No Sanctuary For Old Men [18+] |Negan| ✔️ Complete

XXV • Red Rocket

The car was a beast, and a ball of excitement roiled inside Daphne's belly at the acceleration holding her in her seat. She glanced over at Negan's shit eating grin, the face of a little boy with his favourite toy. It was surprisingly endearing, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Enjoying your fuckin' chariot, strawberry?" he drawled, and shifted into sixth, opening up the gear box for the climb to the car's top end. The road was clear of debris, and she assumed that if this route was taken once a month, he would have made sure didn't hinder his joyride.

"I always preferred the Huracan," she said flippantly.

He barked a laugh and shook his head. "You're a tough fuckin' woman to impress." 

Daphne raised an eyebrow. Negan was the epitome of laid back perfection, all leather and scruff leaning back in his seat with an arm draped over the steering wheel and the other hand lazily sitting on the shifter. To say the King of the Saviors impressed her was an understatement. 

But she wasn't about to admit that.

"And why would you be trying to impress me, o great leader?" she teased.

"You're a sassy little bitch, that's why," Negan replied, and she scoffed, feigning offense. He just laughed at her, and she couldn't help but join in. She ran her hand along the dashboard appreciatively.

"What is this again, V10?" she inquired, enjoying the sucking roar of the engine.

He nodded. "You a fuckin' mechanic as well as a seamstress?"

Daphne briefly entertained the idea of lying to him, but shot it down. She'd gotten where she wanted to be, and since she'd been slapped with the title of Lieutenant, loyalty had been slowly growing in her chest like a patriotic tumour.

"No, my roommates in college played a lot of Gran Turismo." She laughed. "They had steering wheel controllers and everything."

Negan shook his head. "Fuckin' nerds."

"We can't all be Lords of the Apocalypse with a supercar in our garage," she said. "I bet you didn't have one of these in your past life."

He cackled. "Shit, no. Definitely fuckin' not."

"What did you do?" she pressed, voice playful. "Bartender? Retail? Pimp?" She snapped her fingers. "Oh, baseball player?"

He shot her a bewildered look. "Gym teacher," he said, and then smirked at the look of shock on Daphne's face.

"You're not serious." She giggled. "You're shitting me right now. You? A teacher? A gym teacher?" She flipped her hair and her voice went up an octave. "Oh, Mr. Negan, I don't want to run any more laps, can't we work something out?"

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as she batted her eyelashes and twirled a blonde curl with her finger. She saw heat in his amber eyes, and his hooded gaze made her clench her thighs together. She hissed at the surprisingly pleasant sting of her brand as she did so, and his smirk widened.

"We could definitely fuckin' work something out, little miss strawberry," he drawled in a low husk, and Daphne cursed her traitorous libido for her warmth at his words. An image fluttered through her mind of Negan sitting on a plush bed, bending her over his lap, smacking her bare ass with one hand, the other screwing two fingers into her pussy.

She was surprised at this, as she had never been the submissive type, but the realization that she was wet at the scenario made her think that this man was bringing something out in her. She shivered with arousal, the car suddenly feeling too small next to Negan's overwhelming maleness.