Knock, knock, knock! You peeled your eyelids open and squinted at the morning light, pouring through your window. Yawning and attempting to roll over, you could feel your legs aching. Your arms were as sore as wrung-out rags. You looked at the door through your crusty eyelashes. Did someone actually knock, or was it just a dream? Cuddling up with your pillow, you curled into a fetal position. You weren't done with your well-deserved rest. KNOCK, KNOCK!
"Okay! I'm coming!" you groaned and rubbed the bags beneath your eyes. Rolling out of bed, you dragged your legs to the door. Struggling with the knob, you cracked it open. You peered through the sliver of the entrance.
The Latino gave you a half-smile and waved from the other side. "Buenos dias, Sin-Nombre," he sang.
Stretching your arms, you mumbled, "How's it going, Rico Suave?"
You noticed his arm was tucked behind his back. He was hiding something. "Good, good. Did you sleep well?" he asked, opening the door further.
"I could use more," you yawned.
He laughed. "Check the time, chica. It's almost noon."
Your head whipped around, and you read the clock. It was 11:45! "Goddamn..." you pouted. "I've must've been out like a..."
"Like a dead donkey," he giggled.
You rolled your eyes. "I was gonna say 'out like a light.' But whatever floats your boat."
"Or whatever makes the cock dance," he chimed in.
Your ears perked up, and you chuckled. "Whatever makes the what dance?"
"What's the American word...rooster!" he corrected himself.
"Ah...I was gonna say," you giggled and ran your fingers through your tangled locks.
"Gotta little surprise!" he cheered and held up a plate, which he'd hidden behind him. "Look what we made for you!"
You studied the dish. "Pancakes? With maple syrup? Oh my god! Thank you!" you gasped in delight. Gazing at the stack of three hot cakes, your stomach rumbled.
He looked pleased with himself. "It's the least we could do. We thought the reaper was gonna take you last night, you know. That was a close call."
"That's the cutest damn thing, you sappy bastard!" Taking the plate from his hands, you placed it on your dresser.
In a bashful, blushing demeanor, he mentioned, "Don't just thank me. Thank the rest of the Saviors. It was their idea."
"Just gimme a couple minutes, then I'll join you guys in the canteen," you replied.
You were about to devour the pancakes, when the Latino added, "And Negan wants you in his room at 12:30."
Nearly choking on your first bite, you gulped. "What?"
"He wants to talk to you 'bout something mucho importante," he said, solemnly.
Swallowing your large bite of breakfast, you nodded. "So be it."
This must be about the hullabaloo that Gio caused, you pondered while relishing the taste of the scrumptious pancakes.
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After parading up and down the rows of men in the cafeteria--showing your gratitude and distributing hugs--you walked to Negan's office. The guards kindly greeted you along the way. You strode up to the door and fixed your V-neck shirt. The time was 12:15. Being punctual was something you always practiced. Rapping at the entrance, you waited, patiently. There was movement on the other side. You could hear the faint sound of falling water and the squeak of a shower handle. He must've been washing up. Realizing that this was an improper time to arrive, you turned around. But the door creaked open.
"You're pretty fucking early," Negan crooned.
Pivoting your feet, you faced him. You were met with a dreamlike vision that was far more delicious than the pancakes. There he stood, shirtless with a towel around his waist. He was dripping with trails of soapy water. His firm chest sparkled, and his hair looked damp and messy. That bristly beard glistened with dewy, silver beads of moisture. His hard abs were accentuated by the twinkle of the fresh shower. He smelled heavenly, and your legs turned to Jello. Oh my Jesus God Mary and Joseph, praise be to this fucking Adonis--bless me as I fucking ride him like a Stallion! You could hardly breathe.
"What's the matter, hon? Training to be a fucking mime?" he chuckled, deeply.
You jolted out of your feverish trance. "Oh, n-n-no. I'm just not f-f-fully awake yet," you stammered. Giving him a fake yawn, you tried to disguise your boiling lust.
"Well, you're cordially fucking invited to come in," he murmured. He stepped to the side of the frame, and you entered with shaky knees. Instinctively, you walked to the couch in the corner of his office, but before you took a seat, he said, "No, follow me."
