Author's Note: Holy crap, sorry it took so long for this update! If y'all are still keeping up with this fic and reading new chapters, then I bow down to your patience and dedication. I'm not worthy.

Also, the title for this chapter came from my wonderful beta and friend, Malaree, and I had to chuckle to myself when she suggested it…you'll see why.

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Early morning sunlight streamed in through the large windows, the golden rays painting a warm path over your forehead and cheeks. Eyes opening slowly, you squinted into the brightness, awakened from what had been the best sleep you'd had in ages. Negan's bed was like heaven, the mattress decadently soft and the sheets luxurious against your bare skin. A satisfied smile curled your lips at the thought of last night, and you slowly rolled over, reaching an arm out to find…

That the other side of the bed was empty.

You froze, feeling a little tendril of self-doubt start to curl in your chest at the sight of the sheets pulled back, a slight depression still on the pillow as evidence that he had been there not too long ago. But why would he leave? And without saying anything? Did he regret last night?

You sat up in the bed, clutching the sheets to your chest, heart pounding as you thought back over recent events. He had definitely been the one to lead you back here, and made it known that he wanted you to stay the night, so why…

A piece of paper on the bedside table caught your eye. It was folded, so that it stood upwards like a tent, and your name was written in familiar looped handwriting on the front. Grabbing it off the table, you unfolded it and read the words, relief washing in like the tide to drown your self-doubt before it could take root.

Morning, doll. Had an early meeting and didn't want to wake you. I'll see you tonight.

Negan

P.S. Feel free to use the shower and forget your panties again.

You huffed out a laugh at the end, residual embarrassment flushing your cheeks, as you remembered him finding your balled-up panties the last time you had used his bathroom. The thought of the hot water that beckoned from his shower caused you to push the embarrassment aside and stand up from the bed. You winced at the slight soreness between your thighs, stretching tired arms over your head and feeling a slight ache in muscles that hadn't been used that vigorously in quite a long time.

Walking into the bathroom, you found your clothes neatly folded on the sink, and had to smile at the domestic gesture. The smile turned into a small gasp when you caught sight of yourself in the large mirror hanging above the sink.

Your hair was snarled about your head and over your shoulders, but that wasn't what held your attention. Stepping closer, you took in the hickies that dotted across your collarbones and chest. Looking down, you saw various little bruises where Negan had bit you, and your inner thighs bore the redness of beard burn. There were also what looked suspiciously like finger-shaped bruises on your hips from where he had gripped tightly to hold you still for his powerful thrusts.

Negan had staked his claim on your flesh, providing visual reminders of where he had been. Rather than feel ashamed or offended by the souvenirs, you felt a rush of satisfaction, as well as a hint of arousal, at being so obviously marked as his. You also couldn't help but wonder if he bore any marks of his own, thinking back to the way your nails had dug into his shoulders and scratched down his back when you came.

Smiling smugly, you turned on the water and stepped into the massive shower, sighing with pleasure as the hot water cascaded down over your sore muscles. Thoughts of Negan joining you flitted through your mind as you soaped up your body, imagining it was his hands running down over your breasts and across your hips. Your grin turned absolutely wicked when you realized that those thoughts didn't have to stay in fantasy land. In fact, perhaps tonight's mission would be coaxing him into this bathroom, where you could run soap over every square inch of his body, making sure he was squeaky clean, before dropping to your knees on the tiles and getting a taste of his cock. You doubted it would take much coaxing for him to agree with your plan, and you were practically vibrating with excitement as you turned off the water and wrapped yourself in one of the fluffy towels.

