Title: "You Don't Know"
Series: When the Levee Breaks
Author: Green Owl
Word Count: 5,900+
Pairing: Merle Dixon + Beth Greene
Rating: M (Dixon tongue & smut)
Summary: "Angelface, polite women don't make it in this world." AU, Sympathy for the Devil-verse.

Author Notes: One-Handed Muse, Noxid Anamchara, and Silksteel continue to inspire me with their love of Merle Dixon. If you're new to this tale, check out Silksteel's glorious story, Sympathy For the Devil, for the necessary background; it's her world, I just live in it.

Disclaimer: I don't own or buy/sell/process this mind!crack - I just abuse the hell out of it.

"Where ya think yer goin'?"

Beth stopped at the entrance to the stairwell, plate and coffee cup in hand.

"The roof," she replied, undaunted as she met Daryl's gaze.

"Wouldn't recommend it," he advised, jerking his head upwards. "His temper's up."

She nodded. "I know."

He peered at her. "Not scared o' nuthin', are ya?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Not many people brave enough to 'pproach Merle, even when he's in a good mood."

"People used to say the same thing about you," she replied evenly.

"They did, huh?" Daryl shook his head. "Must be losin' my touch."

Beth pursed her lips, then flicked her gaze two levels below to where Carol was minding a gurgling Judith as she loaded magazine after magazine with ammunition.

Daryl's eyes followed hers, and he started coughing. "So, um, if yer not back in ten, I'll send up a search party, 'kay?"

"Better make it thirty," she replied with a heavy dose of resignation and the barest smidgen of sass. "This might take a while."

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as he opened the door for her. "Gotta hand it to ya, girl. Ya got more guts than all Mad-Eye Moody's men put together."

"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "Or maybe I've just got nothing to lose."

"Either way, color me 'mpressed."

Beth allowed herself a hint of a smile as she nodded and slipped inside.

It closed behind her with a soft click, and she was left facing the seventeen steps to the rooftop.

She took a moment to lock her legs before the knocking of her knees shook her apart.

Come on, girl, she told herself as she stared at the sliver of late afternoon sunlight leaching around the edges of the doorway. Get to steppin'.

You made this mess.

Time to clean it up.

After the debacle in the shower block, it was no surprise to Beth that she had slept very poorly.

She'd tossed and turned for most of the night, torn between the vivid memory of what had almost happened between them, and the hazy conjecture of what was most certainly going to happen when the entire prison found out. To think, she'd once feared dying of shame when Merle discovered her fascination with him. This was ten times worse.

She could almost hear his voice, snide and smug, as he launched into the gory details of her humiliation.

Y'all won't believe it! Last night, there I was, mindin' my own bidness, takin' a shower all by my lonesome, and who should 'ppear with designs 'pon my virtue but the farmer's daughter? – Naw, she didn't get 'erself an eyeful – too dark fer tha – but lemme tell ya, she def'nitely got herself a handful, and then some!

And that was the tamest of the terrifying tales she imagined him spinning over Sunday morning breakfast.

They'd all be laughing at her, pointing at her, whispering about her. Forget tomato. Her face would be permanently stained the deepest shade of cherry red to be found in nature after this story got out.

Beth sighed as she tugged on her cowboy boots, hastily braided her long swathe of still-damp hair, and stepped out of her sleeping cell into the general population.

Better get this over with.

To her surprise, no one looked at her differently. In fact, no one really looked at her at all. They all just went about their business as if it were just another common, garden-variety, post-zombie apocalyptic morning.

She cocked her head to the side and listened. Odd. There was very little by way of buzzing from the Woodbury transplants. Was it too much to hope…?

Click click. Click click.

Her eyelids slid closed.

Of course.

He hadn't told everyone, just the one person who mattered to her the most.

"Beth, sweetheart, you all right?" her father inquired as he hobbled over to her.

"I've been better, daddy," she confided.

"Merle?"

She nodded, bracing herself for a lecture about how she'd disappointed him, her family, and God.

It didn't come.

Instead, she felt the gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder as he counseled her. "Best to get it resolved sooner than later."

She bit her lip, unable to dam her curiosity. "What did he say?"

