"Oh, fuck yeah, Amber, spready those fucking long legs for Daddy!" Negan growled and continued to pound Amber hard. One hand had Amber's arms pinned down above her head by the wrists while the other hand played with her clitoris, his thumb swirling around it teasingly. Sweat dripped down his back, down his forehead, into his eyes and stinging, his black hair drooping with sweat over his eyes as well. His breath was ragged and Amber's even more so and she moaned deliriously, thoroughly dick-drunk.

Normally it would get him going even more to see her spread out beneath him like this, but instead Negan fucked her harder. It wasn't enough, he wanted more, but more of what, he wasn't sure. Amber's eyes flew open at his rougher thrusts, and she started coming around him, her cry shrill and ringing in his ears. But Negan wasn't impressed. "Come on, Amber, I know you can be fucking louder than that." He fucked her through her orgasm, ruthlessly mashing his thumb down on her clit. "Daddy knows you got another fucking orgasm in there, Amber, baby. Let me here it. Fucking come for Daddy."

Instead of getting louder, Amber whimpered pitifully, "Negan." She whined and whimpered, sucking her body lip in her mouth and batting her eyelashes at him as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Amber was so damn submissive, but for all of that, Negan wanted something different out of her. He knew she wouldn't call him 'Daddy' but that was fine. But maybe just something else.

Another thrust and Amber gripped him like a vice, and Negan pulled out so he could come on her stomach. He groaned, the sound unleashed between his gritted teeth, and then he collapsed to the side, mindful not to fall on her. Amber hated when he did that, not liking the feeling of his come being squished between them. Personally, Negan liked feeling like the top slice of bread of the sandwich, with his meat and his special sauce between them. But Amber was just no fun that way.

For a second, Negan was sated by his orgasm. He knew that Amber definitely was. She had come at least three times for him. That was the most she could handle before she'd start to squirm and get so uncomfortably overstimulated. Looking beside him, he could tell that was about to fall asleep. And suddenly Negan's irritability resurfaced. Damn it.

He'd been cranky and he thought a good roll in the hay with Amber was what he needed, but clearly, he was wrong. With a frustrated growl, he rolled out of Amber's bed and started to tug on his clothes. Rather than protesting, Amber peered up at him with bleary eyes. "Can you get a washcloth for this?" She gestured to his spurts of come that started to pool towards her navel.

For once, Negan would like it if she or any of the other wives asked him to stay. Just once. But they never did, instead choosing to kick him out or leave on their own. Again, this was normally fine with Negan, but today it wasn't. Rather than snapping at Amber – not like it's her fault that he's upset for some reason – Negan nodded and did as she asked, tenderly wiping her clean. He leaned down, expecting a thankful kiss, but instead Amber gently pushed him away. "No, Negan, I'm too tired now." Typical. Did she really think that he wanted to go for another round? He'd just pulled his clothes back on. Turning her back towards him, Amber sleepily mumbled, "Go to Frankie or Tanya if you want more."

Wounded, Negan grabbed Lucille and slammed the door behind him as he left. Maybe he should visit Frankie, but for a massage. Fucking was doing nothing to improve his damn mood. He'd been like this ever since that shit show at the Target last week. They still hadn't gone back there yet. Negan wasn't ready to. Making his way down the hall to Frankie's room, Negan entered without knocking and Frankie startled from where she'd been pouring herself a glass of wine. "Fuck, Negan!" She hissed at him, "You made me spill some of this wine. It's a rosé."

Unbothered, Negan started pulling off his shirt and jacket. "You should stop drinking so damn much, Frankie. You're fucking liver won't thank you for all that shit."

"Thank you, Dr. Negan," Frankie flatly replied, and continued to fill her glass to the brim. "Amber wasn't enough for you?" She asked him, bluntly. But that was Frankie for you. A flat (flat-chested, too), blunt, alcoholic masseuse. Negan often wondered if her bedside manner was always this shitty, but beggars couldn't be fucking choosers. Out of all of his wives, Negan trusted her to not spill his secrets, but she was still a shitty listener – and never held back on her judgments. At the look on his face, Frankie added, "I could hear you guys from down the hall. Sounds like you really gave it to her."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Frankie, but I'm not in the mood to fuck your brains out." Once he was shirtless, Negan stretched himself out on his belly on Frankie's bed, using her pillow to prop his head up comfortably. "I'm here for you to rub the fucking kinks out of my spine."

