Irresistible Danger

A Steamy Surprise

There was a rack of showering products underneath the showerhead, and you reached out for the bottle of liquid body wash. Popping open the cap, you inhaled as a spicy yet woodsy smell drifted out, like cinnamon sprinkled over cedar. It smelled like Negan, which both made you smile and clench your thighs in desire. You put a dollop of the liquid into your palm and lathered it up, before coating your entire body in the masculine scent.

Reaching up, you plucked the showerhead from its base and ran it up and down your body, sighing as the warm water washed away the suds. Once fully rinsed, you replaced the showerhead and turned to grab the shampoo, hoping that Negan wouldn't mind too much that you were stealing some of his products. He probably has an entire bin full of replacements somewhere around here, your subconscious hushed, too blissed-out from this delicious experience to worry.

Negan's shampoo smelled minty and clean, a refreshing smell that offset the stronger scent of the body wash perfectly. You lathered up your hair, careful to be gentle with the back of your scalp, which was still tender from the fall. You stood under the warm spray of water until long after the shampoo was gone from your hair, then reached for the conditioner. You almost laughed at the realization that it was the same brand and corresponding smell as the shampoo. Only Negan would have matching products.

When your hair was conditioned and rinsed, you finally turned off the water and opened the door to grab one of the large, fluffy grey towels that were folded neatly in a pile on a nearby counter. They were thick and luxurious, and this entire showering experience was like the pre-apocalypse equivalent of going to a fancy spa. Drying off your body, before wrapping the towel around your hair, you retrieved your clothes from their pile on the floor and put on the bra and light blue t-shirt. You really wished that you could put on a fresh pair of underwear, but that would have to wait until you returned to your own room. Not wanting to put the dirty pair back on, you hesitated, contemplating, before giving a mental 'fuck it' and pulling on Negan's sweatpants, sans panties. They were surprisingly comfortable, although you had to roll up the cuffs a few times so that they weren't dragging on the ground.

Walking over to the sink, you scanned the countertop. There was a dish with bar soap on it, and a toothbrush holder, which held a singular, white and blue toothbrush, with a tube of toothpaste beside it. You were impressed to see that the toothpaste was neatly rolled up at the bottom, rather than randomly squeezed and mangled in the middle. Realizing how ridiculous it was to care how Negan used his toothpaste, you jerked your gaze away and focused on the rows of drawers on the front of the sink. Opening the top left drawer, you gazed at the contents, which included a straight razor and some shaving cream, but not what you were looking for.

Opening the next drawer, you smiled in victory at the discovery of a comb. It was lying beside a jar of the pomade that Negan must use to slick back his dark locks. Unwinding the towel from your hair, you refolded and set it on the sink countertop before starting to work the comb through the knots and snags in your hair. When you were satisfied, and all snarls and loose hair had been discarded in the small, off-white trashcan, you replaced the comb, grabbed the panties, and picked up the bed sheet, which was still lying in front of the door. Unlocking and opening the door, you stepped out into the cooler bedroom, the locked-up steam from the hot shower escaping with you.

You stopped dead at the sight of Negan sitting at the table, in the chair facing you. Well, shit.

You stood there awkwardly, waiting to see if he would be pissed that you had gone snooping around his room and used his private bathroom. He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, which was clad only in the white t-shirt he had grabbed from the armoire last night. His eyes scanned up and down your body, and his face and voice were devoid of emotion as he asked, "Are those my fucking pants?"