"You and I both know Merle Dixon ain't 'xactly the type to go on 'bout his feelin's," her father replied with a droll grimace as he rolled up his sleeves. "But he looked mean enough to hunt bears with a hickory switch when I saw him headin' on out this mornin'. Not much gets under that man's skin, so I assumed it had something to do with you."

"Me?"

"Don't play coy with me, Elizabeth Anne," her father admonished affectionately. "That man don't get shaken by much, 'cept when he has a fallin' out with them he's got a soft spot for. And since he an' Daryl were on speakin' terms last time I saw 'em, the only other person who qualifies is you."

Or that woman. Beth snorted as she felt that vile blush starting again, that hot, wretched, telltale stain that broadcasted her distress from the tops of her breasts to the part in her hair.

"What happened?" her father asked as he put an arm around her. "Was there some kind of misunderstandin'? Did one o' ya say somethin' hurtful to tha other?"

Beth didn't look at him. How could she? She couldn't even look herself in the mirror.

But if there was one thing Beth knew about her father, it was that he had the patience of Job. Her sister Maggie and her brother Shawn wouldn't have survived their teenage years if he hadn't developed the serenity necessary to deal with the kind of larks and scrapes that his daughter and stepson used to get themselves into on a regular basis. He could and would wait as long as it took for her to answer.

"No, Daddy," she said finally with a shake of her head.

"Did he do anything –?"

"No!" she said, immediately shutting down that line of questioning. "It was entirely my fault."

It was as close to the truth as she cared to admit to him. He'd be horrified if he found out, and Beth honestly feared that he'd be blinded enough by his love for her that he'd place the blame on Merle instead of where it belonged: squarely on her shoulders.

Her father was silent as he considered her words, chewing on them like he used to nibble on his pipe. "I won't cross-examine ya because I can plainly see yer just as upset as he is. But I will say this: you sin against another, by word or by deed, only remedy that'll make yerself whole again is to ask for forgiveness."

She saw the wisdom in her father's words, but she didn't much like it. "Where did he go?"

"He an' Daryl left 'bout an hour ago. Took that little whippersnapper with 'em."

Beth stood up straighter and nodded. "I'll talk to him when he gets back."

"That's my girl," her father said, giving her shoulders a paternal squeeze. He shifted his attention to the walkway above them where Doc Stevens was emerging from her sleeping area. "Mornin', Alice. Ya ready to get to work on the infirmary?"

"Be right down, Hershel," she replied before shifting her attention to Beth. "Good mornin', sunshine."

"Mornin', ma'am," Beth replied, risking a smile in return as her father click-clicked towards the hallway that led to their makeshift first aid station.

"You tell Merle he needs to see me when gets back, ya hear?" Doc Stevens instructed her as she made her way down the stairs. "I want to get a better look at that hand of his."

"Yes, ma'am," Beth said, first wondering what Merle had done to hurt himself, and then why on earth the doctor would want her to be the one to speak to him about getting it examined.

After some consideration, she supposed she'd been nominated by default. If Doc Stevens and her father were intending to spend most of the day inventorying their medical supplies, it wouldn't leave either of them much time to go chasing after the elder of the Dixon brothers. That combined with the fact that, with the exception of that woman, there was no one else besides herself and Daryl in the prison who really cared to interact with Merle.

They all feared him.

All of them.

Every single last one of them, but her.

And just look where that had gotten her: near to dying of mortification from the shame of trespassing on his privacy and touching him the way she did.

Beth had to laugh at the irony and she flipped her braid over her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen.

To think, they were worried about him being inappropriate with her.

He hadn't told anyone.

That was Beth's first assessment as she stumbled into the kitchen for her breakfast shift with Carol and – oh, joy – Karen.

If he had, there was no question in Beth's mind that she would have found out.

Like a queen cobra ready to strike at the one who had disturbed her nest, Karen would have spent the morning lying in wait for her, armed with the knowledge of her transgression, ready to attack the moment she set foot in the room.

Instead, she was greeted with nothing more than a "hey, kid" from that woman and a "good morning, sweetie" from Carol.

Beth went to the sink and scrubbed her hands. "What's on the menu for today?"

Carol checked over her list. "Pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Spaghetti Bolognese for lunch –"

"With squirrel meat?" Beth prompted with mock optimism.