Raising your eyebrow, you joined him in the room connected to his work-space. As you strolled in, you absorbed a panorama of the area. There was intricately carved shelf by the window, jammed with old, yellowing books. A small writing desk sat on the other side of the curtain-framed windowpane. A short, iron heater was placed in another corner, and a bucket of coal leaned against it. Sitting between two leather armchairs was a glass table. A kettle, a cookie-tin of sugar, and a couple of coffee mugs were scattered on its surface. You spotted a cherrywood nightstand with an old kerosene lamp on top, resting next to a bottle of Armani code cologne, a pair of reading glasses, and a copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Adjacent to the nightstand was...oh my god...a queen-sized bed with dark-lavender, satin sheets. So, this must be his man-cave, you mused in awe.
Your body stiffened as your vision flitted all over his bedroom. "How do you take your coffee?" he asked.
Locking your eyes on him, you said, "Black, thank you."
He smiled and delivered the mug of dark roast to you. "That's my girl," he laughed. "I fucking figured." Gesturing to the armchairs, he backed away toward the quaint bathroom near the office. "Take a fucking load off. I'm gonna throw some pants on, real quick."
You wanted so desperately to say, No need! Let's chill out in our birthday suits! But instead, you meekly replied, "Alright, I'll be here."
As he disappeared into the steamy washroom, you picked up the book from his nightstand. Settling into one of the armchairs, you flipped through the pages. You smelled the aged parchment. Aside from Negan's woodsy musk, there were two smells in particular that you absolutely loved: old books and new magazines. You grinned as the aroma filled your nostrils. Opening to the first chapter, you read, "In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit..." This was the story that your father read you when you were a little over three feet tall. You fell in love with the story, and you begged him to re-read it each time it ended. He was a very theatrical storyteller, and he'd assume different voices for each of the characters--he brought the tale to life. A feeling of warmth and comfort blanketed you. As you breezed through the pages, you could hear your father's narration in his southern twang. You almost cried.
"I had a feeling you'd be a fucking book-worm," Negan's gravelly voice ripped you from the story. He towered above you, still topless. All he wore were a pair of faded jeans. His reading glasses were clasped in his hand.
Closing the text, you responded, "That just happens to be my favorite book."
"Well, isn't that a coincidence," he smiled, sitting in the chair across from you. "Tolkien is my fucking hero."
You gazed at him in disbelief. "Wait, really?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely," he chuckled. "That was my go-to book when I was a kid."
Your smile broadened. "That was my bedtime story. My dad would read it to me every single night."
He sipped his coffee, hiding his grin. "Sounds like he goddamn adored you."
Fighting back tears, you nodded. "Dad was my hero. Sergeant Bennett, everyone called him. He was a hard man--an army veteran. But he had such a big heart...and a love for literature."
"Hmmm...Jackie Bennett," Negan recited, twisting the end of the reading glasses in his teeth. "That's a damn strong name. Strong name for a strong girl."
Your cheeks went red. But before you got too mushy and nostalgic, you changed the subject. "How's Sherry holding up?"
He took another gulp of his coffee, and spooned a couple lumps of sugar into the mug. "She lost a fuck-ton of blood, but they stitched her up. Dwight's taking care of her now."
Cocking your head, you looked at him, quizzically. "You trust her with Dwight?"
Negan sighed and put down his coffee. Licking his lips, he explained, "I made an agreement with D last night that she could be his, again."
You did NOT expect this. "Why?" you inquired.
He ruffled his damp hair. "They've both gone through enough fucking hell. I've been damn hard on those poor bastards. Especially Dwight, that motherfucker."
"So...now you're down to three wives," you noted.
He released a peal of laughter. "Dropping like fucking flies, right? Jesus..."
"But I totally get it," you began. He tilted his head in captivation. "They're an important part of your rule. Your harem is an example of power. Plus, what heterosexual male wouldn't want multiple women to satisfy them? You're living the dream."
He ran his hand casually along his toned chest. "It doesn't bother you, sweetheart?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Flexing his arms arrogantly, you noticed the tattoos on his deltoids.
Your core started to tingle, but you suppressed your desires. "Me? Bothered? No!" you objected. "We're not together in any way, shape, or form. So why would I be bothered?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "You fucking chicks are like that...getting all catty and clinging and shit." He spooned even more sugar into his coffee. You could tell he was craving some sweetness.
