "You don't have to worry about him again, or anyone else touching you if you don't want them to. I'll make sure of it." He hoped he could keep that promise, and he knew that if anyone did put their hands on her, he wouldn't be able to control the raging instinct to beat them until they didn't exist anymore. Then that's their own dumbass fault.

  She smiled again, and this time, it reached her eyes. "I've learned to.. accept it, I guess. I don't think I can move on from it, not when I feel him looking over my shoulder every now and then, but I'm okay now, promise. I just wish the dreams would go away.. they're never there when I'm with you, though."

  "My sleep is peaceful, quiet." She paused and sighed deeply. "You're the only one I want touching me," she breathed, leaning back against him and shifting her hips closer. She said it absentmindedly, clearly underestimating how much a sentence like that would affect him. He encircled her with his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head, forcing his breathing to steady itself.

  "I love you," he whispered again. The sentence was so strange to him, foreign on his tongue. But once the words were out the first time, something clicked in his brain and made him want to say it over and over again.

  She leaned further back against him, if she could even get any closer. "I love you." Warmth spread through his chest, to his cheeks, in his head. He felt her everywhere, in his veins, on his flesh. Like a little piece of his soul had melted into her own.

  She stretched her neck from side to side, wincing as the tight cords of muscle strained. Though he had cleaned most of the blood off her face, her arms and clothes were still splattered with flakes of red.

  "There's running water here," he whispered, twirling a strand of her hair around his index finger. "That means showers. Warm water would help calm your nerves, ease your muscles." He could've sworn he heard her heartbeat quicken, though he didn't need to listen to it when he felt it in her veins.

She leaned forward and tilted her head over her shoulder, her long curls cascading down her back and tickling his arm as she looked back at him. "That sounds fucking amazing," she grinned. "I think I saw an oil lamp in one of the kitchen cabinets the last time we were here."

The thought of a hot shower lit a new spark of light in her, and she bounced to her feet, letting her hands link with his own until their arms stretched out, and then she was gone, flitting down the hall to the kitchen. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, letting his gaze wander back to the windows.

The moonlight slicing through the cracks in the blinds reminded him of the faint line of light he was provided within his cell when it felt like the walls were closing in on him. He shook his head fiercely, like he could shake away the memory, and took a deep breath.

Safe. Free. Safe. Free.

Real, real, real.

He'd repeat the words as many times as it took.

Before he could let himself get too deep into his thoughts, Zeppelin returned, the shadow of a lamp in the silhouette of her hand. She held it up triumphantly and paced closer to him, bundling the clothes he set out for her under her arm.

"You know they have a generator, right?" He grunted though he felt the corners of his lips twist in an amused smirk. "That means electricity, lights?"

"Prick," she smirked back and softly shook the lamp at him. "There's a million reasons to use the lamp, not to draw too much attention; I want to conserve that energy.." Her voice was quieter at the end, like an invitation she wasn't sure he would accept.

He felt his pulse quicken, blood rushing to his cheeks and.. other places. He quickly controlled himself and gave her a small smile. "You're right."

"Do you- do you want to join me?"

He could've choked on his own saliva if he had any left, but his tongue had turned to sandpaper in his mouth. "I will, if you want me to," he forced the words to escape past the lump in his throat. "You go ahead first."

  She raised one brow as her lips twitched into a smirk and turned, bouncing up the stairs with a surprising amount of energy.

  Once she was safely upstairs and out of sight, he released a massive breath he didn't realize he had been holding and dropped his head in his hands.

  She wants me, she.. she loves me. Why? Fucking Christ, will I ever stop feeling this way?

  It's like he was in a parallel universe or the victim of God's sick joke. At any moment, it would all be pulled away from him, and he'd be left alone again. That's probably the way it's supposed to be, so he can't have a chance to fuck up any more lives.. but another tiny, tiny part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to find her in the woods that day. That it was his fate all along to spend even a short amount of time with her and calm the raging storm that permanently settled in his chest, the demons screaming in his mind and bleeding black into his vision.

  She's up there now.. and invited me. Fuck, why am I still down here?

  He jumped to his feet, brushing his palms on the sides of his jeans. He spared a few moments to steal another glance out the window. The moon was inching higher in the sky, flooding the empty, quiet street with a pale light.

  Checked the front door, locked. The back door, locked. No other entrances he knew about, but if they planned to stay any longer or to come back here eventually, he would make sure to do a complete check of the outside for any possibilities.

