Bashfulness has indeed outlived its usefulness between them, and good riddance. Carol rolls to face Daryl, the motion requiring a not insubstantial effort, tempting as it is to rest there and savor the pooling warmth that's threatening to make her drowsy.

"No one likes a boaster," she quips, inching forward to kiss his neck and deciding to stay put for the moment. She wouldn't truly mind if he was, Lord knows he earned it. She has no decent scale for how good sex is supposed to go, and her feelings for him would let her greatly enjoy even something not that far upstream of average, but she thinks they're doing fine. It's hard to be objective in her judgment while she's indolent with afterglow.

Content as she'd be to bask for a time, Carol finds her hands want to be everywhere so she doesn't fight the impulse. No hurry though, a lazy stroke here and a freed button there. Finding skin beneath the hem of his shirt while her lips work north of the collar.