The sun had already passed its zenith. About five hours ticked by since your match with Dwight ended. You spent the entire afternoon in the luxurious lounge with a fragile, distressed Nicole; you calmed her down significantly after Amber's stunt that led to her death. The other wives were locked in their rooms and kept under the watchful eye of Negan's guards. You wondered if Amber attempted to escape this morning because of the lack of supervision; all of The Saviors had been summoned to the warehouse, and only two guards remained on the grounds. What were her motives? Of course, there was the Mark incident, but Sherry didn't go crazy with grief when Dwight's face was ironed. There had to be more to the story.
"Honey, can I ask you something?" you murmured to Nicole as she dabbed your split lip with a wash cloth.
"Sure," she sniffled. Her crystal blue eyes were still misty.
You hesitated, thinking that this wasn't the time to talk about Amber, but curiosity conquered courtesy. "Why did she do it? Was she planning to run away with Mark?"
Nicole stiffened and wiped a tear from her cheek. "No...but his punishment tipped her over the edge. She was planning to run back home. Unlike the other wives, Amber had a family. They'd survived the outbreak. Her father and mother own a farm just outside of The Sanctuary."
"What kind of farm?" you inquired.
"An apple orchard," Nicole responded. "About a year after the walkers took over, Negan found their home. They didn't have much to give. They weren't soldiers or craftsmen...they were hardly educated. So Negan took what interested him most, and that happened to be Amber." She paused and took a deep breath. "I overheard her talking about going back to see them. She wanted to leave since day one."
You placed your hand on Nicole's nylon-covered leg. "If she made it to the farm, she wouldn't have found them."
"What do you mean?" Nicole asked, squeezing your hand.
You sighed and gazed at her cherubic face, solemnly. "I was scavenging for food in that orchard before I was captured. The place was falling to pieces and there were no signs of residents. Either they moved to another colony, or they..." Gulping, you tried to hold back your sorrow. "...at any rate, Amber wouldn't have been reunited with her family."
Nicole nodded and processed your words. "Her parents only wanted the best for her. They knew she'd be safer here with Negan. If walkers raided their home, they couldn't protect her."
"I understand," you answered. A moment of silence enveloped the room. Nicole continued to mend the bite marks on your arm. She poured rubbing alcohol on the wound and you winced. "That damn Dwight's got teeth like a crocodile," you cursed.
A fleeting smile lit up Nicole's peachy cheeks, and she giggled. "I still can't believe you'd agree to such cruelty."
"Agree to it? He gave me two options: Fuck in or fight in. So I chose the latter."
"But why? Negan's nothing but generous when it comes to us. He gives us protection, clothes, sweets, cosmetics, everything we could ever desire...and more."
Always. There's always more. This is Negan we're talking about, after all.
"And more?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
Nicole blushed and bit her lip. "He gives us himself..."
"Ha!" you cackled. "Oh sure, like that prick is so mind-blowing-fucking-awesome in the sack!"
You glanced at Nicole in your laughter, and she still sported that coy glow on her face. A sultry smile played about her lips. "Come on, No-Name. I've seen the way you look at him. The only thing that's stopping you from gaining a life like this is your pride."
"That's fucking bull," you snapped. "I don't care if he's Wonder-Fingers-Magnum-Cock, I'm not interested."
Batting her voluminous lashes, she stared into your eyes. "You may be able to fool the others, but you can't fool me."
You huffed and wrapped your forearm in gauze. But you were genuinely curious. He'd given you a taste of his passion last night, but it was merely a glimpse of his potential. You wanted to know exactly why all those wives were so goddamn giggly and luminous with joy. The bon-bons, perfume, and nail polish couldn't have been responsible for their bubbly mood. You paused before you asked, "So...what's he like?"
Gently, Nicole ran her pink finger nails over your cheeks and cupped your chin. "If I tell you, you're gonna have to tell me something in return."
Oh great! A girly game of honesty-hour. How fun...you thought, nervously.
"Fine, fine, fine, I will," you replied.
