"I seriously canNOT believe you talked me into this," she huffs, auburn curls flailing about as she marches up the gravel path. She's in a fury born by the knowledge that in mere minutes she will experience nothing but deep and mind-blowing mortification, as Margaery and her stable-boy lover Bronn laugh in the distance.
"Sansa! Come on! You know I can't very well take you on our family vacation and leave you all by your lonesome on the ranch while we ride and explore the countryside! What would be the fun in that?" Margaery tosses over her shoulder, her hand tucked in Bronn's back pocket and his tucked back in hers.
It should be adorable, but all she can think of is the imminent shame she is about to experience when she is thrown from the horse.
Well, that or death.
The lovebirds giggle and flutter in front of her, and she fights back a smile as she reminds herself of her impending doom.
"I want my clothes to go to you, but all of my makeup to Arya. One day, maybe, she just might decide to put it to use," she grumbles, still fighting back a smile and affecting as many dramatics as she can muster.
"Yeah, yeah, lingerie to me, got it!"
"I know that's right!" Bronn yells out with a whoop and a holler, a literal holler, spanking Margaery on the backside.
Good gods, she thinks as she rolls her eyes.
What she wouldn't give to be loved like Bronn loves Margaery.
They've got the easiness of a summertime breeze, the playfulness of a bubble bath, and the seriousness of midnight chats with blankets and cocoa all wrapped up into one.
One day, Sansa's going to find a Bronn, and she's going to hang on tight.
Today, however, most certainly will not be that day.
She's trying not to wheeze by the time they climb the drive to the stables and reach the top, knowing that if Margaery hears her heaving and huffing she'll just mock her from here to Dorne for not joining her at 5:00 AM Boot Camp with Stannis. As if any decent human being is awake at that hour! She'd complained once, and was greeted with beauty is pain, darling, and trust me, Stannis brings the pain, and resolved then and there not to give it one single go.
She's regretting that decision more than she wants to admit as she feels how hot her cheeks have become from the mile-long walk from Bronn's pickup truck.
They finally reach the stables, and she's already wiping the sweat from her brow as she turns to survey the wide-open pastures before them. Even in her cynicism, Sansa can admit, it is seriously gorgeous. Something is calling to her, in the wild, untamed land, and she actually gets a little thrill of excitement at the thought of exploring a little, even if it is on the back of a horse.
Margaery and Bronn have wandered into the stables, and while she knows she needs to follow, she just can't look away from the rolling fields and the wooded trails she can see in the distance.
Maybe, just maybe, this won't be so bad.
She hears a third voice joining the two she knows, and the deep timbre is stirring her in a way she can't quite blame on the warm summer breeze. She turns, tossing up a hand to block out the sun, and locks eyes on the wildest looking man she's ever seen in her entire life.
He's got a full mane of hair so red it makes hers look dull, eyes so crystal in color they could slice right through her chest, and a beard that is thick and luscious and just about begging to be tugged so she can kiss those pale full lips hiding below. He's a veritable giant, nearly as tall as the snow white horse he's leading, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist and a smile so easy it has her heart fluttering long before he even shoots a glance in her direction, where she's gaping like a fish as she leans back with a sigh against the fence.
"See, Sansa? Told you this wouldn't be so bad!" Margaery calls with a smirk, strolling over with the saddles and tackle for two horses.
Sansa flushes red, shooting Margaery a look that should cause her to burst into flames, before whipping around on her heel and ignoring the broad smirk and flashing teeth of the large man behind her.
"Why'd you get a saddle for Tormund, dearie?" Bronn calls Margaery, leading their own two horses out of the stalls.
Tormund.
Good gods. Even his name is too much for her to handle.
"What do you mean?"
The girls turn back around, and Sansa sees Tormund saddling up the white horse, while a silver one stands patiently beside it. He gestures for Sansa to approach, and before she can blink his thick warm hands encircle her waist and lift her up until she's seated in the saddle.
"What he means there, little lady, is that unless you're riding bareback, there's really no reason to ride at all." His wink is broad, his smile is carefree, and his eyebrows waggle with promise as Sansa's cheeks permanently become crimson and Bronn laughs so uproariously it startles her horse.