"When is it not with squirrel meat?" Carol replied, dimples dancing in her cheeks.

Beth shrugged as she grinned. "And dinner?"

"We're thinking fish," Karen said as she hefted a fussy Judith onto her shoulder.

"Fish?" Beth asked, wondering if she'd heard correctly. "Where are we going to get fish from?"

"There's a river up the road a piece," Karen said, smiling serenely as she expertly burped the baby with a minimum of spit-up, then added salt, pepper, and garlic to the powdered egg mixture. "Daryl wanted to go hunting, so Merle decided to take Noah with him and teach him how to string a trotline."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Beth asked Carol in a low voice as they measured the pancake mix into the bowls. "For them to be out in the open like that?"

Carol checked Beth lightly with her hip as she poured in the purified water. "Hey, don't worry. They'll come back in one piece. Always do."

Beth was silent as she whisked the batter.

All it took was one blind moment, one stray bullet, one startling bite, and he'd be gone.

The thought terrified her.

"How do you cope?" she asked Carol as they placed the pans on the portable gas stoves.

Karen looked up from where she was stirring the egg mixture with a wooden spoon. "Cope with what?"

"It's difficult in the beginning," Carol said as she sprayed a tiny bit of cooking oil into the pan. "Dealing with the waiting, the wondering, the fact that you don't know what's going to happen, whether it'll happen today or tomorrow, or sometime far off in the future. Either you get used to it and learn to live in the moment, or it eats you up inside."

Beth nodded.

"She's right. I felt the same way every time Merle would go out foraging with the group. Only thing you can do is learn to embrace the suck," Karen offered, giving Beth a pitying look as she skillfully shifted a sleeping Judith into a more comfortable position and poured the eggs into the frying pan.

Though she wanted nothing more than to snatch the baby from her and smack that condescending smirk right off of that woman's face, Beth held her tongue and her temper, and concentrated instead on watching the bubbles rise in the batter as it cooked.

"You're almost ready," Carol coached as she demonstrated how to turn over a pancake. "You want to be gentle, but firm and quick when you flip it."

Beth carefully inserted the spatula underneath the pancake in her pan and inverted it. A bit of batter splashed out of the circle she'd made, but it was perfectly browned and immediately began rising in a uniform manner.

"Not bad," Karen said, admiring Beth's handiwork as she one-handedly scooped her own beautifully cooked eggs into a shallow tin foil pan. "We'll make a decent cook out of you yet."

Beth said nothing, but her knuckles cramped as she clenched the spatula tighter.

Like a summer thunderstorm roaring across the fields of their farm, she heard him before she saw him.

"Will one o' ya lazy-ass sumbitches quit lollygaggin' an' get these here mud cats on the grill right fuckin' now? The boy here's so hungry 'is stomach thinks 'is throat's been cut an' he's fixin' ta start gnawin' on 'em while they's still wrigglin'!"

Her momma would have disparaged his foul language, would have said his mouth needed Jesus, or soap, or "both, to be sure and certain," but Beth thought it was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard. He was alive and, judging from the tone in his voice and swagger in his strut, still as angry as he'd been this morning.

Once again, she found herself staring down at her hands as she gripped the railing, but this time her relief was glazed with the guilt that was searing a trail from her scalp to the soles of her feet.

But before she could call out to him, Karen was there, putting a hand on his shoulder, whispering something in his ear that made him pat her on the back, made him gesture briefly to her catch-laden son, made him follow the two of them into the kitchen.

And then it was just Beth, alone at the top of the stairs, left to welcome a rough-looking Daryl with a shared nod and the sliver of a smile.

"Good trip?" she asked, trying to mask her disappointment. Merle hadn't even acknowledged she was there.

"Got us a whole bunch o' catfish," he replied with a bit of pride. "An' I picked up a bit of track belongin' to a pack o' fatass hogs."

Beth grinned. "Does this mean what I think it does? Bacon? Ham? Pork chops?"

He shrugged. "Ain't 'nough fat on 'em for bacon. Meat's gonna be pretty fuckin' tough. But it's meat, so…."

"We could braise it," Carol suggested as she emerged from her cell with a wide-eyed, pudgy-faced Judith. "Or smoke it."