Pulling on the clothes, you were suddenly glad to have worn the grey shirt, as the neckline was high enough that it just covered the hickies. Thankfully, Negan had at least been aware enough not to mark your neck, probably sensing that you'd have thrown a fit if you had to wear multiple band aids to dinner. Running his comb through your wet hair, you decided to let it hang loose until it dried. You glanced at his toothpaste longingly, but weren't about to use his toothbrush, so gave yourself one last look in the mirror before turning and exiting the bathroom. Stopping at his armoire, you only hesitated for a moment before opening the drawer, pulling out a few of the condoms, and stuffing them in your back pocket. It never hurt to be on the safe side, and you didn't want to always depend on him to have one handy, especially since more spontaneous situations like last night in the kitchen were bound to happen.

You cracked the door open and peeked up and down the hall before leaving his rooms, glad that the coast was clear. Speed-walking to the stairwell, you half expected Simon to pop out from behind a random door with his knowing grin, but thankfully didn't encounter anyone until back on your own floor. Stopping by your room to eat a quick granola bar breakfast, deposit all but one of the condoms on your bedside table, and grab your own toothbrush and toothpaste, you went to the nearest bathroom to brush your teeth before grabbing the copy of Harry Potter and heading outside. Your subconscious appeared at your side, skipping across the asphalt and humming a cheery tune with a dreamy smile on its face. Even your brain had an extra pep in its step and a satisfied grin; though it tried to act as if its happiness was just because you were about to read a favorite novel, you knew last night was also a large contributor to its mood.

They both sat with you at the picnic table, though your subconscious too busy creating flower crowns to bother with reading. The warm sun quickly dried your hair as you immersed your Muggle self in a magical world where an orphaned boy was given a life-changing letter and transported to a school that you'd give your left arm to have be real. Reading this again, after so many years, felt like reliving your childhood, and you weren't at all surprised to discover that you were just as obsessed with devouring the pages now as when you had read it the first time.

You were over halfway through the novel when you finally glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost time to head to the kitchen for dinner prep. Rubbing your eyes and standing from the table, you reluctantly closed the book, making a mental note of which chapter you were on. There was no way you were going to desecrate any book by folding down the page corners, and you had always felt a twinge of nausea anytime you saw someone else do so.

Once the novel was back on your nightstand, and your hair was once more up in its signature bun, you headed down to the kitchen, unaware of the permanent smile on your face and extra glow in your cheeks. Everyone you passed in the hallways got an extra cheerful hello, and your subconscious and brain shared a secret look of amusement. You didn't notice. Today had been a wonderful day so far, and in just a few hours, you'd get to see Negan again. See him and touch him and taste him and...

Walking through the cafeteria and into the kitchen, you greeted Ben and the others with a wave. A thrill went through you at the sight of the counter island where Negan had licked and fucked you to orgasm. It now held empty roll baskets, and you were glad that you had scrubbed the surface before you left last night, not to mention it would've gotten wiped down again during the breakfast hours. Wiping down counters made you think of wiping off the remnants of your lovemaking in that huge shower this morning...which then made you think about Negan being in that shower. Soon you were replaying yet again the fantasy of showering together and vowing to make it a reality in the very near future.

The fantasy was interrupted when you gave everyone their tasks and scanned the kitchen to make sure everything was running smoothly. You saw one of the girls assigned to make the dough for rolls grab a folded apron off the pile, and a crumpled mass laying nearby caught your attention. Crap. You had forgotten how Negan balled up and tossed his apron aside last night, your brain too amped up on hormones and then post-orgasmic bliss to remember to refold it before leaving the kitchen.

Trying to look casual, you walked over and grabbed the winkled apron. There were two small splotches of dried sauce on the front, not to mention the wrinkles that were all over it from being manhandled and discarded, so you couldn't refold and put it back on the pile. Ben would go into a full-on lecture to the entire staff if he saw stains or wrinkles on what was supposed to be a fresh apron. He was just as finicky you were, if not worse, when it came to kitchen protocol and things being clean and orderly. So, to save him from getting flustered, and also to save the newer workers who did the folding from an impassioned speech on the merits of running a clean and efficient kitchen, you tied the apron around your own waist.

