You shove the cabin door shut behind you, heart still hammering from the close call with walkers. Daryl’s already there, crossbow propped against the wall, his eyes dark and fixed on you like he’s been waiting for this exact second. “Strip,” he growls, voice low and rough from disuse. No preamble, no sweet talk. You drop your jacket, then your shirt, and his hands are on you before the fabric hits the floor.
He spins you around and bends you over the rickety table, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades. His other hand yanks your pants and underwear down in one impatient tug. Cool air hits your bare ass, then the heat of his body crowds in. You hear his belt buckle clink and the rasp of his zipper. “Been thinkin’ about this cunt all damn day,” he mutters, and two thick fingers drag through your folds, checking how wet you already are. “Fuckin’ soaked. Knew you’d be ready.”
Daryl doesn’t waste time. He lines up and shoves his cock into you in one hard thrust, bottoming out with a grunt. The stretch burns in the best way, your walls clenching around the thick length. He doesn’t give you a second to adjust; he starts pounding right away, hips snapping forward, the table legs scraping against the floor with every brutal stroke. Skin slaps skin. Your moans come out broken and loud, and he answers with filthy encouragement. “Take it. Yeah, just like that. This pussy’s mine.”
He reaches around and rubs your clit in rough circles, not gentle, just enough pressure to make your legs shake.
Every thrust drags over that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. Sweat drips from his chest onto your back. His free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place while he uses you. “Gonna fill you up,” he promises, voice strained. “Want it? Tell me.”
“Yes,” you gasp, pushing back to meet him. “Fuck, Daryl, come in me.”
He speeds up, fucking you like the world’s ending tomorrow, because it might be. The wet sound of his cock driving into your soaked cunt fills the cabin. When he comes, it’s with a low, animal groan, pulsing hot and deep. He stays buried, grinding through the aftershocks, fingers still working your clit until you follow him over the edge, clenching and fluttering around him.
He pulls out slow, watching his cum drip down your thigh. Then he flips you onto your back on the table, spreads your legs, and drops to his knees. “Not done,” he says, and buries his face between your thighs, tongue licking up the mess he made before sucking hard on your swollen clit. Two fingers slide back inside you, curling, fucking you while he eats you out like he’s starving. You come again on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, fingers twisted in his hair.
Later, when you’re both on the floor, he pulls you onto his lap. You sink down onto his cock again, riding him slow and dirty this time, his hands guiding your hips, mouth sucking marks into your neck and tits. He talks the whole time, low and crude. “Bounce on it. Show me how bad you need it.” You do, until he’s groaning and filling you a second time.
By the time you’re both spent, the sun’s down. Daryl wipes you down with his shirt, then tugs you against his chest on the old mattress. No promises, no romance, just the solid weight of him and the knowledge you’ll do it all again tomorrow. The apocalypse feels a little less empty with his cum still leaking out of you and his arm heavy around your waist.