He found himself at the bottom of the stairs. With nothing else to do to stall his time, he took a careful step up. Each stair leading to the second floor was easy, if he didn't think about it too much, and he followed the soft sounds of water pattering on tile to the main bedroom. It was when he got to the bathroom door that his feet froze in place.

  It felt wrong, like he was invading her space when really she needed the time to enjoy the shower, to take care of herself, and bring her tired and bruised body back into a safe space. But she invited him.. she wanted him here. And he really needed to stop thinkin' he knows what's best for her, right?

  He took a deep breath and cracked open the door.

The steam was already rolling through the bathroom, almost as large as one of the many studio apartments he had found himself crashing in over the years. The shower was massive and surrounded by frosted glass with little flecks of sparkles dusting it. The oil lamp didn't do much to brighten the room, but it was enough.

He saw her silhouette first, foggy and unclear but beautiful all the same. So in tune with her surroundings, with him, she paused the moment he stepped through the door, twisting her face over her shoulder where he could see wet tendrils of curly brown hair snaking down her back. Within seconds, she slid open the shower door and did not attempt to hide her naked body from him.

He just stood there, staring like a predator in the wild. Her skin was golden in the dim light, gathering water droplets like morning dew on fresh grass. Like him, her breathing was slow and even, but strenuous, like they were teetering on the edge of losing control.

  His gaze traveled over her slowly, up and down, over her beautiful bruised face, her breasts that almost begged for him to touch them, the sharp planes of her hipbones. She was skinnier now, even in the days since he last saw her. He made a mental note to feed her a huge breakfast tomorrow and tucked it away. A better man would've bowed out, stepped away, and let her have time to heal, to return to herself.

Daryl was not a better man.

The moment she reached out her hand, beckoning him to come closer, his shirt was on the floor in a flash. He cursed himself for his own selfish longing, but knowing she wanted him this way drove him fucking insane. Did she even realize how much she affected him? Even just looking at her.. it was enough to make him shatter.

His fingers trembled with his belt buckle, tension and desire welling in his core and pulling on his muscles, and he hoped she didn't notice how damn nervous he was. He decided he wouldn't give her time to catch it, shedding the rest of his clothes as he quickly invaded the space between her and the shower door, closing it as gently as he could before he engulfed her smaller frame.

  Daryl crushed his body against her own and shoved his hands into her hair, tugging at the base of the tendrils to give him better access to her inviting lips. She let out a breathy laugh around the clash of teeth and tongues, the sound only tightening those muscles deep in his stomach. Droplets bounced off his shoulders, and steam rolled off their skin as the shower pelted them with scorching water, though it couldn't compare to the heat building inside him.

He devoured Zeppelin's mouth like a beast, starving for just a taste of her. And he was starving. Feral, even.

  That little voice in his head telling him to slow down, be careful, keep control... was fading away every second their lips met. Her hands roamed over his chest and arms, each touch achingly searing into him. She shifted her hips closer to him without ever pulling her mouth away from his, and he couldn't help the groan of pleasure that escaped it.

  When she opened her eyes, squinting against the assault of water splashing off his skin and onto her face, her heavy-lidded glaze of desire fractured the last bit of control he possessed.

As softy as he could force himself to be, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger with one hand, the other snaking around her waist as he pushed her back against the jade green tile adorning the shower walls. She knew what he wanted without hearing the words, again, so in tune with him that they never needed words. She tilted her head up to give him access to her neck as her hands traveled lower and lower down the lines of his abs.

Daryl's mouth was anything but gentle as he kissed the soft flesh of her neck, down to the base and back up again, licking the water dripping down it, wanting to savor every last drop. He bit her earlobe, and she giggled, digging her nails into the sensitive skin just above his hips. He hissed between gritted teeth and bit her again, this time at the hollow in the base of her throat, before his tongue continued its path up her neck and ended at her mouth.

He pulled away to look at her, really look at her, before he lost himself to whatever demon was taking over him. When before he might have burned under her gaze and looked away before she saw too much, he did not break eye contact now.

  Before he realized what was happening, one of her soft hands wrapped around him, stroking teasingly slow, up and down as she stared back into his gaze.

