Together No Matter What

Chapter 63

Daryl was quiet for a moment, his fingers still resting against her jaw. Then he huffed, shaking his head slightly. "Hell if I know."

Zena smirked at that. "That's real poetic, Dixson."

Daryl gave her a flat look. "Ain't exactly good at this kinda thing, Z."

She smiled a little, something warm settling in her chest. "I know."

And then, maybe because she couldn't help herself—or maybe because she just wanted to feel that heat again—she leaned in, brushing her lips against his.

Daryl stiffened for half a second, but then he was kissing her back, his fingers tightening just slightly at her jaw. This kiss was slower than last night, but no less intense. It was real. And that was the part that scared her.

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. Daryl exhaled through his nose, his other hand landing at her waist, grip firm. Then she moved just slightly against him, and that was it—his restraint snapped like a damn wire.

In an instant, Daryl rolled them over, pressing her against the mattress, his weight settling over her with a deliberate force. His lips were insistent, rougher now, tasting of frustration and desire, his hands gripping her hip like he wasn't sure whether to keep going or pull back.

Every breath he took was ragged, filling the air between them with the heat of their shared urgency.

A soft rustle from below made them freeze.

Daryl stilled over her, his breath still heavy, his fingers flexing against her waist, his body taut with tension. The faint sounds of someone shifting in their cells echoed through the prison block—someone murmuring in their sleep, unaware of the quiet storm brewing just a few walls away.

Zena let out a slow, steadying breath, tilting her head back against the mattress. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she could feel the weight of him on top of her, both grounding and unsettling all at once.

"Shit," Daryl muttered, frustration thick in his voice. He pushed himself up, running a rough hand through his hair, his body still humming with restless energy, unwilling to settle into the stillness.

"This ain't gonna work," he muttered, his voice gruff and thick with a tension she couldn't read.

Zena propped herself up on her elbows, pulse unsteady, her body still warm from him, the heat lingering in her skin like a memory she couldn't shake. She took a breath, trying to ground herself, her lips parting like she wanted to say something—maybe crack a joke, maybe call him out for pulling away so quick—but the words caught in her throat, lost to the space between them.

Daryl grabbed his shirt off the floor, yanking it over his shoulders with a sense of urgency, like he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Zena watched him for a second, searching his face for any sign of what was going on inside his head. Something twisted in her chest—unspoken, heavy, like a weight she couldn't lift.

"Daryl," she started, her voice quieter now, unsure. "You okay?"

His back tensed, fingers pausing on the buttons of his shirt. "M'fine," he grunted, the words so stiff, they felt like a wall between them.

Zena swung her legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the floor pressing against her bare feet, grounding her. "You sure? 'Cause you just jumped up like the place was on fire."