Chapter 16
She woke up on satin sheets soaked in sweat and memory.
Vanessa sat up slowly, the ache between her thighs a cruel reminder of the night before. Her wrists were chafed. Her throat sore from screaming.
But she hadn't screamed no.
She had screamed his name.
Negan.
Her face burned.
The air in the room was heavy, perfumed with sex and smoke, and for a moment she hated herself for craving it again.
Then the door creaked open.
Negan stood in the doorway, shirtless, a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand and something far colder in his eyes.
"Drink," he ordered. No smile. Just command.
Vanessa took the mug with shaking hands.
"Good girl," he said softly, stepping closer. "But we're not done."
She swallowed. "You're manipulating me."
He nodded. "Of course I am."
The room changed while she slept.
All the walls were now mirrors. No escape from her reflection. No way to avoid seeing the flushed, ruined thing she'd become.
Negan pulled her from the bed by the wrist, dragging her to the center.
"Look," he said.
"I don't want—"
He pushed her to her knees. "I didn't ask what you wanted."
He stood behind her, one hand gripping her chin, forcing her eyes up to the glass.
"See that? That's not weakness. That's submission."
She shook her head, tears brimming. "You're breaking me."
"I already broke you," he whispered at her neck. "Now I'm building you back up… the right way."
He blindfolded her.
And her world turned into breath, scent, sound.
Leather on her skin.
A collar tightened around her throat. Cold.
She gasped.
"You begged me to stop once," he murmured.
She remembered. The first night. The darkness. The way he tore her open from the inside.
"I didn't," she whispered.
"You wanted it," he said. "Even then."
She hated that he was right.
He pressed a button on a remote.
A recording played—her voice.
"I need it, Negan. Please, don't stop—"
Her mouth dropped open.
She didn't remember saying that.
"See?" he whispered, one hand between her thighs. "Your body tells truths your mouth can't."
He edged her.
Cruelly.
Repeatedly.
Tied to the mirrored bed, spread wide, Vanessa's thighs trembled as his mouth tortured her into the edge of climax over and over—then pulled away.
She sobbed. "Please. Please let me finish—"
Negan stroked himself lazily, watching her writhe.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I want you desperate. Addicted."
She hated how true it was.
She was losing herself. One orgasm denied at a time.
Later, she found the video.
On a loop. Playing in the far mirror.
Her. Gagged. Eyes glazed. Riding his hand like a starving woman.
A confession of pleasure that made her sick.
Negan stood behind her in the reflection.
"Delete it," she choked.
"I could," he said. "But it's the truth."
He reached between her legs again, and she hated that she was already wet.
"You hate me?" he asked, fingers circling.
"Yes," she whimpered.
"You want me?"
"Yes."
"You'd let me ruin you again?"
Her silence was his answer.
Across the city, Miles found Camille.
She was bleeding. Hiding. Feral.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
Camille's voice cracked. "You can't save her now. She wants him."
"No," he growled. "He's brainwashed her."
She laughed bitterly. "No. He awakened her."
Back in the loft…
Vanessa stood naked in the center of the mirror room. A leash in one hand.
Negan's voice behind her. "You begged to be mine. Own it."
She turned.
Slowly knelt.
Extended the leash to him.
Her eyes burned with shame… and hunger.
"I'm yours," she whispered.
Negan smiled darkly.
"And now," he said, "you'll become me."