"Please, I want you," she breathed, and it was enough to light a new fire inside him. He quickly flipped her around so her breasts were pressed up against the wall, one hand braced on her hips as the other trailed down her spine to the soft curve of her ass. His lips couldn't help sinking into the muscles of her shoulder like his mouth was a magnet to her skin.

Her skin was hot, so hot. Whether it was from the shower or the desire he could see overtaking her, feel in the way every muscle tensed under his touch, he didn't know. Her hands clutched his forearms as he wrapped them around her, his hands traveling across her breasts, lightly pinching the pink peaks of them, then over her stomach flecked with goosebumps, lower and lower.

He remembered what pleased her, what released those breathy gasps and tore through his entire being. His fingers had no trouble finding that spot to circle, that sticky-sweet honey coating them. She was already so drenched, so turned on by him, he realistically wasn't sure how long he would last.

  She pushed her hips back against him and leaned her head on his chest, and her eyes closed as she let the pleasure overwhelm her. He rubbed against the soft skin of the small of her back and groaned again.

"Daryl." His name was like a song from her lips, and she sank her nails harder into his arms. He couldn't wait for another second. He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and forced them above her head, the other hand spreading across the base of her spine as she bent to his will. With no hesitation, no second-guessing himself, he pushed forward between her thighs and took what he needed from her.

  What they both needed.

  He loosened the hold he had on her wrists, knew it was too rough, too possessive, holding them in one while the other dug their unrelenting fingertips into her hips as he thrust himself into her, over and over. He cursed himself for it, hated how he was using her tired body for his own burning desperation, but touching her like this, inside of her, connected in a way that he'd never felt before. Only a word from her lips could bring him to a halt now.

She didn't attempt to hide her gasps and moans, bringing him closer and closer to that shattering, crippling edge. His very being was coming wholly undone, every nerve and muscle in his body twisting and molding into hers.

⤐

If this were anyone else, any other person holding her and touching her, pounding into her, and devouring like a predator ravishing its prey, Zepp might be afraid.

  She might be afraid of the way their fingers dug into her hips, and the other hand gripped so tightly against her wrists that freeing herself would be next to impossible. The heavy, uneven breaths escaping his lips would send chills down her spine, not in a good way.

But it was Daryl. And with him, it wasn't enough.

  She wanted him more and more, wanted to feel every inch of his skin against hers, every press of his fingers into her sore muscles. He was everywhere, surrounding her in the steam-filled shower, and it wasn't enough. She needed more.

It was hard to focus on anything other than the delicious ache between her thighs as he continued his rhythm. Her breaths matched his movements, both coming harder and faster. She let her head tilt to the side, pressing her forehead against his bicep. His hand loosened its hold on her wrists just a little, like he was fighting himself on whether to take what he needed from her viscously or to keep it calm, soft.

  She could've whined at the lessened contact.

She gritted her teeth, and her breath came out in a hiss as she pulled her hands free, and his rhythm faltered for a moment. She used one to balance herself against the shower wall, and the other she laced her fingers through his where they rest on the tile so hard their knuckles turned white.

He let out a murmur of surprise, of pleasure, and bit into the sensitive skin above her shoulder. Fuck, she thought she heard him breathe, though it was hard to hear anything over the water pounding the tile, wet skin sliding against each other's, and their heavy gasps mingling together.

Daryl's hand, which had been solid against her hip, now traveled up her spine, sweeping away her drenched curls to reveal her whole back and neck as he hungrily kissed, licked, and bit any skin he could reach. When his fingers pressed gently at the nape of her neck, a new spark of pleasure sent a shockwave through her entire body. When he moved to pull them away, she quickly pushed off the wall with the hand that wasn't glued to his and held his fingers there.

"You won't break me," she managed to force out through her increasing gasps. "It's okay."

She couldn't see his face, pressed so intimately against the wall, only his rippling arms and tanned skin, but she felt his muscles shift in a way that felt significant. After a moment's hesitation, the pressure at the base of her neck tightened, and she bit her lip to hide the satisfied smile she felt creeping there.

  His touch was rougher, his thrusts more intense, and then, he was everywhere. Grabbing her hair to pull her head against his chest, he forced his body even more impossibly close to hers as his hands roamed every inch of her. Over her breasts, on the curve of her waist, her abs twitching as they grazed down the muscles, lower, stopping at the apex of her thighs and circling, soft and gentle with one hand while the other tightened around her fingers so hard she thought they'd bruise.

And she loved it, reveled in it, came entirely undone in it.