You were a literal sin to be looking at. God must've made you with the intention to torture married men, Rick thought. He often found his mind reeling at the sight of you..., his thoughts often wandering to how it would feel to have your pretty lips wrapped around ― "shit..."

"You okay, Rick?" And weren't you just such a sweetheart. A middle child of the Greens ― like, part of your arguments had made Hershel allow their group to stay a bit longer on your farm, which his group (especially Rick himself) was ever so grateful for.

And it wasn’t entirely his fault to be feeling like this ― to feel his heart flutter whenever he would catch a glimpse of your cute little farm outfits…, like you were the main star in one of those kinds of special movies, ones he'd only find in the hidden corner of some mucky VHS shop.

I mean, Lori was obviously drifting from him, was she not? So how could anyone even blame him for... wanting you.

„Jus' fine, sweetheart...“ his voice came out strained, like he was physically restraining himself. 'This was wrong' he tried to remind himself 'so, so wrong'. But your body underneath his own felt just so right…