You rarely wore aprons while cooking, but you doubted anyone would question it. Next time, you'd be sure to let Negan know that he was to follow kitchen procedure and put any dirty aprons in the proper laundry bag with the others. Your subconscious wiggled its eyebrows at the thought of another kitchen adventure like last night's and contemplated the other counters in the immediate vicinity, as if trying to decide which should be christened 'next time'. Meanwhile, your brain glanced up from the newspaper it had been reading, giving a lighthearted eye roll and sigh of exasperation at the subconscious' obsession with getting you laid. It wasn't fooling anyone though, since it had also been pleased with last night's activities.

It was about an hour into dinner prep, when the other workers were busy with tasks that placed them out of earshot, that Ben came up beside you at the stove, where you were stirring marinara sauce for the pasta dish. "So," he said casually, pretending to be focused on watching you stir the sauce. "How'd it go last night?"

Glancing around to double check no one would hear, you replied, "He put together a rooftop dinner, complete with candles."

You saw Ben's head whip towards you out of the corner of your eye and couldn't help but smile. "He what?!" Ben exclaimed.

Nodding, you gave a quick overview of dinner, including how Negan had changed his outfit for the occasion. You made sure to mention that the advice to wear your hair down had been helpful, which caused Ben to give a pleased 'I told you so' look. When he asked how dessert went, you turned and looked at him while saying, "You mean the cake that both you and Simon made?"

The tips of Ben's ears turned red, and he stammered a bit before replying, "It was his idea to help, not mine! Plus, I didn't want to risk messing it up and Negan putting my head on a spike, so I figured I could use the assistance."

Giving him a devilish smirk, you only gave a long, "Mmmm hmmmm," in response.

Clearing his throat, he tried to change the topic by joking, "Well, chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, so maybe we were just trying to help push things along."

Eyes widening, you felt way more than just your ears turn red at his statement. You tried to quickly turn your face away and refocus on adding some more garlic to the marinara, but knew it was too late and your reaction had been too obvious.

"Oh my god," Ben whispered. "You two finally fucked!"

"Shh!" you hissed, frantically glancing around and relieved to see that the others were still out of hearing range.

Grinning like a cat who had caught the canary, Ben nudged your arm with his. "How was it?"

Hoping no one else in the kitchen would notice that your face was the same hue as the sauce, you whispered, "It was...even better than I imagined. And that's saying something." Just talking about it caused an involuntary shiver to go through your shoulders at the memory.

Ben gave a low whistle of approval. "I'm impressed. After dancing around each other for a month, which is probably about a month longer than any other woman has made him wait, I thought maybe he'd blow his load after two pumps."

Gasping in shock at his vulgarity, you tried to look angry with his accusation, but instead ended up having to cover your mouth to keep from laughing so hard it would alert the rest of the staff. "I can't believe you just said that! He'd kill you if he knew!" you snickered. Though it would end painfully for Ben if Negan ever overheard, a snort escaped you at the mental image of Negan's face if he knew someone had questioned his sexual stamina.

Waving a hand in dismissal, Ben looked unconcerned. "He wouldn't dare. I'm your best friend, which means that so long as he wants to keep you happy, I have immunity."

"Oh, really? Is that how it works?" you asked with an arched brow, wiping away the tears that had formed from laughing so hard.

Nodding, Ben replied, "Yep, perks of being close to the boss lady is that I'm now safe from the boss man."

"And what do I get out of this friendship, hmm? It seems like you're the one receiving all the perks," you joked playfully.

"You, my dear, get the gift of being graced with my presence," he said with a wink. "Not to mention you get cake. Cake that leads to fantastic sex. So, you're welcome."

With that, he gave a dramatic bow before going back into Work Ben mode, striding across the tiles to make sure a newer staff member, who had recently been promoted from dishwasher to meal prep, was chopping the vegetables properly. You heard Ben start lecturing the young man, who looked even younger than Trixie and like he'd never cooked a day in his life, on how to slice the carrots gracefully with a knife, not stab harshly so that the blade slammed loudly against the cutting board. You gave it less than two minutes before Ben gave a sigh of exasperation, grabbed another knife, and just start cutting it all himself. Tuning out Ben's chopping exposition, you allowed your thoughts to drift back to last night, which caused a permanent smile to stay fixed on your face.