He reached out a hand to stroke the satin of Judith's cheek and the baby giggled and gave him a delighted, toothless smile.

"Do you want to hold her?" Carol asked him, approval and welcome redolent in her voice.

He ducked his head. "Naw, I'm filthy. Best get the fish in the kitchen and wash up."

"I've got some water heated up for you on the stove," Carol told him as she turned towards the direction of the kitchen.

"Didn't hafta do that," he said as he stood there, chewing on his thumbnail.

"I know," she replied, her face warm and vulnerable as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

Beth remained silent as Daryl followed Carol and the baby down the hall, shadowing them like a nervous but faithful stray hound dog.

It made her ache to watch the two of them. All feelings of current mortification aside, she knew that was the fate that awaited her. If she didn't resolve the situation, she, too, would spend the rest of her life trailing after someone just beyond her reach.

And she wouldn't have the luxury of having the object of her affection treat her with the same level of care and sensitivity as Daryl did.

Merle didn't speak to her at dinner.

He didn't even glance her way.

He just sat at the table with the new arrivals – with that woman – gruffly complimenting Karen's expert preparation of the fish as he ate what was on his plate with gusto.

Then he pushed away from the table and announced that he was heading up to the roof for the evening shift.

Every single one of what was left of the Woodbury residents turned their heads to look at her the moment he left.

They knew something was off.

Merle always ate his dinner with her, not them.

Beth endured their inquisitive looks, all of them, including the faux concern radiating from Karen's self-assured little piggy eyes, even though it made her want to shriek.

Somehow she managed to keep it all inside, stuffing it down into that deep, dark place where she kept things like envy and pride and lust hidden from view. Outwardly, she was as serene and placid as one of those antique china dolls her mother had collected and stored in a glass case in the spare bedroom. Few would have guessed at the volume of emotion swirling throughout her bloodstream, at the dual cancers of jealousy and frustration that had metastasized in every single one of her organs as she had watched him ignore her in favor of that woman.

Nevertheless, her father saw her agitation, and made her aware of his scrutiny when he leaned over and whispered in her ear: "The longer you wait, the worse it'll get."

What could she do but nod and agree?

"No thanks," Michonne said to the food and coffee Beth tried to hand to her when she returned from her dinnertime patrol. "Not hungry."

"Are you sure?" Beth pressed. "I didn't cook it, if that's what you're worried about."

"Had an MRE," the quiet woman replied. "Best give it to one of the men. They're always hungry."

"I think they're all stuffed to the gills," Beth said, looking around at the menfolk kicking back in their chairs, rubbing their stomachs with satisfaction.

"Merle?" Michonne suggested.

It was a well-known fact that the man had at least one hollow leg.

Beth smiled tightly and nodded. "Good idea."

No use in delaying anymore.

Now as she stood at the door to the roof, Beth took a moment to think about what she was going to say. Nothing remotely helpful came to mind. It was as if she'd forgotten how to formulate a coherent sentence.

Snatches of Bible verse drifted in and out of her consciousness, but none of them quite covered "I'm so sorry I pretended to be someone else while giving you a handjob last night."

She grit her teeth as she balanced the plate on the mug, raised her right fist, hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

"Ya gotta be shittin' me! Who tha fuck knocks anymore?" his rough, angry voice bellowed from the other side of the door before he wrenched it open.

One again they were face-to-face, but this time the light was in her eyes as he loomed above her, a black hole of suppressed rage outlined in the setting sun.

She felt that damn blush creeping up her face once more, and was intensely grateful that the light was mirroring her as it turned redder by the moment.

"I was – I was just trying to be polite," she stammered, taking the plate up in her right hand again and presenting it and the mug to him.

"Angelface, polite women don't make it in this world," Merle informed her scathingly as he looked down at her offering. "What's this?"

"Second dinner," she replied, her stomach knotting up like her yarn when her sister's mangy old tomcat used to get into her knitting basket.

"Jes put it on the table," he said with a sigh, thumbing her in the direction of his makeshift sniper's nest.

Beth did as he requested. It was in her nature to respect her elders, and her parent's teachings only reinforced that part of her personality that hated making waves. Besides, she'd wronged him, and she needed to show him that she wasn't here to make him angrier.