Frankie raised her eyebrows at him in surprise and took a small, mincing sip of her pink wine. She held it in her mouth for a moment, and then swallowed, looking even more surprised. "The word kink left your mouth and you didn't make a sexual innuendo? Amber really must have done a bad job." Before he could respond otherwise, Frankie had already set her wine glass down and moved to gather her massage oils that Negan recovered for her on a run. It was as much a gift to him as it was to her, though.

"Besides," Frankie admitted casually, "we wouldn't really be able to fuck anyway." She patted her belly. "I'm on my period right now."

"Come on, Frankie, you know I don't give a shit if you are or not. If you're down to fuck, then so am I. I don't only have to fuck your pussy, either."

"There's the Negan I know." Frankie sounded somewhat pleased, if not amused.

Negan briefly chucked and then shifted, trying to relax himself. Frankie was still looking for her oils and he was getting antsy. Irritability rising again, Negan said, "Frankie, didn't I tell you ladies that when you're on the red fucking wave of Mother Nature's shitty gift you fucking tell me? It's nice knowing that I've been careful enough not to knock any of you lovely ladies up yet. Hell, pregnancy would make some improvements to your tits, though."

Inelegantly, Frankie snorted, "Sorry, I didn't tell you sooner. Must have slipped my mind." Finding her oils, she moved over to the bed, squeezing a generous portion onto the palm of her hand and rubbing her hands together to warm the oil before she could apply it to his skin. Negan had complained enough about her doing otherwise or skimping out on the oil, too.

As soon as Frankie's warm and slicked up hands touched his back, Negan sighed and slightly relaxed into her touch. In an attempt to be a sweet and good husband, he mumbled to her softly, "You need anything while you're getting a visit from bitchy Aunt Flo? That way you don't turn into a bitch, too? Well, at least not a bigger fucking bitch than usual."

Rolling her eyes, Frankie dug her nails into his back in retaliation, and Negan yelped, "FUCK!" Jerking away, Negan fumed, "You bitch, you scratched me on purpose."

"I'll do it again if you keep calling me a bitch," Frankie retorted casually, and grabbed her wine glass for another dainty sip, pinky out. "Now, you want me to finish this massage?"

Grumbling under his breath about how he should have called her a pussy instead of a bitch, Negan's answer was laconic. "Yes."

"Then stop bitching like a little bitch," Frankie threw his words back at him, "And hold still for me." She placed her wine down again as her hands returned to Negan's glistening and still-tense back. The massage oil's floral fragrance caused Frankie's room to smell like roses, but the atmosphere was anything but romantic as she roughly massaged him in silence.

Finally, Negan spoke up again, unable to hold his tongue for more than five minutes at a time. "You sure you don't need anything for your fucking blood sacrifice? You're a little fucking snappy today, Frankie. And fucking rough, which on any other day would put me in the fucking mood, but right now my dick isn't interested."

True to Negan's description, Frankie snapped back, "You're one to talk, Negan." She commented on the irony of the situation. "You've been threatening to crack skulls and iron faces all week. I should be asking you if you're the one bleeding right now."

Under her hands, Negan wiggled but then went prone again after a hard-pinch from Frankie warning him otherwise. "I didn't think I'd been holding down the fort any fucking firmer than I do every damn day."

"Are you kidding? If you held the fort down any harder, you'd crush us under your boot, Negan." Frankie sighed with frustration. "And despite my best effort – and literally elbow grease," because she had dug her elbow into his back, "you're still too tense, Negan." She clucked her tongue at him like a mother hen as she continued to knead his back like dough. "Is this over that missing community?"

"No, fuck them. I gave up on those useless shits about a month ago."

"Then what is it, Negan? If sex isn't helping, you need to find an alternative outlet fast. Otherwise, someone is gonna die. And Amber has been crying enough lately after your rude comments to her."

With a guilty sigh, Negan considered the situation. He didn't want to go back to smoking. There weren't enough cigarettes left in the world to sate him. He didn't want to drink more than he already did, if only because Lucille died of liver cancer caused by their shared alcoholic lifestyle. Fucking wasn't enough anymore. Killing and violence and brutality was too dangerous judging by last week's failed expedition. What other pleasures could this shitty life give him?

"What do you do to feel better when you're on your fucking period?" Negan helpless inquired, at a lost for what to do otherwise.

Pausing to consider, Frankie grabbed her wine glass again, swirling its contents thoughtfully. "A nice sweet snack helps me feel better. Like a candy bar." She hummed, desire Chocolate always hits the spot if booze can't." Pursing her lips and shrugging, Frankie quaffed the rest of her wine and went to pour herself another glass.

