Violent Delights¹︎ | D.Dixon

1.10 ➸

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CHAPTER TEN
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          LEONA WOKE UP NAKED ON the pullout couch, her memory a bit fuzzy and nothing but a sheet covering her body. She lifted her head slowly, groaning at the slight pinch in her neck from sleeping on a throw pillow, and as her body shifted, she felt the weight of an arm draped across her midsection. Turning her head slowly, the headache forming made her wince, she took in the face of the man beside her and a smile crossed her lips. Daryl Dixon, the cause of that ache between her legs.

She laid there for a second, taking in what normalcy she could while she still had it. His chest was pressed flush against her back, and every deep breath he took caused warm air to caress the exposed skin of her neck. Moving her hand, she traced small shapes on the tough skin of his arm before gently tracing the defined muscles there, leading up to his elbows before beginning again. She did the same to the veins, and then the lines on his fingers.

For a split second, she could've sworn the hellscape outside was nothing but a fever dream.

Sighing quietly, careful not to wake him, Leona began to move. She slipped out from beneath the sheet, gently laying his arm back on the couch, and sat up. Glancing around at the floor, she found her underwear, shorts, and tank top. She pulled on her underwear before walking to her bag and throwing the rest of her clothes into it, then slipping on a pair of blue jeans, a cream-colored bra, and a white t-shirt.

After a second of looking around, she realized her leather jacket was still hung over the edge of the couch, one sleeve stuck between Daryl and the back cushion. Tiptoeing over, she carefully eased the garment from where it was held, then quickly pulled it on over her shirt. She put her socks on last, followed by the boots Daryl, himself, had given her.

Sunshine, he'd called her last night. He'd said it with such familiarity that she wondered if he'd said it to her before. But she liked it more than she'd ever admit.

Walking into the bathroom, she took a look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was sticking up in odd places, the wavy curls only making it look like more of a mess. She spotted a singular hickey, but it was tucked away beneath the collar of her shirt so she didn't worry about it, figuring her shirt and jacket already gave it more protection than anything else she had available could.

After running her hands through her hair, she pulled it back into a thick Dutch braid, and let the shorter pieces fall around her face. Figuring she was presentable enough, she left the office and headed for the kitchen, hoping no one had happened to walk past their door at the wrong moment the night before.

And it didn't appear anyone had. Or at least no one mentioned anything. Leona knew that didn't cross the possibility of someone overhearing off the list, but it definitely helped that it wasn't Rick who'd heard, out of anyone. She would've been fucking mortified.

Daryl joined the group roughly ten minutes later, and judging by his facial expression, his hangover was much worse than Leona's. He didn't say a word to her, but he sat down between her and Glenn, which she was grateful for. There was a nervousness that had settled in her stomach, that maybe he'd be unhappy with her for sleeping with him while he was drunk. Leona had been the more sober of the pair, and she worried that he would see it as her taking advantage of him.

After breakfast—powdered eggs and bacon whipped up by T-Dog—Jenner took them all back to what he'd called the Big Room. But despite the food T-Dog had claimed would help, the lights were still blinding when they stepped into the room.