"Now git," he ordered with a dismissive sweep of his hand as he settled into the lawn chair and propped his feet up on an empty crate.

She was halfway out the door before she remembered why she'd come up here in the first place. She'd spent most of the time between his return and dinner trying to find a moment to talk to him, but he'd neatly evaded her every single time. He'd gotten his hand checked out by Doc Stevens without her getting a chance to remind him, engaged Rick in a lengthy conversation about upping perimeter checks in the evening, and oversaw Noah as the boy helped his mother prep the eight enormous catfish they'd caught that afternoon, all without speaking one single word to her.

Well Beth had finally had enough. They were friends, notwithstanding her absurd blunder the evening before, and she wasn't about to let him bully her back into the role of professional Walker prey. Not if she had anything to say about it.

"I apologize," she announced loudly as she shut the door and turned back to look at him.

She'd caught him in mid-chew. Beth watched, mesmerized by the way his eyes narrowed as he chased his food with a long swallow of coffee. If she was honest, his every movement fascinated her, but there was something about the tendons in his neck that just made her mouth water.

"What?" he croaked, slamming the mug back down on the folding table that also held his plate and a book on how to repair machinery.

"I apologize," she repeated, standing her ground as she leaned her shoulders against the door.

"Tha fuck ya on 'bout, girl?" he demanded, rising from the chair and stalking over to her.

She inhaled, taking strength from the reinforced steel at her back. "Last night I violated your privacy, and touched you in a sexually inappropriate manner without your consent. I'm here to say I'm sorry, and to ask you to forgive me. It won't happen again."

He didn't say a word. He just stood there, arms akimbo, staring at her as if she'd grown a third eye.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of ocular soul-searching, he threw back his head and let out a brutal bark of laughter.

Her mouth dropped open as she watched him indulge in a bit of astonished hilarity at her expense.

"Why are you laughing?" she questioned cautiously, plainly startled by his reaction.

He took a moment to wipe a happy tear from the corner of his right eye. "Pretty sure ya got it bass-ackwards, sugar, but, hey, what tha fuck, right? Sure, I asb'lutely accept yer 'pology."

"What?" she asked, leaning her head towards him.

He took a moment to calm down before he shook his head. "Damn, girl, you do beat all! Here I was, thinkin' I was gonna get the boot fer what I did to ya last night, an' all this time, you was sweatin' it because ya thought ya trespassed 'gainst me."

"Didn't I?" she pushed timidly.

"If'n ya did, then we're both of us sinners," he retorted. "After all, wasn't I tha one what wrapped that sweet lil' hand o' yers round my dick in the first place?"

She nodded solemnly as heat suffused her face and pooled low in her belly. "I remember."

"And just so's we're being completely honest, I'm gonna say – off the record, o' course – while it was pretty much the highlight of my year, ya need to remember one important thing: I ain't no monk, darlin', an' I ain't a nice man." He set his jaw and a wistful smile appeared on his cruel, beautiful lips as he stared at her. "Don't ever gimme that much credit. And don't ever, ever do that agin, ya hear? Promise me that, an' we're square."

Beth felt it taking over, that part of herself that obeyed without question, that part of her that compelled her to lower her gaze, nod her head, and whisper her agreement. She fought it with everything she had. "You liked it?"

"Why do I get the feelin' yer missin' tha point?" he joked, the lines around his mouth crinkling with guilty humor.

"Because I did," she admitted as she looked him dead in the eye.

His breath caught. For a moment, Beth thought he looked like he was about to say something. But the moment passed, and, whatever it was, he kept it to himself.

And wasn't that the biggest shock of the evening?

She, shy, little Beth Greene, had rendered big, bad Merle Dixon speechless.

Not for long, though.

"Girl, yer playin' with fire," he cautioned her.

She repeated the question. "Did you like it?"

He looked down at the layer of concrete that sheeted the prison like institutional fondant, as if searching it for the right thing to say.

"Aw, fuck it," he said, the timbre of his voice pitched much more softly than she ever suspected was possible. "Yeah. I liked it. A lot. Mebbe too much."

"How's that?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I can't….I can't think 'bout ya like that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Ain't right."

"Says who?"