Sitting up and stretching, Negan shook his head at her. "You have a fucking problem, Frankie, and the first step to solving that fucking problem is to admit you fucking have it." But Frankie ignored him for her wine while he pulled on his t-shirt and black leather jacket.

"So, are you going to take my advice or not?"

"What drink myself to death?" Negan stood up and grabbed Lucille in one fluid motion, like a damn graceful ballet dancer.

But Frankie was unimpressed and unamused with his teasing. "No, I mean about finding a snack." Turning to watch him go, Frankie called, "If you find some chocolate can you bring me back a piece?"

"After your bitchy, shitty attitude?" Negan quipped, but when he saw Frankie frown and take a bigger gulp of her wine, he changed his mind. "You're lucky you're my wife and that you give damn good massages."

Briefly, Frankie perked up a bit at his slanted compliment. "The massage wasn't that great this time. You're still too tense."

"But I feel better, Frankie, so that's all that really fucking counts in the end." Half-heartedly saluting her with Lucille in a lazy fashion, Negan said, "I'll fucking bring you something back. Don't worry."

"You're the one who shouldn't be worrying so damn much."

Halfway smirking, Negan wryly said, "Thanks so much for you concern, dear wife. Try not to grow gills while I'm gone."

"Ha, ha," Frankie said insincerely, and then closed the door behind him as he left.

Hitching Lucille up on his shoulder, Negan tried to put on his happy persona by whistling a jaunty tune as he made his way down to the kitchens in search of a snack. Chocolate did sound pretty great about now.

Unfortunately for Negan, the kitchens didn't have so much as a chocolate chip. Even the coco powder that they used for hot chocolate had been used up over a month ago. The only real dessert they could offer him was some ice cream, but all they had was that weird flavor that Simon gushed about so much. No thanks. Negan had tried that cardamom gelato, and was not a fan.

It was so frustrating for Negan now that even though he could ask for practically anything and the kitchens would scramble to make it, all he wanted was some damn chocolate. Frankie put the idea in his head and now he had the damn hankering for it. But it was an itch that he wouldn't be able to scratch, and his foul mood returned in full force. Damn it. An orgasm and a massage gone to waste just like that.

On the hunt, Negan decided to check and see if anyone was selling chocolate in the market since there wasn't a scrap of chocolate in either the kitchens nor the pantry. Hell, even an expired candy bar sounded good right now. Rounding the corner, Negan nearly collided with who else but the newbie from the last run.

"Hey, watch where you're going," she snapped, but when her eyes snapped up to his amused ones, she dropped her flinty, dark eyes back to the floor and kneeled for him. Damn, he would never get over a sight like that. He hadn't even told people to do it. They just started doing it for him, and he didn't see a reason to tell them not to. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see it was you."

"Obvious-fucking-ly." Curious, Negan tilted his head to the side. The newbie had done it. She had actually taken his words to heart – not that he had been that serious – and had gone and shaved her head until it was down to a soft fuzz. If she were a blonde, Negan might've compared her to a peach. That didn't mean she was ugly with darker hair, because Negan was still tempted to ran his hand over her scalp. But she wasn't a dog, so he wasn't going to just reach out and touch her like that without her explicit permission. Still, he couldn't help but comment on it. "Shit, I didn't expect you to actually listen to me. A simple fucking haircut would've done just fine."

Since she had bowed her head, he couldn't see her face. Her voice was muffled and soft when she replied – because she had to reply. Negan always expected an answer when he speaks to someone. "It seemed stupid to waste the points on a haircut, so I did it myself. I didn't think I could screw it up by shaving it." She rolled her shoulders in an elegant shrug, "And I've always wanted to shave my head like this. I like it."

"Shit, I do, too. Very bad ass and practical. That's fucking needed today as you very well know."

Surprised, the newbie looked up at him, and he noticed on closer inspection that she was wearing glasses and she had a piercing on her eyebrow. He must not have noticed last time considering that he had almost died and so had she. "Thank you, sir." And now with her face lifted, Negan could see her blushing. It was cute.

Negan pressed his lips together, and then opened his lips to ask, "What's your name?"

"Negan," she immediately answered.

His hand slashed through the air as he dismissed that. "You can tell me your real name."

Her mouth shaped a silent 'Oh' of understanding, and then she said, "Rebecca."

"Rebecca," Negan repeated, carefully shaping the name with his lips until it left a funny sensation on his mouth, much like a kiss. He was terrible with names, but he was going to try and remember this one. "Beautiful fucking name. You're one of the new fucking Saviors, right?"

