Her own impatience is a swirling mass of different things, each one of varying significance at any given moment. There's the obvious life's too short idea that they've been forced to adopt as a literal term, the fear of laying off the intensity because it might leave more room for less pleasant thoughts. The fact that, by most anyone's standard, they've damn well waited long enough. And then, the simple fact that it's fun. He can take his pick, any of them seem like perfectly wonderful reasons to toss restraint out the window.

Her shirt successfully removed and discarded somewhere in the room (she can't be bothered with specifics), Carol glances over at the acrobatics he's attempting. Spotting him wobbling on his knee, Carol snaps her hands out to try and steady his hips, while at the same time pulling him toward her, a physical version of oh no, you don't. She has just time enough to consider that perhaps the yanking was a poor choice when she finds herself crashing to the mattress with Daryl atop her.

"...Ouch," she says with far too much mirth for someone who probably has a bruise or two coming her way. "You okay?" Please be okay, stopping now would be just unfair.