Before they can even become acquainted, the mare is off like a rocket, shooting into the open pasture as Sansa attempts to hang on for dear life. She's clinging to the reins, bouncing unceremoniously in the saddle, with her eyes squeezed shut tight as the screams of her friends echo off the fields behind her. Suddenly the heat on her face is gone, and when she opens her eyes she feels branches scrape her arms as the horse bolts through one of the many forest trails she'd spotted only a few minutes ago.
Good, gods.
She's fighting to catch her breath, attempting to come up with some form of soothing words, but the horse is still barreling onwards, and Sansa has no idea what to do and no idea where they're going.
She actually, truly, might just die.
A second pair of thundering hooves comes along the trail behind her, and a brief glance over her shoulder reveals Tormund, hair in the wind, piercing blue eyes, chasing them down the wooded trail as if he were the hunter and she the prey.
She gulps, turning back as she sees a second pasture opening up at the end of the trail, praying to the gods old and new that he can get her out of this mess in one piece.
He pulls up beside them, reaching out to clasp the reins and shooting her a confident smile that doesn't quite hide the slight fear in his wild eyes. He tugs gently, but her horse isn't having it, and they continue on in the direction of the next wooded trail with her heart in her throat and his hand on her reins.
"Ready, lass?" He shouts into the wind, much to her bewilderment.
"Ready for what?" She shouts back, wondering why he looks like he's about to perform a movie stunt the way he shifts in his saddle and swings his horse in even closer.
It turns out, it is she who is the stunt performer today, because as he bellows "good!" he drops the reins, snakes an arm around her waist, and lifts her up and off her horse and around until she's sitting in his lap facing him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his shoulders, clinging like a koala hanging to a tree as she holds on for dear life.
"Woah there, woah," he says to his own horse, as they slow down and hers barrels onward into the woodlands.
She hangs on, burying her face into the crook of his neck, as he wraps a strong arm around her waist and holds her close while bringing them to a coast and then a stop.
She breathes in deep, and can smell the sweat and the woods and the excitement on his skin as they sit there, her holding tight, while he shifts to adjust to her weight.
"Why hello there," he says with a grin, nuzzling into her hair to rumble into her ear. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sansa Stark."
Her breathless laugh can't be contained, and she knows she's smiling like a fool when she pulls back to meet the twinkle in his warm blue eyes. "Trust me, sir, the pleasure is truly all mine."
He tosses his head back and laughs, and it is heavy and rich and warms her up to her very bones. She joins along with a giggle, and as his head comes back down and his eyes start to darken, she realizes with a flush just how close they are, and just how precarious their position is.
She shifts, intending to put a bit of distance between them, and when he catches his breath and quite nearly growls she realizes that the something hard she's been sitting against isn't actually the belt buckle she'd thought it was all along.
He's looking at her with wild untamed fire in his eyes, and gods help her she wants nothing more than to burn up with him, as the heat coils low in her abdomen and her mouth runs dry. She flicks a glance from his eyes to his lips and can't help but slide her hips along his once more, teasing the hardness she can feel pressing against her increasingly dampening core.
This time there is no mistaking his growl, and his eyes are nearly black as he watches her with a hooded gaze. "Careful, lass. I'm not one of the little lords you're used to. I'm not one of those little fools you've been teasing."
Her cheeks are pink, her breath is coming in pants, and she is so wet she's sure it's soaking through her jeans and into his below. She bites her lip, and before she can think twice, she does what she's been thinking of since she first turned and saw him leaving the barn.
She takes a firm hold of his beard, and tugs, until their lips are crashing and their arms are twining and she's kissing him like she's never been kissed in her entire life.
Their bodies are pressed tight, and he's got one hand firm on her ass and the other gripping the back of her neck as his beard scrapes her cheeks and his lips ravish hers. She sucks in a breath and with it his tongue, as he tastes and teases until she's moaning so loudly she's sure they can hear her back at the barn.
He doesn't seem to mind though, as he grunts each time she whimpers and moans, holding her tighter and tighter and kissing her with so much passion her head is spinning and her heart is racing and she can scarcely breathe.
