You

The feel of feather soft kisses precede the long stroke of a calloused hand on Sasha’s back. Years of wielding a crossbow have left Daryl’s hands rough but pleasant to the skin.

The sun is just beginning to brighten the sky when she shifts onto her side and feels Daryl lift one leg over his hips. He’s hard and she’s wet. He slips easily inside. His hands have learned her curves. His fingertips have learned to play her body like a talented pianist can tickle the keys of a baby grand to produce strains of the loveliest notes. Soon Daryl has filled the room with the music of their passion, a duet of pure love born of grief for lost lovers.

When the song has completed Sasha turns on her back to face him, one hand cupping his face, her dark eyes meeting his light. They tell one another how deeply they’ve fallen in love in a single look. Words haven’t been necessary for awhile.

Daryl ran his hand over the swell of her belly where his child grew. He remembered the night they’d conceived it. He’d been hurting over Beth and she had come to offer him a shoulder to cry on. She was missing Bob and she understood what Daryl was feeling right to her bones. A simple kiss to the forehead had sparked a passionate flame neither of them had expected, and neither of them had been able to fight. They’d wanted it to be a one-time thing and they’d avoided speaking about that night until the morning sickness and other symptoms set in.

“It’s not Bob’s?” he asked quietly.

Sasha shook her head. “I never slept with Bob. You’re the only man in over a year.”

Daryl nodded and took her hand asking what she wanted. She’d answered quite simply. “You.”

Now they were expecting. In a month Daryl Dixon was going to be a father. No matter what happened in his life, in his past, he was determined he was going to be a better man, a better father, than his own had been. He was scared to death that he’d fail but at the same time he was so very anxious to try.