Nicole held out her pinky. "Promise?" Her baby blues sparkled, and her smiled beamed with excitement.
Gingerly, you curled your pinky around hers. Those lily-white fingers looked so delicate, you thought you'd break them if you so much as squeezed them too hard--like holding a baby dove in your hand. "I promise," you said, rolling your eyes.
She released a peal of laughter, and inched closer to you. Once she started, she didn't stop. "Yay! Oh my god, oh my god, he's incredible. I mean, I wasn't really into the whole beard trend, but when he goes down on me, it feels amazing! And that tongue of his! He knows all the right places, and his pace is fucking perfect. And the way he uses his fingers; I didn't think I was able to orgasm just from fingering alone! But--oh my god--and his teeth are so gentle, and he nibbles in just the right way. He loves it when we get vocal, and I'm a giggler. So I can't hold in my noises, and it gets him so turned on! I was like literally screaming. Then, BAM! He's like a passionate hurricane! And he's always slow to start--he loves teasing--but when he fills you! He's huge! Which I totally expected since he's so tall and Italian and whatever. Oh my freaking god, he's just the PERFECT size! And he knows just when to speed up, and he kisses my neck and holds me down while he does it, and--"
Wide-eyed and overwhelmed, you gawked at Nicole as her mouth ran a mile a minute. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. If Negan wasn't ridiculously tempting before, he was definitely a Don Juan times a million now. Your mouth hung open as you absorbed all the juicy information she was spouting. Even talking about her sensual experiences with him made her bounce in her seat, wildly. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly, and her cheeks grew flushed as cherries. She even moaned a couple of times as she explained his skills.
Un-fucking-believable. Absolutely incredible, you pondered. And I'M missing out. Goddamn it all.
After Nicole ended her shrill raving, she exploded into giggles. "Goodness, you look like a deer in the headlights!" she laughed.
Snapping out of your daze, you cleared your throat. "Well, um...I was just, you know, distracted I guess. That all sounds like, um..." you awkwardly tried to form words. But your mind had blown a fuse. It was a snowy mess of TV fuzz, at this point. "Sweet Jesus, well...that was unexpected. It sounds...uh...kind of amazing."
"The word 'amazing' doesn't even do him justice," she groaned in pleasure. "The only thing he doesn't let us do is kiss him on the lips."
"What?" you interjected. That's a little odd.
"It's just one of his rules. He never told us why. None of his wives are allowed." She shrugged and gauged your reaction. You were frozen--still as stone. Your eyes were wide open. She playfully pushed your shoulder. "Don't be so shy. I know you want to rock his world--"
You shook your head in denial. "What did you want to ask me?" you cut her off before she could extract your deepest, darkest cravings. You cleared your throat again, and cracked your neck--still unaware of how to reply to her list of sexual escapades.
She leaned in and swung her arms around your neck. Her angelic eyes pierced your own. "No-Name..." she started.
"Yes?" you squeaked as she closed in. Her rosy perfume engulfed your nostrils, making it difficult to breathe.
"What's your real name?" she asked, flipping her platinum curls over her shoulder.
You laughed in response. "Can I use the skip card on this one?"
"You pinky-swore!" she exclaimed. She appeared to be the type of girl who would throw a hissy-fit if she didn't get what she wanted.
Avoiding a possible tantrum, you complied. "My name is..." She stared at you in wonder. Her eyes expectantly fixed on your lips. Swirls of thrill and intrigue glimmered in her irises.
"Go on..." she urged, impatiently.
You smirked at her and chuckled. "It's Rumpelstiltkin."
"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed in hysterics. Her girlish laughter vibrated through the gossamer-filled lounge. "What's the harm in a name?"
You shrugged your shoulders. "It's a silly rule I have...but if I tell you, do YOU swear you won't tell anyone else? I mean it, Nicole." The seriousness of your words was reflected in your stern expression.
Raising her manicured pinky again, she whispered, "I pinky swear."
"What's with all this ridiculous, pinky shit?" you giggled. You clutched her pinky in a feminine hand-shake and grinned.
