Sandor didn't know it, but it was no coincidence that Sansa was lazily reclining in the bath when he entered her chambers. The steam from the hot water rose in wisps and swirled around her, disappearing off into nothingness but carrying the scent of her bath oils to him, invading his nose; sweet and sharp at the same time, just like those summer isle lemons she loved so. The smell was so intrinsically her, and while he often caught a whiff of it when she was around, the scent was never stronger than when it was just him and her, with her naked skin pressed tight against his, his mouth on the curve of her neck, fingers buried in her glorious hair. He'd never known a smell could arouse him so.
Much to Sansa's amusement Sandor kept to a strict routine these days, making it really rather too easy to know exactly when he would enter her rooms. For all his protests, Sandor treated her like the princess that she never. When he was in her furs, her pleasure was his utmost concern and while he constantly delivered on the only vow he'd ever made, to make her sing so loud she'd wake the whole castle begging to the mother for sweet mercy while simultaneously praying to the father that he would never stop, Sansa couldn't help but feel he was holding something back from her. Sandor had started sharing her bed many a moon's turn ago, far before their humble ceremony in front of the heart tree and Sansa expected nothing less than everything - every part of him with nothing held back.
The very proximity of Sandor must have been wearing off on her lately as it was becoming more and more common for her to be in the mood for debauchery and nothing felt more deliciously naughty than enticing her sworn shield into her bed in the middle of the day, when both of them had other places to be.
Smiling, as she saw his eyes transform from the light grey of surprise to the darker steel of desire, Sansa stretched her body out in a perfectly crafted gesture of pure innocence, as she knew he loved, so that the bath's water rippled and lapped against her skin. Her breasts broke through the surface of the water, pale pink nipples hardened. No doubt Sandor would assume the reaction of the cool air to against her skin to be the perpetrator, rather than his presence.
His good eyebrow rose, 'I do hope I don't disturb you, Lady Sansa.' The fact that he couldn't tear his eyes from her body for long enough to glance at her eyes took away any bite his words held.
'Come, help me out. I must ready myself for the day.'
His mouth twitched in what could have been amusement but he done as she bid and stepped forward as she rose. A great rush of water fell from her body, cascading down in rivulets and dripping back into the tub. Holding his hand for her to take, Sandor took in her form. Each time he looked at her he noted a new detail, a freckle, a scar. This time it was a freckle, more prominent and defined than others, on the middle of the inside of her right thigh.
'I will never tire of the sight of you naked, little bird.'
She flashed him a smile, long legs stretching as she climbed from the bath without a trace of self consciousness. Hand still in Sandor's she was so close to him her breasts squashed against the cold, metal plate of his armour. Her hair swung around her when she turned suddenly, brushing against his ruined cheek. Sansa let go of his hand and walked to the bed, reclining backwards into the furs, raised up on her elbows to watch him.
'I'm glad to hear it, my Lord.'
With the utmost nonchalance she looked down to her breast, focusing on her hardened nipple. She carefully ran a nail over its tip, trailing her hand down the underside of her breast to her ribs and back to the fur she was laying on. Her lashes raised, eyes holding a challenge as they met his.'
'Not a Lord.' He growled, prowling towards her bed, looking every inch the predator stalking his prey in the moments before pouncing and claiming it - her - for his own. The thought made her heart beat faster and an exquisite warmth formed in her belly, pooling at the apex of her thighs. She positively ached for him.
'As a matter of fact, you are. You are my Lord and the very fact that you are so is the very reason you see me naked.' She bit her lip, lashes downcast before looking up, eyes sparkling, into his that blessedly were on her own rather than her breasts. 'Ser.'
He was close enough to touch her now, his fingertips trailing unknown patterns over each ankle. His touch was so light it tickled and made her want to giggle but the gentleness of it squeezed at her heart and she relished in the side of himself that he only allowed her to see.
Sandor's demeanour changed. Impossibly, his eyes grew even darker and his large, rough hands encircled her ankles, dragging her bodily to the edge of the bed, closer to him, and used her ankles to spread her legs apart, holding them high in the air.
Sansa felt the slick warmth between her thighs grow. Whilst she couldn't bring herself to feel ashamed a furious red blush spread from her chest up her neck to her cheeks. She watched as Sandor's eyes roamed her body, from the wetness between her thighs up over the flat expanse of her stomach, the small scar on her jutting hipbone, her breasts, the spot on the side of her neck he loved to suck on, finally to her eyes. She watched, transfixed as his upper teeth ran the length of his lower lip. Oh... The look on his face was similar to the look she had seen when he had devoured a whole chicken cooked to his favourite recipe, dripping in grease and garlic and sweet orange.