The smile slipped about half an hour later, when Amber showed up asking for a dinner tray for Negan, her eyes scanning you up and down judgmentally before giving an obviously forced smile. You had the strongest urge to claw her eyes out, but instead pasted a sickly-sweet smile on your own face and signaled Trixie to put together the request. Trying and failing not to glare at her retreating form when she left, you reminded yourself that all she was doing was dropping off food. She might try her little seductive act, but at the end of the day, Negan wanted to see you. Perhaps, if you kept repeating that over and over, then your subconscious would stop whispering all the possible ways to permanently dispose of the woman who swayed her hips way more than was needed for a simple walk out of the kitchen.

Other than that little moment of homicidal fantasizing, the rest of dinner went well. However, if you were being honest, your mind wasn't really on your job. Instead, your thoughts were up a few flights and down the hall, in Negan's rooms. Scarfing down a bowl of the pasta, you all but flew out of the kitchen, Ben waggling his brows knowingly and earning a playfully thrown middle finger salute as you exited through the swinging doors.

Your feet felt as though they practically glided over the floor, stomach tightening with anticipation of seeing Negan again. You wondered if it would be too forward to throw yourself at him the moment he was within arms' reach and beg him to take off all his clothes. Or maybe you could just grab him by the hand and drag him into the bathroom to fulfill your shower fantasy. Either way, you planned on having him naked and inside you as soon as possible, and the thought made you step up your pace to almost a jog. You were officially on cloud nine, had a sexy man waiting, and nothing was going to ruin your evening.

As if the fates had heard your thought and taken it as a challenge, you opened the unlocked door to Negan's room and instantly knew something was wrong. He was standing in front of his desk, obviously anticipating your arrival, with arms crossed and a thunderous expression on his face. Thinking that something must've happened at his meeting earlier, you were too distracted by how sexy he looked even while scowling to notice the pit that had started to form in your stomach or the way your subconscious tugged at the back of your shirt in warning.

"What's wrong?" you asked, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist.

Confusion shot through you when he jerked away, out of reach. Brows furrowed, you finally took the time to really look at him and analyze his body language. He was glaring at you, and the realization came that he wasn't angry about some meeting...he was, for some reason, mad at you.

"Negan? What's going on?" you asked, trying to think back over the past 24 hours and pinpoint what could cause this reaction.

Rather than immediately answer, he walked behind his desk and opened one of the drawers. Pulling out a small rectangular box, he threw it down on the desk and waited expectantly. Still confused, you stepped closer to see what it was, eyes widening when you saw the picture on the front.

Looking up at him, you croaked, "Why are you showing me a pregnancy test?"

You knew why, but were hoping that there was the smallest possible chance you were wrong, that he couldn't possibly know about you helping Trixie. Would he just be pissed that you hadn't told him about someone in the compound needing medical assistance, or would he also demand you tell him who it was that needed a test? You really hoped it wasn't the latter, because you had made Trixie a promise...unless he already knew. Hell, maybe Trixie had ratted herself out, and by proxy taken you down with her.

"I figured you might want an extra one, just to be fucking sure. Unless it was positive, in which case, I supposed congratulations are in order." His voice was terrifyingly quiet, the words low and calm...the calm before the storm.

"What?" You were confused again. "Why would you think…"

Shards of ice cut through you, making it suddenly hard to breathe. Oh, shit. He thinks the test was for you.

Negan leaned down and placed his palms flat on top of the desk, his gaze drilling into you with so much heat that your face felt singed from the flames. "I'm only going to ask you this once, and I expect you to provide a fucking honest answer." He leaned further over the desk, causing you to take an involuntary step backwards.

"Who the fuck is the father?"