"It's not ridiculous," she corrected you. "It's binding."
"Okay, okay...alrighty then." You pulled out a cigarette and flipped it between your fingers. "Do you mind if I..."
Nicole huffed in disgust. "I guess we have enough scented candles to cover it up."
Chuckling, you lit the cig and grabbed a drink coaster to utilize as an ash tray. "I apologize," you said and exhaled away from her face. "This is my first one today."
"Whatever," she snipped. "So, your name..."
You took another drag off the Camel. "You're gonna laugh..."
"I don't care!" she whined. "Quit teasing me!" She shoved you pitifully, and you coughed as you giggled at her eagerness.
"Alright. My real name is Jack." You expected to hear a response, but there was none. Looking over at her, you noticed her brow was raised and her arms were folded, firmly. "You don't look convinced, Nickie."
"Because that's a boy's name," she replied, critically.
"Exactly," you sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. You tapped your ashes on the coaster and studied her quizzical disposition.
"Is it short for Jacqulyn?" she pried.
You let out a hearty laugh, and took another puff. "This is where it gets confusing. My actual birth name is Joline. But the nickname 'Jo' didn't sit right with my mother. So she addressed me as Jackie. My father, however, called me Jack."
"Why? Joline is such a pretty name," Nicole piped up.
You smiled, fondly. "Well, my mother always wanted me to be her little girl. My dad, on the other hand, always wanted a son. So while my mom was trying to dress me up in ribbons and bows, my dad taught me how to spit, fight, shoot, and cuss."
"I take it you were Daddy's little girl, then," she giggled and caressed your hair.
"Oh, I was Daddy's rambunctious, little boy! That's for sure," you guffawed. "He taught me all the tricks of the trade, and it drove my mother up the wall! I was the only hell she ever raised."
Tumbling over each other in laughter, you told her stories about how your father would sneak you to the shooting range under your mother's nose. You regaled her with nostalgic anecdotes of how you'd crush a few beers with him as he told his war stories. Laughing hysterically, you recalled a few fights you had in school where you beat the snot out of the boys on the playground--no one messed with "Jack." You were just a Tom-boy who loved shooting pool and hated the color pink.
In the middle of your trip down memory lane, Nicole asked, "Is that why you want to be one of the Saviors?"
You paused and ran the filter of the cig along your bottom lip. "Well, yes. Even if I did want to have a taste of Negan, which is the last thing on the goddamn planet that I would want, I couldn't live the life you're living. It's not in my nature. I like being surrounded by guys. It's all I've ever known. There's a comfort in being one of the rough-'n-tough lads."
"But would you ever consider being a wife?" she asked and played with your free hand. She grazed her fingers along your arm and drew little circles around your scars. This Nicole was an extremely touchy girl. "I mean, I'd love your company. The other wives can get a little catty."
"Oh, I bet," you chuckled. "That's why I never hung out with women. Too much drama."
Shyly, she brought your bandaged hand to her plump lips and kissed it. "Well, I think you should give it some thought. It's pretty lonely, to be honest. I can't talk to the other girls like this..."
You breathed a heavy sigh as you tapped the butt of your cigarette against the coaster. Turning to Nicole, you placed your hands on her slender shoulders. "Look...Nicole, you're a kind soul and a great gal. But I live to work. Though all of this seems lovely, especially in the terrifying world that we live in, it's just not for me. My freedom, no matter how small that amount is...it's everything to me."
She nodded her head, and her golden strands of hair fell in front of her eyes. You pushed the wisps behind her ears, maternally. Staring at the floor in disappointment, she asked, "Is there any way you could reach a compromise with Negan? Maybe he'd be willing to make a deal."
Her suggestion reminded you of Negan's words in the warehouse: A mighty mean storm is coming, hon. When it came to Negan, there was always more...more ways to rip people off. He'd bend the rules until he got what he wanted. Even if he made "deals," he could manipulate them however he wished. Reaching a compromise with him was only asking for more trouble. "Nicole..." you began. "You know as well as I do that he'll find a way to screw me over...just like Rumpelstiltkin."