'Don't be too certain on that, girl. Might be there would have come a day where you would have regretted parading around in front of me wearing nought but those silk bed clothes.' His hands loosened their grip, the tips of his fingers ran from her ankles to her knees, pausing as he applied more pressure, spreading her further, before continuing their journey down her inner thighs. His thick fingers rested in the fold of her thigh where it met her woman's place, his huge hands spanned her thigh, so huge his little finger almost reached her knee as he held her in place. 'I'd have taken you over my shoulder and run off with you, just like a wildling.'
With each word he spoke his face inched closer to her as he sunk to his knees. At first Sansa could feel the hotness of his breath on her calf. Then her knee. The soft brush of his beard against her thigh. She flushed red again as the image of his beard growing wet with her arousal entered her mind. She groaned. She was so ready.
'Your scent Sansa.' His voiced sounded half pained, half awed. Suddenly the softness of his lips and wet stroke of his tongue were on her, parting her curls just above the pearl of skin that cause the exquisite sensations. She groaned again, louder, in frustration and in pleasure. She heard him inhale. 'A scent has never made me hard before. But that's nothing...' his tongue, quick as a flash, had worked its way between her folds, tracing a path from the very core of her up to the patch of skin he had just kissed. He made her gasp, squirm, arch her back up for more. 'Nothing compared to the taste of your cunt.'
His tongue seemed everywhere at once, so quickly it danced over her. Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of furs, clutching them as if they were the only thing that anchored her to the earth. Her hips jerked every time his tongue bumped against her favourite spot and she let out a hiss, a moan, babbling nonsense.
Sandor exalted in the noises she made, the broken pleading, the gasps as if she was shocked she could feel so good. His favourite was when her hips, unbidden, would move and rub against his tongue in the way she favoured. Oh he loved that. His own britches were painfully tight, his cock throbbing, begging for some attention but his lips would not leave her.
His hot, wet tongue was whipping her into a frenzy and her was purposely avoiding her pearl. She wanted to tear her hair out, tear his hair out. Instead she circled her hips, trying to move his tongue to where she wanted it. 'Please Sandor. Please...' Her voice was stolen from her as a gasp was ripped from her throat.
Sandor opened his eyes, looking up at her from his vantage point. Her hair was matted, wild and splayed around her head. Her spine seemed liquid with the way she was moving, arching, squirming under his ministrations. She had moved a hand and was pulling on her own nipple, fuck, he would spill in his britches before long. She looked like a goddess when she met his gaze and smiled at him. A smile that was only broken as her lips formed an O and a cry was dragged from her throat, her lashes fluttered shut.
Sandor felt her fingers sink into his hair, nails dragging gloriously over his scalp. He smiled as she applied pressure to the back of his head, holding him there. For a moment he indulged her, holding his tongue still as she ground against it, her cries rising to pitch fever. With a final swipe of his tongue he withdrew from her, rocking back onto his heels. He heard her mewls of disappointment, frustration. Was that even a growl? He smirked as he rose and Sansa discovered that his beard indeed was matted with her desire. The sight coupled with him in his armour awakened something primal within her.
She all but leapt from the bed, her naked form pouncing on him. She felt a nail break as she tore at his armpit lacings. 'Get it off!' She demanded. His attention was drawn to her breasts. He reached out, fingers circling the peaks and she stamped her feet. 'Stop it, you're distracting me.'
Sandor snorted. 'Says the woman naked before me with her teats in my face.'
Her eyes sparkled with the deep blue of desire. Her lips descended to his, tenderly kissing his lower lip. Sandor lowered himself to the floor, legs stretched out before him and pulled her to his lap. He arranged her legs either side of his and a hand on her backside guided her to his length, still maddeningly enclosed in its fabric prison. He weight pressed against him and she shimmied deliciously. The sigh that left her lips told him she enjoyed the sensation just as much as he did. With a squeeze of her cheek has hand left her arse, now that she had started a swaying rhythm of her own and felt the bones of her spine before winding the hair at the nape of her neck around his hand and pulling. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her arch back, her body so gloriously on display for him. Her fluid hips did not miss a beat, though her gasp told of her surprise.
Sandor's teeth grazed her collar bone, moving to suck on the hollow at the base of her throat. She mewed exquisitely at that and he throbbed.
'Will you ride me, Lady Sansa? Just like you ride your pretty horse?'
She nodded as much as she could with her neck stretched back, punctuating her sentiment with a slow and deliberate roll of her hips against him. She bit her lip and whimpered, bringing we hands down to unlace his britches. After long moments she had freed him, the cool air touched his skin for only a second before her warm palm wrapped around his length. She moved her fist up and down slow and steady, her thumb rubbing over the tip, touching him in the way she had come to learn he liked best.
The grip of her warm fingers against his hot flesh was satisfyingly tight, but he wanted more than her hand. He let out a growl. Whether it was pleasure of frustration she did not know.
