"No." Sandor was angrier than he had been in years. "Sansa, no."

It had taken her weeks to work up the courage to ask. She had not expected him to like the idea, had hoped he wouldn't like it too much, in fact, but once the thought had taken root in her brain, she'd found herself unable to escape it. Worse, the idea wasn't sequestered to her brain. It made her loins steam, creating a persistent ache that was only temporarily satisfied by Sandor's intense lovemaking. His attentions only made her want it more.

A month later . . .

"What is this?"

"A mirror, little bird."

"I can see that."

"That is not what I want you to see."

Give it a try. It will make him happy and maybe it will take away the longing. Her loins seemed to scoff at the idea but her head was willing to try the substitution.

The mirror, during the day, stood on its shorter end, ostensibly to provide Sandor with a looking glass large enough to see himself head-to-foot. By night, however, it was placed on its longer side, even with their bed. Sandor hoped it would satisfy his wife's desire to watch him as he fucked, although that was not exactly what she had requested.

Sansa was intrigued at first but ultimately it only served to whet her hunger. She was entirely familiar with the topography of her husband's heavily muscled body. She knew the feel of his shoulders as he held himself above her, the give-and-take of the muscles in his lower back as he worked his body within hers. When she wrapped her legs around his, she could feel the tautness of his calves with her ankles. The tightness of his jaw and neck as he exploded within her was as known to her as the girth of his manhood, the violence of his thrusts, the brokenness of his cries of passion, and the earthy, musky smell that lingered in the air like an exotic perfume after their lovemaking. She knew the feel, the taste, the sound, and the smell of him. It was her sight that was limited.

In the early days of their marriage, Sansa preferred to couple in the dark, or by the very faint light of the moon. Over time, though, Sandor's preference for candles won out. His words were few but the way his eyes raked over her body told her that he liked what he saw. The more she responded, the more crazed for her he became. Every moan of hers was met with a throaty, "Yes," from him. She learned to trust him in bed as much as she trusted him out of it. He seemed to feed off of her arousal, encouraging it, rewarding her growing confidence with an abandonment of reserve that thrilled her even as it scared her. They had no secrets from each other. Sansa was as comfortable with her body as she was with his, giving and receiving pleasure in equal measure. So she was surprised when he'd met her request with a resounding, "No."

The first night the mirror had been introduced into their bedchamber, Sandor had laid her on the bed and said gruffly, "Watch, little bird." Sansa watched as he pulled his tunic over his head, his rippled abdomen stretching as he reached his arms up. The sight of his massive shoulders and huge, cut upper arms made her mouth water, especially as she was seeing him both straight on and from the side in the mirror. He bunched up the shirt and tossed it aside. She didn't miss the heave of his chest, his breathing not yet reduced to panting. She casually ran her palms over her nipples, bringing the slight firmness already present to harder nubs. Sansa knew her husband liked to watch her fondle her breasts. Sandor made a slight choked sound and hurried to remove his breeches.

"Slow down, please," Sansa breathed.

Sandor closed his eyes for a second, gathering himself. With a control that was driving him crazy, he worked his belt loose before sinking his thumbs below the front of the waistband. Slowly, he slid his thumbs to the side and then tugged one side and then the other of his breeches down, knowing all the while that Sansa enjoyed teasing her fingertips below the top of his pants. He cut his eyes to the side, seeing Sansa's naked body reflected in the mirror. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. He pushed his breeches down low enough to expose his erect and throbbing cock, emitting a low laugh as he heard his wife give an appreciative, "Mmm." The next moment found him above her, quickly brushing the tip of his tongue over her lips, nipping at the side of her neck with his teeth while encircling her opening with his head, saturating himself with their wetness before pushing into her with a groan.

Sandor drew back to look at her. He loved the sight of her hair wild on their pillows, the way her eyes half-closed as he pumped his hips, rocking their bodies in unison. He saw her look towards the mirror and thought, Good. Take a good look. Let the sight of me fucking you be enough. A small part of him felt a thrill at seeing himself do this. Then Sansa clenched around him and he thought no more of the looking glass.

The next day he passed her in the courtyard. Indifferent to the others around them, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. "Did you like that last night, little bird? Did you like watching me?"

"Yes, but I couldn't see myself, and I couldn't see enough of you."

Sandor raised an eyebrow as he released her. "I have another idea."