Abruptly, there was a knock on the door. You both jumped. "Who is it?" Nicole sang.
"It's the big bad wolf! Open up or I'll blow your house in."
Speak of the devil--here he is, in the flesh! Of course, it was fucking Negan.
Scurrying to the door, Nicole invited him in. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. We were just talking about you!"
Wait...what? you thought, puzzled. You were distracted by this heart-stopping vision of Negan in a slightly open dress-shirt...his chiseled chest was speckled with hair. His demeanor was more at ease, and his hair was slightly messy. The tantalizingly sweet, musky smell of him made you sit up on the overstuffed couch. He looked directly at you as if you were the only one in the room.
"Oh yeah? All fucking good things, I hope," Negan said while leering at you. "Let me hear it!"
Nicole ushered him over to the couch where you two were sitting. His firm, alpha-male appearance didn't belong in a frilly palace like this. "Ja--I mean--No-Name wants to discuss a few things with you," she cooed, and she placed him on the fluffy cushion next to you.
For fuck's sake, Nickie. You nearly blow my cover, and then you throw me to the wolves? Fucking nice...
"N-n-no actually," you stuttered, rising from your seat. "I'd better get back to work. The boys need some help organizing some supplies. And I also told Dwight I'd take over his gun-repair shift. And I also need to--"
"That can fucking wait, busy bee," Negan interrupted you. He motioned his hand toward the seat next to him, and you slowly sat down. "I was meaning to talk to you anyway, doll. We have some unfinished business," he mentioned in a rather seductive tone.
Nicole giggled, and twirled her hair, flirtatiously. "I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, I'll be in my room," she called as she skipped out the door.
For a moment, you wanted to run after her and scold her for that trick she just pulled. She knew exactly what she was doing. And you fumed. Oh, just you wait, Nicole. I'm not going to make this fucking easy.
You glared at the door as Negan slid his arm around you. He was really cozying up to you. "Thanks for dealing with Nickie. She can be a fucking handful when she's stressed out. As a matter of fact, she looked as fresh as a fucking daisy. You're a miracle worker." He smirked at you and ran his fingers through your hair. Studying your wounds with a concerned expression on his brow, he asked earnestly, "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yep. Still breathing," you snipped and ignored the warm tingling in your stomach.
"I thought so," he laughed, and the sound was like music to your ears. It wasn't the same aggressive cackle you heard during your showdown with Dwight. It was warmer and sweeter. It was goddamn melodic. He placed his hand on your knee. "I know you're a tough fucking cookie," he chuckled as his handsome grin revealed his dimples.
Nicole's stream of information about Negan's skills in bed reverberated in your mind. The thought of him nibbling your ear and caressing your body with his calloused hands made you feverish with lust. You caught yourself shivering in delight before you muttered, "I wanted to ask you about some...things." Cracking your knuckles, you glanced at him, anxiously.
"What kinda things?" he responded in encouragement.
How about whether I won or lost the fight?You didn't want to open up that can of worms. Dreading further punishment, you answered, "...stuff."
Your vague response made his eyes smile--enhancing his crow's feet that you adored. He seemed to have cooled down exponentially after everything that happened only a few hours ago. Even his voice sounded smoother...more gentle and caring. What was he up to? "I know a good fucking bit about all kinds of stuff. Ask away, hon."
Should I even mention Nicole's scheme? you mused. Instead, you lit another cigarette and began your questionnaire. Impulsively, you inquired, "Why don't you let your wives kiss you?" You hoped this would act as a diversion from his original intentions.
Negan's smoldering smile grew broader, and his eyes fell on your lips. "Nicole must've been letting you in on the way things work in her world," he murmured. "Why do you ask?" Perhaps he believed that you were finally giving in, waving the white flag, joining the Stepford Wives.
His tone was as low as thunder. His touch burned against your skin, scrumptiously. His eyes looked hungry--starving for another taste of you.
Oh my god... This man will be the death of me.
"Allow me to give you a little job description," Negan crooned...