He brought his hand down to between their faces and started ticking off fingers. "Yer daddy. Yer sister. Her boyfriend. Daryl. Howsabout the entire damn prison?"

"Since when have you ever cared what people think of you?" she inquired, curious at this sudden shift in his priorities.

"Since I finally got it through mah thick head that I ain't gonna be able ta survive without playin' nice with other people," he answered as he ran his finger down the placket of her sleeveless shirt. "Not if'n I wanna continue keep comp'ny with mah brother. An' as much as I'd love to get up close an' personal with what I'm sure is the finest piece o' ass livin' on God's little green earth, I jes can't risk it."

Beth sighed as she folded her arms across her torso, just above the spot where his finger was gently teasing the fabric above her belly button.

"Hey now, dontcha go poutin'," he teased with the kind of charm that he'd doubtlessly been practicing since he'd hit puberty. "Believe me, sweetness, I am so fuckin' flattered that ya'd even look my way."

She smiled up at him as she shifted her weight. "I guess it's too much to hope you'd change your mind?"

"Well, let's jes say there's always room fer negotations," he said thoughtfully as he reached up and ran the tip of his index finger along a lock of golden hair which had escaped her hasty ponytail. "If'n ya don't mind my askin', why me?"

"I don't know," she confessed, taking a moment to breathe him in. "There's just something about the way you treat me, as if I were strong or brave or useful. It makes me feel like – like I'm better than I am."

"Only 'cause ya are all those things, an' more," he said, his slate blue eyes pinning her to the door with fierce honesty. "My hand ta God, lil' girl, yer tha first person I ever met that didn't look at me as if I were nuthin' more'n a piece o' redneck trash."

She flinched as she felt all of the bitter decades of verbal cruelty and shunning he'd ever experienced wrapped up in one little sentence. "It's their loss."

"Mayhap so, darlin', mayhap so. Yer a virgin, ain't ya?" he asked her gently, switching the subject.

"Yes," she nodded, suddenly wishing she wasn't. Maybe then he wouldn't be such a damn gentleman.

"Nuthin' to be 'shamed of," he chided her as he tucked the lock of hair behind her ear. "Kind of a turn-on, actually. Not that many lined up an' willin' ta trust a Dixon with their first time."

She looked up at him through her lashes, "If the choice were mine to make, would you?"

He grinned down at her, and she felt like she were suddenly wrapped up in a long red cape, on her way to Grandmother's house.

"If'n it were entirely up ta me, we'd have stopped talkin' a long time ago, and I'd be havin' that sweet lil' peach o' yers fer dessert," he quipped as he quirked his eyebrows at her.

She was grateful for the spreading darkness. It made it difficult for him to see how much his voice was affecting her. "I was just thinking…."

"What?" he encouraged, giving her a sociable smirk as he waited for her answer.

She shivered as she looked out over the vast pine forest stretching to the north. "The Governor. He's going to come after us. After me. There's the possibility that…someday, I might not have a choice..."

"That ain't never gonna happen," Merle vowed, his voice momentarily strangled with determination and discomfort. "Ya know that, dontcha? As long as I'm breathin', ain't no one gonna lay a fuckin' finger on ya less'n ya want 'em to."

Her eyes met and held his in the gathering gloom as she reached out, took his left hand in both of hers, and brought up it to her face.

Once again, he opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

Beth figured it must be some sort of world record and she smiled as as she slowly nuzzled her lips into his palm. The webbing between his thumb and forefinger had been bandaged, and the tape scraped the underside of her earlobe as he moved his hand up to cup her cheek. Her breath caught as she felt the pads of his fingertips tracing circles at the base of her skull, right where her hair tended to curl just the tiniest bit.

"I want this," she whispered as she let her hands drifted down to rest against the broad expanse of his chest, as if folded in prayer. "If you don't, just tell me, and we'll forget it ever happened."

"Girl, yer outta yer goddamn mind if ya think I'm ever gonna forget," he muttered brusquely.

She splayed her hands on his torso, delighting in the warmth she could feel emanating from him.

"But I ain't a nice man," he continued, shaking his head as he stroked the delicate skin behind her ear. "Done a lotta bad things. Things that'd make the Devil himself 'shamed. Ain't nowhere near good enough to look at ya, much less touch ya, no matter how much I wanna."