That night Sansa straddled her husband, throwing back her head and relinquishing herself to the pleasure radiating within her with each movement of her hips. She could not see much of him in the reflection of the mirror. He felt so good inside her, though, that she was half inclined to just forget her request. No, said a small voice. You want to watch him. Sansa needed to get him where she could see him. She cupped her breasts, letting her hardened nipples peak out between the base of her index and middle fingers. A moment later, Sandor was sitting up, greedily sucking one and then the other. His big hands fastened on her hips as he bucked his own from under her. She gasped and for several long moments could only make strangled sounds as Sandor's strength and skill softened her reserve from within. No, said the voice again. Sansa forced herself to focus and pushed against his chest, making him lay back again.

"More," he begged. "Now. Faster. Fucking ride me." Sansa did. From the corner of her eye, she could see her body quiver back and forth above him, heard the slapping, squelchy sound of their bodies joining. She saw his hands rest on her waist, pushing her down farther on his shaft. Sandor came with a growl, raising his hips as his seed flooded her. Sansa saw herself disappear from the mirror as Sandor pulled her down on the bed and began circling his thumb over her most sensitive pearl of flesh.

Once they'd regained their breath, sprawled amongst the twisted blankets, Sandor asked, "Was that better?"

Sansa laughed. "It's not me I want to watch."

Sandor's frustration caused him to be gruff. "You just saw me last night, little bird. If it's not me and if it's not you and if it's not someone else, who do you want to see?"

"I just want to see more of you."

Sandor snorted and got out of bed. Sansa watched his muscular buttocks flex as he walked away.

The night after that . . .

Sandor held Sansa's hips and made sure she was watching as his cock disappeared into her. Taking her from behind seemed to be the best way for her to see them both in the mirror. He was out of ideas after this and a small fear was spreading through him that she would still insist on having her way. It's your own fault, he thought. You indulged her. You led her to believe that anything you did together was alright. It is, said another voice, so why not give her what she wants? It's not like you haven't done it before. Sandor pulled in the corner of his mouth. He knew when he was losing a fight.

"Are you well?" Sansa was looking at him in the mirror, concerned.

Sandor realized he'd stopped, distracted by his thoughts. "Aye," he answered, pulling back in a long, even stroke before sinking into her again.

The next morning . . .

"Sansa, about this idea of yours . . ."

Sansa's hopes soared. "Yes?" She tried not to sound too keen.

"This isn't because you want to be fucked by someone else, is it?"

Surprise shocked her into silence for a moment. "No!"

"You're sure? I took your maidenhead so I could see why you'd want to . . ."

"I'm sure. It has nothing to do with that."

"Do you think I'm dissatisfied with you?"

The idea hadn't occurred to her. "No."

"Do you think I could find more pleasure with someone else?"

Sansa didn't like to sound arrogant but she answered, "No." Her faith in Sandor's love for her was absolute.

"I'm not even sure I could do it."

"I'd help you." Sansa fought to keep a smile from overtaking her lips. Just the suggestion that he would do this for her made the ache between her legs surge with renewed intensity.

"You might not like what you see. You might not forgive me."

The thought sobered Sansa. To hear him say it made the possibility of it real, but she'd considered this in the weeks before she'd asked him. "It would just be the once. I promise. I wouldn't need to see it again"

"You could take pleasure from something that degrades me?"

"It wouldn't degrade you. I wouldn't ask you to do something that diminished you. I'm asking you because this is the only way for me to see you like that. The mirror's not working. The angles are wrong. I can't concentrate while we're doing that." She stopped. She wouldn't wheedle him. She'd asked and it was up to him to decide.

Sandor ground his teeth for long moments. "Once. Do you hear, little bird? I will do this only once, for you. Don't ever ask me to do it again. And I'll only do it on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That it's far from here."

A month later . . .

Sandor and Sansa Clegane were just two of the nobles attending the queen's coronation celebration. A se'en-night's worth of entertainment was to culminate with a tourney and feast. Sansa would represent the north at various council meetings while Sandor was to participate in the jousting and the melee. Sandor fought with an intensity that did credit to his old reputation, and he was glad of the distraction. Fighting made him almost too tired to think of what he'd agreed to.

Sansa sat in the stands, her spine prickling as she thought of the muscles and skin that lay beneath her husband's armor. Tonight was the night. She was on tenterhooks and longed for the day to end so she could return to the rooms she shared with Sandor.

Meanwhile . . .

"I don't know who the customer is. The arrangements have been made with the utmost discretion."

The girl shrugged, disinterested. "What's the pay?" She drew in her breath sharply when told, but then suspicion overtook her. "What does he want? I don't like it when they hit."

"Your safety has been assured, though you'll be blindfolded."