Sandor's grip on her hair lessened the more her thumb stroked over his leaking tip, until eventually it just fell away, gripping the top of her thigh instead. Sandor tipped his head back, languishing in her touch. It was this action that causes him to glimpse the salacious expression on her face. It made him throb. She felt it and giggled. 'I'm holding you so tightly I can feel your pulse.'
Words wouldn't form as her thumb swiped again over his tip. He was aware of movement and by the time he had snapped his head up and his eyes open she was bent in half, her head nestled in his lap, red hair spilling over his legs.
'Sansa. You don't have to do that.'
Her eyes sparkled and her hot breath came in puffs against his shaft. 'But I want to, and today is a day for doing what we want.'
Sandor growled, low and wild, when her tongue, so hot and wet and soft, ran from from root to tip. A shiver ran down his spine and his hand fell to her head, stroking her soft hair.
She didn't really know what she was doing, improvising based on a few overhead whispers, but Sandor's reaction was spurring her on. Her tongue slid back and forth over the spot he liked her thumb to rub and she thought herself clever for the idea. Sandor's reaction did not disappoint. He hissed and his hips jerked up, similar to how hers had. She used the tip of her tongue to flick the spot more quickly and was rewarded with a raw, growled 'Sansa!'
Her lips parted and she took him in her mouth. She couldn't go very far down, he was far too big for her small mouth, but when she was stretched as far as she could go she sucked and he roared. He thrilled in the glorious sensation of her pretty mouth, wet and hot and tight around his cock for a long moment before it became too much and he pulled her up before he could spill himself in her mouth.
'Sansa...that was...was...' He still couldn't form words.
'And what is it you would like today, Sandor?' She smiled the sweetest smile, as if she was asking him of his preference of drink with his evening meal. The shine on her lip, the only evidence that they had ever been wrapped around his cock, was the only detail that added an edge to the question.
'It would be a treat to watch your spectacular arse as I fuck you.' His tone equalled hers in its blasé manner. He did not want to tighten her off with his filthy wishes but it was something that he wanted. And she had asked.
To his relief she didn't recoil in disgust, she simply smiled and told him that she too thought that would be delightful.
Sandor let out a roar of a laugh, scooping her up in his arms and depositing her back on the bed. Finally he freed himself of his armour and stripped off the simple cotton tunic he had on beneath it. As always, the sight of Sandor bare chested, unabashed about the pure strength and masculinity that radiated from him, took Sansa's breath away.
Before she knew what she was doing she was on her knees of the bed, reaching up as he stood beside it. Her hands traced the planes of his magnificent body, skimming the skin, the scars and hair that covered it. They both knew it was more for her pleasure than his; her touch was not designed to bring him sensation but rather was a way for her to marvel at the shape of him.
'I'll give you delightful, girl.'
He reached down and gave her rump a slap. When she squealed he flipped her over so that her backside was to him. His fingers gripped her hips and dragged her to him, as if claiming his prize, then bent her forward, telling her to rest on her elbows and stick her arse out.
Sansa was breathless with anticipation. For all their coupling and pleasure taking over the last few moon's turns, this was new and thrilling. She loved his course words, that she had finally broken the wall he had kept between them. Had she ever anticipated anything quite so much? When Sandor rubbed his length against her still slick folds, his tip caressing exquisitely against her little pearl, all thoughts fell from her head.
'Gods, Sansa, you're so wet.' She didn't know what to say to that, but his tone made clear it was a compliment.
Thrice more he massaged himself from her core to her pearl, sending little shivers up and down her spine each time. On the fourth he slowly sheathed himself inside her. They both growled like wild animals once he was completely encased. A hand moved from her hip to her nub and he stroked her there, thrumming as diligently as a court musician. He knew it wouldn't be long before he spilled. Had he ever seen a more enticing sight? Yes, his view from her apex would be one he would enjoy until his dying day, but his cock disappearing into her with her narrow waist and jiggling buttocks was a very close second.
Her gasps, sweeter to him than any song he'd ever heard, spurred him on, his thrusts becoming faster. Gods, could he go any deeper? Her gasps turned to whimpers, to his name on her lips. The tightening of her cunt around him told of what was imminent. A few seconds later she peaked. A long mewl escaped her lips and her body was rigid then limp, held up by the strength of his arms. That was all it took for him. With a final thrust and a roar he buried himself inside her and rejoiced in the wash of bliss that overtook his body.
He held her to him, pressing his skin to hers wherever he could. A primal instinct overtook him and he marked her, sucking the skin on the side of her neck until it bruised, then bathed the hurt in his tongue and peppered it with kisses.
Eventually he had the strength to rise and he pulled her with him. 'Next time you'll peak on my tongue. That will be delightful.'