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

XXX • Release Me

Daphne turned towards Negan, the table separating their heated bodies feeling like a vast abyss. She put her hands flat on the smooth wooden surface, leaning forward to allow him an ample view of her cleavage.

"Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep after such an exciting day?" she teased, and he grinned wolfishly at her.

"I'm fuckin' beautiful whether I sleep or not." He mimicked her stance, and she tried to ignore the flex of his biceps as he leaned forward. 

She would have fared much better had he been wearing his jacket.

Who was she kidding? No she wouldn't.

"I don't think that sore little ass of yours is in any fuckin' position to be disobeying me right now," Negan growled, noting that she hadn't moved to follow his command.

"You said when we got home you were going to worship every inch of me 'fucking proper'," Daphne pouted playfully. "Not spank me on a sewing table." 

He'd been right that she was sore, but the image in her head of him bending her over right there made her wet. Was there nothing this man could do that wasn't sexy?

He leaned even closer. "I also said you'd fuckin' strip for me."

It took all of her willpower not to launch herself across the table right then and devour him. But she was quickly learning that this game they were playing was oh so fun.

"Then have a seat, sailor," she purred, and he took his bottom lip between his teeth with a tiny moan of appreciation. He snatched a chair from the stand behind him and parked it facing her, plopping down in it like the relaxed King that he was.

Daphne lifted a creamy thigh to rest on the table, reaching up to pull the elastic from her hair. She drew it tantalizingly slow down her long blonde locks, releasing the waves from their prison to cascade down her shoulders.

She laid on her back, perpendicular to him, and stretched both legs straight up into the air. She bent one, the fabric of her dress slipping up enough that he could glimpse white lace panties.

Negan smirked. As if she'd worn those without the intention of him seeing them.

She slowly unzipped the combat boot on her bent leg, hooded eyes watching him as she slid it from her foot. Beneath was a knee high white sock, and he chuckled. Professor and student, indeed.

Daphne stretched that leg up and bent the other, repeating the boot removal. Once finished, she sat up and turned towards him, feet dangling from the edge of the table.

She spread her legs, the skirt falling over his view of her panties, but his eyes were drawn up to her fingers hooking under one strap of her dress. She drew it ever so slowly down her shoulder, whimpering a little for effect, and Negan realized his cock was painfully hard.

She smiled slyly at the apparent bulge in his jeans and slid the opposite strap down, the dress only held up by the swell of her breasts. She ran her hands through her hair, tilting her head back, and took in a deep breath, causing her top to slip down around her waist.

Daphne feigned a surprised noise as her tits broke free of their prison. She danced her hands down her throat to drape over her chest, ghosting her fingers over her tight nipples. She moaned for real, the contact causing her pussy to clench in arousal.

The tenderness there was intense, but not unpleasant, bringing a rush of memories of Negan pounding her mercilessly.

He, too, was imagining the same moment, and it was taking every ounce of willpower not to slam her down and take her again. But he was very much enjoying this show, and wanted to see how far his little strawberry would take it.