"Th-thank you," Rebecca stuttered disbelievingly and then answered with more assurance, "Yes, I'm one of the new Saviors that started about two weeks ago, along with Jovana."

"She's fucking mute, right?"

"Deaf, actually, but I think the correct term is for being unable to talk is dumb."

"Fuck, my fucking mistake," Negan meant earnestly. "Yeah, I remember her. She impressed the shit outta me. I had to have her as a Savior, especially after that fucking glowing recommendation from Simon. Of course, he's fucking sweet on her, too, so he could've been embellishing it, but having a deaf girl be more capable than half my fucking men as it is, is no small fucking feat." Rebecca's eyes had widened, and Negan cursed and corrected himself. "Shit, don't fucking tell her what I said about Simon. He's trying to impress her in his own kind of fucking way."

"Tequila and cardamom gelato?" Rebecca hazarded a guess with a half-smile.

He mimicked her expression, "I think he's trying to learn fucking sign language for her, too." Negan exaggeratedly whispered, "That's why he's been hunkering down in the library so fucking much, but you didn't hear any of that shit from me." Lifting a finger, he pressed it to his lips and mumbled around it as he leaned down towards Rebecca's conspiring-like "This will be our little fucking secret."

At the intimacy of the gesture, Rebecca blushed. She turned her face away and stepped aside, clearly intending to move out of his way so he could continue about his business. But Negan wasn't finished with her yet.

"Say, Rebecca, can I touch it?"

Startled a bit, Rebecca said, "Touch what?"

"Your fucking head," Negan clarified, "It looks all soft and fucking fuzzy. Like a damn peach."

She started at him before she cautiously replied, "I guess you can touch it, but please don't try and test its ripeness."

Negan laughed, but then his eyes flickered down to her neck, and the laughter died down. She had a faint yellow outline of a bruise from his hand gripping her neck. Guilt flashed through him, but then he pushed it aside as he tugged with glove off with his teeth. His hand now bared, he gently reached over and rubbed his hand over her scalp. Smiling widely at her, Negan said, "I was fucking right. It is soft and fucking fuzzy like a goddamned Georgia peach." Withdrawing his hand, he worked his leather glove back on, and Rebecca stood their awkwardly, her cheeks blushing the same color pink as Frankie's rosé wine.

"Say, Rebecca, how about this," Negan began. "Since you were such a team player letting me rub your head like I'm a fortune teller checking my crystal ball for fucking weather predictions, what do you say to touching something of mine?" Was that flirting? That could be considered flirting. Depends on if she took up his offer.

He didn't think it was possible, but Rebecca blushed even more. "Um, are you serious, sir?"

"Of fucking course, I'm damn serious as hell, Rebecca," Negan boomed, though not unkindly. "This is a fucking once in a lifetime opportunity, so choose fucking wisely." He winked at her for good measure, his horniness resurfacing again. Strange how just being around her had improved his mood so much.

Mulling it over, Negan was surprise when Rebecca accepted. "Okay." Once she did accept, though, Negan thought that she'd proposition him, or at the very least want to hold Lucille. Holding Lucille was a very special privilege since it meant having such power, something so important to him. But Rebecca didn't ask for either of those things. "Can I touch your beard?"

Face breaking out into a smile, and his smile shining behind his somewhat unkempt beard like sunshine behind the clouds, Negan nodded his consent. "Of fucking course, you can. I need to shave this shit soon, too, so this is definitely a once in a lifetime opportunity. This shit'll be gone before you fucking know it."

"That's a shame," Rebecca said sincerely, "I really like the beard. It suits your face, and it's handsome and thick."

"My wives don't appreciate the rug burn on their thighs," Negan crooned by way of explanation, and Rebecca's pink blushed deepened to a slightly reddish hue. "So, are you gonna fucking touch it or what? You waiting for it to grow so fucking long that it'll just reach out and touch your hand instead?"

Laughing good-naturedly – and Negan was pleased to see that she wasn't cowed by that like some of his wives (mainly Amber) would've been – Rebecca stepped closer to him again. She lifted her hand slowly to his face, as though she didn't want to startle him like he was a horse or something, and then she tenderly stroked her hand through his beard. "It's softer than I expected, but I can see how they could get a rug burn from your kisses." Her hand returned to her side again.

Before she could step away once more, Negan quickly asked, "Would you like to find out what that rugburn is like first hand?"

"Oh, um," she stuttered, and Negan relented.

"How about just a fucking kiss?"

"I… could do that."

