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Maggie couldn't tear her eyes away from Negan's profile. The contrast was striking; he had decided to shave. He had looked handsome with the beard, but the sight of his clean-shaven jaw and the sun-kissed skin of his throat made Maggie's mouth water. She wanted to lick that jawline and then nuzzle into Negan's neck.
She wanted—she wanted…
Maggie’s gaze moved helplessly to Negan's tanned, muscular forearms exposed by his rolled up sleeves. He had to be doing this on purpose. A calculated attempt to drive her to madness, to draw her in, to seduce.
She ached to explore… to taste… to touch. The longing consumed her.
Tearing her hungry eyes away, Maggie curled her hands into fists, her knuckles turning white under the pressure. No. She shouldn't want him. Couldn't want him. It was twisted and wrong. He was a monster.
Yet…
Maggie glanced back over to Negan. He was leaning against the doorpost, smirking, his tongue poking out and sliding over his bottom lip in that teasing way of his. The urge to reach out and kiss him threatened to overpower her, but she didn't. She wouldn't. Ever.
She wanted him, she did, and she could admit that now. But, there was no world where wanting him would ever be okay. It was twisted, messed up, and downright unhealthy. So, she'd resist it, and him. She had to.