She didn't say anything, but she did notice that he hadn't taken his hand away from her.

"An' I wanna do more than just touch ya," he confessed with all the fervor of a criminal seeking pardon. "Things I wanna do, they ain't the sorta things good girls want."

"You ever been with a good girl?" she asked.

He smiled at that. "Can't say that I have, sugar."

"Then how would you know?" she challenged.

He chuckled as he drew her closer, holding her head against his chest with his hand as he wrapped his other arm around her until she felt the bite of the buckles of his prosthetic pressing into her lower back.

"Ya sayin' ya want me to fuck ya?" he demanded, his drawl lazy, harsh, and aggressive in her ear. "Because that's what it would be, darlin'. Fuckin'. Lotsa rough, nasty fuckin'. Kind that'd make a whore blush redder than a jar o' pickled beets. But nuthin' more'n that. Lord knows I got 'nough skill ta have ya callin' His name over an' over all through tha night, but I ain't gonna be whisperin' sweet nothin's in yer ear while I'm doin' it."

She leaned forward and gently bit the side of his neck in response.

"Girl, yer gonna be the death o' me," he told her as he slid his right arm down to bring them closer together.

"Merle," she whispered as she slid her hands around his torso and dropped them into his back pockets.

His voice was a grumble as he replied, "Yeah?"

"I'm tired of all this talkin'. Will you please just shut up and kiss me?"

"Ya absolutely sure?" he asked, his breath hitching.

"Yes," she said as she raised her face up to his as she called his bluff. "Only…."

"Awww, damn. Knew it was too good t' be true," he chuckled as he looked down at her. "What's yer price?"

She rolled her eyes as she used her hands to tug him closer. "Nothing. I was just gonna ask you if you would kiss me like you kissed me last night."

The smiled dropped from his face as his gaze dropped to her mouth. "Ya liked that?"

"Yes, I did," she said, glad that she had him to hold onto. She was in serious danger of melting into the floor if she let go and he kept on looking at her like that.

He pressed her back up against the door, pinning her with his weight. "What else didya like?"

Beth bit her lip, suddenly shy. "I, um, I liked it when you touched me."

"Like this?"

Quick as a snake, his hand slid from the nape of her neck to her right breast.

"Yes. Oh, yes," she whimpered as she felt the hot, rough pad of his thumb stroking over her nipple through her bra, her tank top, and her shirt. It was almost too much, and she closed her eyes and turned her head to the left.

"Go on, darlin'," he crooned softly as he positioned his mouth enough close to her ear that she swore she could hear him purring. "What else?"

Her face was on fire, but then again, so was the rest of her. "I – I like it when I touched you."

"Where?" he growled, his rough voice stroking all sorts of shivering, weeping parts inside of her that she never knew existed.

She gathered every bit of courage she possessed as she withdrew her right hand from his back pocket and very carefully placed her palm on his zipper. "Here."

"Goddamn, girl!" he groaned as snatched her small hand away with his huge one.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, scared that she'd ruined everything.

He put some space between their bodies as he rested his forehead against hers. "No, no, ya misunderstood. My bad, sweetness; almost thought I was gonna embarrass myself fer a moment."

"Oh."

He snickered, and the sound seemed oddly warm and affectionate in her ear. "Gotta be honest, darlin', I'm on a bit of a hair-trigger right now. If'n ya don't mind, I'd be much more comf'table concentrating on ya for the time bein'."

She squared her shoulders as she reached up with her other hand to stroke the evening stubble that adorned his jaw. "Does this mean…?"

"That yer pretty lil' pinks parts got themselves a date with ol' Merle at some point in the future?" His shoulders slumped as he heaved a deep sigh and he closed his eyes. "Are ya totally certain that's whatcha want?"

She rose up on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, "Yes."

"God help ya, angel, ya don't know what yer in for," he warned her as he caught her and held her against him, like she was something fragile to be protected at all costs.

"Neither do you," she vowed, as she slid her fingers into the short, crisp hair at the nape of his neck.

"Reckon we'll just have to figure it out together, won't we?" Merle commented before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Beth pulled back and gave him a shy smile. "So, when do we start?"