She slides her hands down from where they've tangled in his hair, down over his broad chest until one is studiously unfastening his jeans. He slides a hand to join hers, holding it steady as he pulls back with a groan to look her in the eyes.
"It doesn't need to go any further than this," he grunts, eyes pleading even while his lips say the words.
This time it is she who smirks and then smiles wide, before she slides a hand back up to take another firm hold of his beard. "Yes, Tormund," she practically purrs, "it most certainly does."
His answering smile is blinding and sexy all in one, and with his arms around her he manages to slide them both from the bare back of his horse and gently tumble them into the wild grass below. He lays back and pulls her over him, and she can't even think to worry about what they will do if his horse wanders off as she bends down and kisses him like he's the very air she needs to breathe.
It's fast after that, with his hands sliding her top up and over her shoulders, and hers pushing off his flannel shirt. They are grinding hips and wandering lips and she just can't get enough as she pants and moans above him, the sun on her shoulders and the breeze in her hair.
He lifts her, and in a matter of moments they've both stripped off their boots and jeans and he's sliding a hand over where she's shaved and smooth towards her wetness below, while his other hand slides a condom on over the largest manhood she's ever seen.
The sight takes her breath, and he groans as his fingers finally slip through her folds, making her toss back her hair and whine as she palms her breasts and moans with need. He pulls her up and over him, and with a kiss and then a nip to her lips, he plunges up into her from below.
He is thick and hard, and fills her until she's sure she might burst. Just as she starts to adjust to the size his thick fingers are back, one hand teasing her clit while the other whispers along her spine, encouraging her to set the pace as she sees fit. His lips come back to tease, and he is the perfect mixture of teeth and tongue as he sets her skin on fire.
She rides him, there in the grass, a man who she doesn't even know, and she has no doubt in her mind that this is exactly where she's supposed to be.
She's close, and she knows he can feel it, as her hips twist and grind with each thrust and his hips snap up in response. She's close, and he's tugging her clit and sucking her neck but it just isn't quite enough, and she whines in frustration before with a growl he flips her onto her back and slams into her from above. He tosses both legs over his shoulders, watching her with a sexy smirk and nearly black eyes, and sets a pace so hard and fast she's coming before she even registers the sound of hooves entering the clearing.
She screams, body clenching, back arching, eyes blown wide before she collapses below, and the feel of her fluttering around him has him coming with a howl before gently disentangling her legs and flopping down next to her into the grass, tugging her up until she's wrapped around him from chin to toes.
She sighs, snuggling in, feeling the sun on her skin and the man against her chest, and she's nearly asleep when she hears an exaggerated whisper that has her bolting for her clothes with a flush and a satisfied grin.
"So apparently he doesn't do everything barebacked, Bronny," Margaery is saying, a few feet away atop her horse.
"All in good time, little lord and ladies. All in good time," he answers with a laugh, sitting up and pulling on his clothes.
"He's a confident one, isn't he?" Bronn says with a broad smile to Margaery, as they turn their horses and head back out of the clearing.
"Didn't you hear her, Bronny? Good gods, why wouldn't he be?"
Sansa's cheeks are pink, and her smile is happy, as Tormund lends her a hand and swings her up onto his horse, before swinging on behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist, and as he turns and guides them in the direction of her friends, he whispers into her ear. "Care for another riding lesson a little later on, Miss Sansa Stark? I'm thinking you could use the practice."
She fights back a shiver at the promise in his tone and lets out a mocking cry, smacking his arm as she settles back into his chest. "How dare you, sir!"
She can feel his grin, and his laughter warms her toes, as he nips the shell of her ear and rumbles into her neck, "I thought I told you, I'm far to wild to be your sir."
"Hmmm," she hums happily, her heart already starting to race as his fingertips trail over the top of her left thigh.
"I guess I'll be needing to show you later," he growls, beard tickling her neck as he grinds his hips into hers from behind.
Her answering smile is full of heat, and her thoughts are racing a mile a minute as she nods and pushes back into him. "Yes, Tormund. I truly think you might."