Sometimes you would argue with Negan. He was the kind of man who could make even the most patient person want to slap him right across his arrogant smirk and you weren't exactly a patient person. But no matter what you argued about, who was right, or who was wrong it would always end one way, sex, or more precisely rough sex.
The kind of sex where he would throw you down, hitch up your dress with greedy fingers and tear down your panties like a wild man. There'd be no tender foreplay, bites replacing kisses, lips sucking hard enough to leave behind dark proof that you belonged to him. No matter what was said between you, or how crazy he made you, you were always his and as his fingers plunged into your wet pussy he'd get the confirmation of just how much you enjoyed him dominating you like this. Just how much you enjoyed belonging to him like this.
He'd smile, the same smirk that irritated the hell out of you in a fight would be making your body race while his fingers stroked you in all the right places. He'd lean close, his lips right against your ear, the heat of his words making you tremble and like a secret confession he'd croon, "I'm gonna spank your ass so fucking hard you won't be sitting down for a week."
He'd barely let the words register before you were flipped onto your front and his palm was cracking red hot across your skin, your yelp would only encourage him to slap the other side and then he'd take what he really wanted, what you both wanted. He'd unzip his jeans, the sound sending a flutter of anticipation to between your legs before he pushed his cock against your entrance, teasing you as he slid the tip along your wetness.
"Please Negan," you'd beg and he'd slap your ass again.
"I'll fucking decide when," he'd drive you wild with anticipation before finally pushing inside you in one long hard thrust, not giving you any time adjust before he was pulling out and slamming inside again, his thick length stretching you open without restraint.
He'd fuck you so hard that the bed, the desk, whatever he had you splayed across would be shaking, the headboard slamming into the wall, the drawers rattling, the noise of him fucking you only added to the intensity while your orgasm built as quickly as the relentless thrusts he was pounding into you.
"That's right sweetheart, I want you to scream" he'd demand, slapping your ass again and fucking you so deep that you could hardly take it, the pleasure and pain creating an intense orgasm, like the pop of a cork on a shaken bottle spilling over as fast and furious as the sex. When your orgasm had finished he'd wrap his hand around your neck, bite down on your shoulder and like an animal he'd finish, filling you with his come and taking your breath away.
After sex like that it wouldn't matter what the fight was about, you could barely even remember your own name, only the way your body felt. Sore and sated.