My Little Pup

Chapter 18

Hot water cascades down my body, washing away a lather of suds and the remnants of Negan on my skin. I furiously scrub over every inch of myself, wanting to rid of all traces of him. Despite all this, I can still feel his hands roaming my form, his lips devouring my neck, the delicious feeling of his cock thrusting deep within me...

Dammit! How could I have been so naïve?

I throw the washcloth against the shower wall in absolute frustration before crumbling onto the marble floor.

I've never felt more foolish in my entire life. I hate to admit it to myself, but I was beginning to think that Negan actually cared about me – not in the context of a relationship, but as a human being. The evidence was there: him going out of his way to retrieve my mother's guitar, allowing me to literally cry on his shoulder about my mother on a couple of occasions, and making my pleasure his priority when I finally agreed to have sex with him. Those actions strongly go against Negan's character, that's why I thought they were genuine... In reality, he was just telling me what I wanted to hear in order to get what he wanted.

What would my father think? I just slept with the enemy and I enjoyed it...

What hurts most of all was that I made the mistake of trusting him with a detail of my life that I rarely open-up about – my mother. I revealed more to him about her and my struggles with her loss than I have with my father. It was what he needed to fully bait me, and it worked.

I reach up and rub my hand over the side of my now bare neck, something that I've unconsciously done since the collar's removal not even an hour ago. My fingers brush over a tender spot below my right ear, no doubt one of the many hickeys Negan riddled over my body. Thanks to him, there's no denying who I belong to; his territory has been marked.

I allow myself a few more minutes to wallow on the shower floor before rinsing off, exiting the shower, and dressing. Wanting to conceal some of the hickeys, I keep my hair down and I replace my usual basketball shorts and t-shirt with a pair of jeans and a grey TU sweatshirt. I immediately feel lighter. Covering the markings and wearing something from my pre-Negan life has me feeling more like myself and less like his property.

Any bit of positive energy that I had managed to surmise is extinguished upon stepping into Negan's bedroom.

The clothes scattered across the floor, soiled sheets on the bed, and the leather collar laying on the nightstand practically taunt me. Just the sight of the room resurfaces the inner battle that I thought I had snuffed out while in the shower. I can't get away from what I did. It has to go.

I stomp towards Negan's bed, treading over his boxers that lay strewn on the floor. Gripping the sheet in clenched fists, I give one powerful tug, pulling the material off the mattress and the mattress partially off the bed frame. The linens are furiously tossed into a corner, along with each article of clothing on the floor. My anger grows as I pick up more and more of our clothes.

I pick up his shirt and the feeling of his defined muscles comes to mind. I pick up my bra and my breath involuntarily catches in my throat at the sensations of his mouth and hands devouring my breasts. It's when I turn towards the nightstand and spot the collar that my inner furnace rages to a whole new level. With a fury unlike any other, I firmly grasp the leather in my hand. The material feels heavy, not from it's physical properties, but because of the significance and role that this hunk of leather and metal played in this game that Negan has had me playing since day one. I realize now that removing the collar doesn't mean a damn thing.