"Well, I'm not like most chicks," you huffed. Sipping your beverage, your tastebuds were tickled by bitter-sweet roast.
Negan leaned in dangerously close. "And that's what I fucking love about you." He winked and caught you shivering in excitement. "So, I have a proposal."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" you said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Since you enjoy working so goddamn fucking much, and since the men would probably throw a motherfucking hissy-fit if I ever took you away from them...how about this fucking offer..." With a twitching hand, you picked up the mug and sipped. Your eyes focused on him. "What if I let you carry on the way you have, so fucking diligently...while being my wife?"
Almost doing a cartoonish spit-take, you froze. "You must be joking," you gasped.
"I'm not trying be a fucking comedian," he murmured. "I'm being stone-fucking-cold honest."
"What about the others--"
"I've lost fucking interest in them a long time ago. Hell, I'll keep 'em around just to feng shui this fucking compound. It's missing a feminine touch."
"Whoa, you mean this would be exclusive?" You were utterly overwhelmed with confusion.
He placed his reading glasses firmly on the table. "I haven't fucking played with any of those kittens in months. My bone's as dry as a bone, no pun intended," he chuckled at his own wit. "I'm done with that distributing-the-dick shit. And I need a change."
Your brow furrowed, and you leaned back in your chair. "But why?" you questioned. "Why would you relinquish that power?"
His expression darkened in earnest. Folding his arms, his gaze explored your body. "Look, wives or no wives, I'm still the fucking king of the hill. That means I can do whatever the fuck I want." He offered you his hand with a flicker of hope in his eyes. "And I want you, Jackie Bennett."
He...you...you and him...Negan and Jackie...what? Your brain short-circuited. Your face glowed with intense heat. Your heart thudded, wildly. Too perplexed to handle the situation, you stood up and began to pace. "Shouldn't we be talking about that prisoner? He's still wandering about, out there. Who knows what he could be planning? He could be gathering an army for all we know! And--"
Negan rose from his seat and approached you. "We can fucking discuss that later, doll," he purred. Easing your tense muscles with his hands, he massaged your shoulders. You melted under his expert touch. His fingers rubbed the tension from your nerves, and relieved your soreness. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you sighed. "Why don't you fucking relax, every once in a damn while? Lay down," he suggested in his soft, low timbre. You hummed in agreement, and he led you to the bed. Settling on the sheets, you adjusted yourself. "Belly down, ass up," he chuckled. Giggling, you rested your head on the pillow. You could feel his muscled legs straddle your back. He knelt above you while kneading your shoulders. "Now, tell me what's sore."
You could hardly speak. His hands loosened your aching body, and you could feel yourself sinking into the mattress. "My lower back hurts a bit," you cooed. His hands slid down your back and rolled over your muscles.
"Would you mind giving me more...access?" he murmured.
"Oh...sure," you replied in a daze. You quickly removed your shirt. He took it from your grasp, folded it neatly, and placed it on the side of the bed. You laid back down on his bed, which was as soft as cumulus clouds.
He continued to press his knuckles into your knots. Though you were calmer than ever, unprocessed thoughts still raced in your mind. You shyly inquired, "So, why did you kiss me?"
"Hmm?" he hummed, too concentrated on your curves.
"I mean, your wives aren't allowed to kiss you. And you don't kiss them," you remarked.
"Once again, hon," he started while his hands drifted further down your back. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."
"But what about the whole attachment issue?" You felt his hands draw nearer to your ass, and you entire body tingled with yearning.
"That seems to be your biggest fucking fear," he retorted. After he said this, he lightly stroked your ass for a moment. Then, he returned to your back, teasingly. You bit your lip, and your hips moved involuntarily. "Why is someone as fucking fearless as you so goddamn afraid of getting comfortable with someone?"
"Well, it's just that it's..." You were cut off by the sensation of his fingers grazing your inner thigh. In response to his erotic touch, your pussy pulsed. "It's just...ahhh...you know..."
He shifted his position and worked his way down your figure. "Those legs need some fucking attention," he said in a low whisper. "Can I take these off?" His calloused hands danced over your jeans.
"Mhmm..." you sighed. As he slid off your pants, he hummed in approval as the sight of your tempting ass. You could feel his deep breaths lick your skin.
"Anyway," he crooned, tickling his fingers up your thighs. "...please continue. Don't fucking mind me." He squeezed your thighs, nearly drawing a moan from your lips.
