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

XXVI • Please

Daphne immediately grasped a fistful of Negan's shirt with her free hand, hiking her unbranded thigh up over his hip. He groaned into her mouth and she swallowed it, reveling in the feel of his chiselled body against hers.

She felt drunk on him, the heady combination of his possessive hands and expert tongue leaving her mind a muddled mess. The adrenaline from the car chase raged in her chest and the line between the need to fight or fuck completely dissolved, leaving her helpless to his utter maleness.

His rock hard cock pressed against her like a weapon of mass destruction and she whimpered at the feel of it. They both knew vaguely that they shouldn't be devouring each other in the middle of an open space after all the noise the battle had just made. But there was no quenching these flames now. Enemies be damned, they both needed this.

Daphne wrapped her lips around Negan's tongue and sucked, causing his hips to buck in response. She keened at the force of his steel rod smashing into her pussy at just the right angle, though it wasn't enough with their clothes in the way.

He broke their heated kiss, letting go of her wrist to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. It would have been tender almost, had his other hand not still been holding her throat. But she didn't want his tenderness. She wanted his fury.

He searched her face, her hooded gaze, swollen lips, looking for permission, for acceptance of what he wanted to do to her. She rolled her hips as much as she was able to move, but he clamped his free hand down on her waist to still her.

"I need verbal fuckin' confirmation," he said, a warning tone in his husky voice. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and she thought she might come just at the sight of him.

She moaned, eyes fluttering closed, and he let go of her throat to wind his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. She squeaked as he jerked her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

"You speak when I fuckin' tell you to," he hissed, face stern but his eyes alight with mischievous joy.

Daphne opened her mouth but no sound came out. She was so impossibly horny and she didn't know what she was supposed to say, what would cause him to give her what she was craving.

"Tell me or I'll stop fuckin' touching you," Negan warned, wrenching her head back even further, an edge of desperation to his voice.

"Just fuck me!" she cried, arching her spine and clutching the lapels of his jacket. "Take me, have me, fuck me, please." 

The words tumbled out of her mouth crazily and he chuckled, lowering his lips to the hollow of her throat. Her perfect tits crushed against his chest, tiny waist in his hand, panting and begging for him. It was all he'd ever wanted, presented on a red Lamborghini-shaped platter.

The way the plea had burst from her lips like a prayer made his cock even tighter than before. He kissed up her neck, and she dug her fingers into the leather shoulders of his jacket, whimpering at her inability to move the rest of her body. He reached her ear and breathed hotly against it, making her shiver.

"You speak when I fucking tell you to speak," he reiterated, curling his hand around to her jaw and stroking her parted lips with his thumb for effect. "You come when I fucking tell you to come." He pressed his cock against her and rolled his hips, making her bite back a tortured moan. "You take every fucking inch I give you, and then you fucking thank me for it like the polite little bitch you are."

He pulled away from her ear to look her in the eyes, and saw desperation with a glimmer of defiance. He grinned darkly down at her. It was the defiance that would be oh-so-fun.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed, anticipation dancing along her nerves to set her skin on fire.

"Tell me your fuckin' name, then," he commanded, and she moaned the thing he most loved to hear her say.

"Negan."