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

XXI • Induction

Negan strode into the barracks, donning clean jeans and his signature jacket hanging open just wide enough to see the fresh white t shirt beneath. His hair was slicked back from his shower, which had taken longer than usual due to Frankie's expert mouth.

At least he hadn't lost the redhead amongst his wives. She was the best at swallowing his cock, and could make him come in record time. Coupled with her massage talents, she was easily his favourite.

But even Frankie's enthusiastic blowy wasn't enough to satisfy Negan that evening. He'd been craving blonde curls in his fist, blue eyes looking up at him with sly defiance. He was happy with his wives, sure, but they were all so... delicate. He'd long dreamed of a woman he could throw around a bit. A woman who wasn't just doing her duty. A woman with mile long legs and an attitude...

Negan grunted in frustration, knowing he had to get his shit together or he'd have another problem. This sassy new lieutenant was driving him completely batshit, and his only comfort was that he could tell he had the same effect on her. It was a matter of when, not if, but he had to play his hand just right. He wanted to make sure she understood that he had the upper hand around here. The upper hand on her.

He waved his hand at the few recruits littering the barracks. "Scatter," he said, and scatter they did. He leaned against the wall next to the communal bathroom entrance and checked the clock on the far wall. He was five minutes early.

He wondered what she looked like in there, slick from her shower and toweling off. Fuck, what this little pie was doing to him.

"Hurry the fuck up," he called, voice echoing through the doorway. "This isn't prom, sweetheart."

Daphne's heart caught in her throat as she cut the water, clambering for her watch. She scowled at it, having lost track of time.

"Suck my dick, I still have five minutes!" she singsonged back, and heard a chuckle. She toweled off quickly and scurried to her pile of clothes.

She'd lost track of time, of course, because after a twenty minute stint in the gym beating the shit out of a punching bag, she'd made herself come three times in the shower. Violence hadn't distracted her from her need, so she'd figured she just needed to take care of the problem itself.

Unfortunately, an orgasm hadn't had the intended effect either. Daphne knew her body well, just where to touch, rub, pinch, press. She had herself over the edge within a few minutes, without making a peep to alert the recruits hanging outside of her pursuit. But the visions swimming in her mind were only heightened by her heat, and she found herself continuing to touch, imagining Negan's lips on her, his teeth, his rough hands, the smell of leather and whiskey and his utter complete maleness.

She cursed under her breath as she reached the mirror. This swaggering King was driving her batshit. But she was almost certain she was having the same effect on him, so this was just another round they were going to play.

Daphne ran a brush through her thick hair, thankful for the deep conditioner Nicola had procured for her. She briefly imagined Negan in his own shower, hand around his massive cock, thinking of her, and slammed the brush down on the counter in protest.

Five minutes later, he was ready to barge in there, privacy be damned. He wasn't about to wait for the princess to primp herself.

But when Daphne strode into view wearing an impossibly short red plaid kilt and a black corset top that accentuated every curve of her tight body, a lopsided grin spread across his face.

"Shit, I guess you took the prom thing to heart," Negan drawled as his gaze dropped down her toned legs to her combat boots. "You look like a sinful fuckin' schoolgirl!"