"Um...well, the thing is...ohhhh," you moaned as his fingers crept closer to your pussy lips. Your head was spinning in sweet agony. Without notice, you raised your hips. All of your nerves were flickering flames. You wanted so badly to feel him playing with you, again. "You see, attachment is...hnnng...it's kinda....ohhhh fuck..." The tips of his fingers tickled the hem of your panties. He smoothed them over your most sensitive spot. His touch was so light--so torturously light. You backed up against his fingers, craving more.
"What is it, darlin'? You're fucking breaking up on me..." His voice sounded rich and husky, like dark chocolate melting over your ears. Teasing you further, his touch slithered beneath your underwear. He gently flicked his index over your clit.
"Ohhh fuck, yessss," you whimpered. Responding to your enticing noises, he kept tickling your pulsating clit. Your pussy was aflame. Soon, you realized you were humping the mattress as he massaged small circles on your tingling pussy. "Mmmm...oh my...fuuuuuck..."
You could hear him softly growling behind you like a starving animal. He lowered his body and pressed his chest against your back. His fingers didn't stop for an instant. Leaning in towards your ear, he planted light kisses on your lobe. "You fucking want more, don't you..." he whispered. He licked your neck, and you groaned in reply. "Oh I know...you're a fucking dirty, little girl..." Your hips bucked faster as his fingers quickened their pace. Clit throbbing, you pushed your body against his hand. "You've seen nothing yet, princess..."
"Ohhh Negan! Please, please, please," you moaned in desperation. Suddenly, he curled his arm around your waist and flipped you over. You gasped, and he pressed his lips against yours. Grasping his strong, toned frame, you gingerly sucked on his lower lip. His tongue parted your mouth, and he caressed yours.
His fingers grew more bold, and they slowly slid inside of you. Your pussy clenched, and you groaned into his mouth as his tongue tickled your own. Letting out a deep, sensual purr, he murmured, "Fuck me! You're so fucking tight...oh sweetie, we need to fix that..." His index hooked and triggered your G-spot. Moving his fingers in the "come hither" motion, you could feel yourself dripping. You gyrated against his touch, wildly. "Slow down...don't be so fucking greedy," he crooned, nibbling your neck.
"Negan, please don't tease me! Please!" you begged. Your hips rocked, and your nails dug into his back.
"Shhhhh..." he replied. "Be a good fucking girl and calm down. We haven't even gotten to the good part yet..." And with that, he withdrew his fingers from your soaked slit. You choked back a cry of protest. Raising himself, he stared into your eyes and licked his fingers. You shivered at the sight of him savoring your wetness. "Mmmm you taste so fucking sweet, doll. Like motherfucking honey." Briefly returning to your lips, you licked your juices from his tongue. You were ravenous with fiery lust. "I want more..."
That devilishly sexy bastard definitely has a sweet-tooth, you thought. Gazing at him in utter want, he began to kiss and nip at your thighs. You were particularly tickling down there, and you giggled, loudly. He unleashed a breathy chuckled, and trailed his tongue closer to your pussy.
Deciding to give him a better view, you shimmied out of your undergarments and spread your legs. His eyes widened, and a thirsty smile shown on his silver beard. "So fucking eager...you're a fucking fountain, right now..." He barely tickled his fingers over your cunt, and your pussy lips bloomed. Negan licked his lips and lowered his head between your legs. It was the most stunning, God-fucking-damn beautiful vision you'd ever seen! His smoldering eyes peered up at you. Opening your lips wider with two fingers, his hot breath brushed against your scorching cunt.
Whimpering, you elevated yourself towards his mouth. "Ohhhh please, I want you. I want to feel you. Please, Negan..." you pleaded, gripping the sheets.
"Do you want to be my good girl?" he murmured and flicked his tongue fleetingly over your engorged clit.
You squealed and panted. "Yes! I wanna be your good girl! Anything, Negan! Please." Shockingly, your voice climbed a couple of octaves. You hardly recognized your own timbre. Was that actually me begging for him? It was your body's unbridled response to his tantalizing ministrations.