"Fucking great," and without further ado, Negan stepped forward until he was pressed against her. He wrapped his free arm around her middle, pulling her to him, and dipped his head down for a kiss. Negan looked down at her upturned face just long enough to see her near tangible excitement, and then he gently pressed his lips to hers.

Initially at the contact, Rebecca froze, but as Negan moved his mouth against hers, she relaxed into it and joined in on the dance. They took turns capturing the other's bottom lip, sucking sensually, and Negan had to admit that she was a damn good kisser. Once they got their rhythm established, she took the lead and Negan followed, curious. Rebecca tilted her head, leaned up on her toes, and brought her hand back up to his beard. She was the one to deepen it, her tongue invading his open mouth, but then Negan had to be the one to lighten the kiss and finally pull away.

When he opened his eyes, he took in her flushed face and kiss swollen lips, and he wanted to kick himself for stopping the kiss. None of his wives could kiss like that, but then again nobody kisses the same. Still, Rebecca's kiss was by no means a bad one. He wanted to say that it was in fact one of the best kisses he had ever experienced, but then Lucille on his shoulder listed dangerously close to his neck, and he refrained.

Finally, she opened his eyes, pressed her swollen lips together as her own dark eyes roved over his face. Her fingers were still tangled in the ends of his beard, and someone Negan had hitched up her leg over his hip so that they were pressed together so intimately. She licked her lips, and Negan cleared his throat. "Well, are you feeling that fucking rug burn now?"

Rebecca's hand flew from his face to her own as she rubbed her hand around her lips. "Not yet," she admitted, "though, I don't think that's so bad. I'd love to have a rug burn just from kissing you." She was getting braver, and Negan liked that.

Teasing, Negan smiled at her like a shark that smelled blood in the water. He was latching onto her receptive and flirty nature like a starved leech, the easy-goingness just what he needed after trying to juggle his nitpicking and temperamental wives. God, he needed a woman that could handle herself. Not someone who was fragile and shattered at the slightest hard time, nor someone so rigid and brittle that he couldn't be himself without it feeling like a fight. He wanted a soft woman who would give a little when he pushed, but at the same time everything would bounce off of her, too. That's what he'd been hungry for.

"Even if that rug burn isn't around your pretty fucking mouth?"

"Especially if it's not around my mouth."

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Negan shook his head from side to side as he stared at her through smoldering, half-lidded eyes. "Damn," he muttered. There was a tense pause, full of promise, but they both waited too long and it passed. Gently, Negan disentangled himself from her, and she moved back away to a respectable distance. "Welp," Negan popped the 'p' and continued blithely, "That was just the kind of sugar, I've been looking for. Sure, you don't taste like chocolate," Negan's smile was syrupy sweet, "but I think that that was fucking better than chocolate."

Rebecca actually rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. "Nothing can be better than chocolate." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Feigning hurt, Negan placed his hand over his heart theatrically. "You saying you don't want me to fucking kiss you anymore?"

"I don't know, I thought this was just a one-time thing."

Negan wasn't stupid. He could tell what she was asking him without asking. What surprised him is that he wasn't opposed to the idea. "It doesn't fucking have to be," he hedged.

She stared at him, gauging him, and then nodded, apparently pleased with whatever she saw or whatever decision she came to in her mind. "Then there will be more."

"Great," Negan smiled brightly, spring back in his step as he shifted from foot to foot. "Then I will most fucking certainly see you around, Rebecca."

"Yeah," Rebecca replied, matching his smile beautifully, "you will."

Controlling his smile, Negan stepped around Rebecca, continuing for the commissary. Even though he didn't feel like he needed the chocolate anymore, he was still going to look for it. It wouldn't hurt to have it lying around, especially with his hormonal and moody wives. He'd promised Frankie he'd find some for her.

As he past her, Rebecca stopped him with a light hand on his upper arm. Lucille was on his shoulder just above his hand, and she rolled toward Rebecca's hand before Negan pulled her away and off his shoulder. "Yeah, Rebecca?"

"Do you… still want some chocolate?"

Swinging around to face her again, taking note of how they basically switched places, Negan perked up. "I sure as fuck would like some goddamn chocolate. What do you have?"

"Well, it's not much, but I found a box of Fudge Rounds," she offered hesitantly.

"The fuck are Fudge Rounds?"

"Like Little Debbie cakes," Rebecca explained. "Look they're chocolate, and beggars can't be fucking choosers."

Something about what she said struck a chord in Negan. Squaring his shoulders, Negan said, "Alright, Rebecca. You're offering, and I'm accepting."

"Good."