And GOD! Negan delivered. His large hands cradled your ass, and he buried his beard in your pussy. Lapping hungrily, he licked your sensitive clit and make you squeak in arousal. The touch of his tongue was feathery, at first. But the louder you became, the more aggressively he pleasured you. It was impossible to control your squirming and writhing. He flitted his warm, wet tongue all over your ticklish cunt--moaning as he performed. His resonant growls of excitement vibrated against your hopping clit. "Mine," he gruffly whispered in triumph.
You were already so close to your peak. Grabbing a handful of his dark hair, you humped against his tongue as you neared your climax. You couldn't stop moaning and gasping as he sucked on your exposed clit. His groans increased in volume. The bed was shaking; he was bucking his hips, as well. He was rubbing his steel-hard cock against the mattress as he worshipped your pussy. Sliding two fingers into your slick, tight slit, he fingered your fast and hard. His movements were so swift that your entire body quivered, then trembled, then shook. A rush of heat burst in your belly and surged through your limbs. You felt your pussy spasm. "Yessss! Good fucking girl, Jackie! Cum for me! Fucking let it out! FUCK YES!" Negan exclaimed, breathing heavily.
At this point, you'd lost the ability to speak. You could only scream in pleasure. Tilting on the very edge, Negan used both his fluttering tongue and his strong fingers. Your cunt clenched repeatedly, and your clit pulsed out of control. Tensing your muscles, you released a clamorous cry as you arrived at your climax. Your pussy gushed in overstimulation. Gasping, you looked as you squirted all over Negan's salt-and-pepper bristles. His eyes were hooded with lust as they penetrated yours. You caught your breath as your cunt relentlessly contracted. In complete shock, you whispered between ragged breaths, "Did I...just...do...that?"
Negan ran his tongue all over his glistening lips. "You've never fucking squirted, hon?" Before you could say another word, he gave you a long, hard lick from slit to clit.
Your hips jumped, and you giggled, "No. Never. How did you--"
"That was all you, babe," he laughed, and his smoldering expression brightened to a luminous smile. The post-rush of the orgasm scattered your mind. Your emotions swirled like a whirlpool. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was all too euphoric. Nicole was absolutely right when she said that the word "amazing" didn't do him justice. You felt so...vulnerable. Unsure of what else you could do, you gripped his shoulders and pulled him in for an embrace. He seemed a bit startled. "Are you alright?" he whispered as he stroked your hair. His arms tightened around you.
You suppressed a sniffle when he asked you this. This wasn't the kind of moment that you were accustomed to. Tenderness like this was entirely new to you. You sensed that Negan felt the same way. In that minute, when he held you so securely, your hearts beat as one. But you abruptly broke the hug, leaving him puzzled. He swiveled on the mattress, appearing surprised by your unexpected mood swing.
Backing away awkwardly, you muttered, "I'm okay. I just need to...catch my breath." You cleared your throat and sharply exhaled. "What about you? You know..."
Chuckling warmly, he replied, "Don't fucking worry about little, ol' me. That was for you."
Odd...you brooded. That isn't a very Negan-like thing to do. "Oh..." You didn't quite know how to process his words. "Does this mean...I'm your..."
"Wife? No, I wouldn't let that fucking sneak up on you. First one's free. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. I get it," he reassured you.
You sighed, "Alright, then." Silence hung in the air as you contemplated your next sentence. But what could you say? This is too fucking awkward. Exit stage right, quickly and quietly. In a hurry, you tried to diffuse the moment. "I'll just go, then. I'll be dressed in a sec. I've been here long enough. Tons of work to do. The men need me to--"
He eyed you in confusion as you rambled. "I'm not fucking kicking you to the curb. Cool down, doll. Stay a while," he said in a velvety tone. Hesitantly, you curled up on the pillow. Laying next to you, he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. He was so close, so warm, so glorious to behold. But you didn't touch him. You weren't the cuddling type. Looking into his glowing, amber irises was too compelling. As your nerves ceased to tingle, your eyelids grew heavy. You knew sleep would conquer you soon. Everything that had occurred over the last twenty-four hours left you exhausted.
Just as you were drifting off, Negan got up, retrieved his glasses and the book from the table, and crawled between the sheets. He propped himself up on the pillow near you, and put on his readers. Your eyes closed, and your breathing slowed. As you surrendered to slumber, you heard his gravelly voice narrate, "All that the unsuspecting Bilbo saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf..." His voice faded into nothingness. For the first time in a long, long while, you slept peacefully.