The girl thought that over and then raised a shoulder in acquiescence.

"And you're not to speak."

"Gods, what a relief. I hate lying to those ugly buggers. 'Oh, you're so smart. You're so big. You're so handsome.' Blech."

"Hold your tongue."

The girl pulled a face but stayed silent.

"You're to pose as a scullery maid to move through the castle. When the customer is done, you're to leave immediately. Someone will escort you to the gate."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

The girl tossed her long auburn hair over her shoulder. "Easy enough."

Later that night . . .

Sandor pulled the girl into the room. She was blindfolded as he'd requested. He'd not have Sansa shamed, even if this had all been her idea. Sansa lay back on a bench, wearing a light robe. Her eyes were bright with excitement. You love her, he reminded himself, though whether or not he'd be able to go through with this was still an uncertainty.

The girl stood at the foot of the bed, alert. Sandor looked at Sansa. He was naked and unaroused. She nodded at him and slowly dragged her fingertips over the skin exposed by the neck of her robe. Sandor took himself in hand, brushing over his balls up to his shaft. A tiny bead of moisture appeared at the head and he used his thumb to spread the slickness. Sansa opened her robe and cupped a breast, rubbing her own thumb over her nipple. Sandor cleared his throat. He glanced at the girl and looked away. "Take your clothes off."

The girl loosened her shift and let it fall to the floor. She was thin, though not as tall as Sansa. She unpinned her hair and it fell to the middle of her back. Her hair was smooth and straight, lacking the curls Sansa's hair boasted. Sandor didn't notice. He looked to his wife for direction. She nodded her chin towards the girl and Sandor placed a hand on her arm. She stiffened for a second but then reached out and laid her hands on his chest. A ripple of anger flowed through him. Damn her. You should stop this mummery right now. Sansa, though, was watching intently. She squeezed her breast, indicating Sandor should do the same to the girl. He did and the girl smiled. She began to move her hands over his torso and arms. She had a light, tickling touch very different from the confident stroking Sansa had come to employ.

Sandor looked at Sansa. She inclined her head toward the bed and Sandor picked the girl up and laid her on it. She laughed. Sandor wanted to slap her. He'd much rather be getting ready to fuck his own wife than this whore. He looked over his shoulder. Sansa's robe lay open, her nipples erect. Sandor's mouth longed to suckle them and he instinctively moved to get off the bed. Sansa gave a sharp shake of her head and then nodded toward the girl. Sandor was not about to kiss her lips so he put his mouth to her nipple. It was smaller and darker than Sansa's. He lashed it with his tongue, bringing it to bud, and then he sucked on it as he found Sansa with the corner of his eye. She looked excited. She ran her hands over her flat stomach and he copied her movements. He still felt resentful and awkward. He was more than willing to follow Sansa's directions in bed, provided she was the one in bed with him.

Sansa felt a flood of wetness between her legs. She couldn't say why she was so aroused by watching her husband make love to another woman but she was, she so very much was. Even his anger kindled something within her. She spread her legs and curled a finger inside herself. Sandor glared at her and moved his hand. Sansa was so turned on, she thought she might come then and there. She might have, too, if she hadn't realized Sandor was going soft. She rose from the bench in a fluid movement and approached the bed. She'd never seen Sandor from behind before. Not during lovemaking. There was no position that allowed it and not even a hall of mirrors could duplicate what she was seeing first hand: the muscles moving under his skin, the broad expanse of his back, the tightness of his thighs. The view was weakening her. She laid a hand gently on his back so he would know she was there. Then she reached between his legs and cupped his balls, jiggling them gently in the way she knew he liked. Despite himself, he gave a low groan. He felt himself swell into a full erection again.

Sansa moved back to the bench and raised her eyebrows at the girl, indicating he should pay her some attention. He dragged a thick finger over the cleft between the girl's legs and made to lower his head. Sansa wagged a finger at him. She knew the deliciously wicked things he could do with his tongue and she intended to reserve that particular pleasure for herself. The girl would receive enough pleasure in other ways.

Sandor pulled back and instead inserted two fingers in the girl, massaging a circle over the top of her folds with his thumb. She raised her hips and moaned quietly. Once she was wet, he lay on the bed beside her and nudged her toward his cock. The girl fumbled to find him at first but then unsuccessfully stifled a gasp when she took in the size of him. On her knees, she bent over and ran her tongue along his rim. Despite all his plans, and in the face of all the unpleasant memories this evening was calling forth for him, Sandor closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His eyes flew open half an instant later. The little bird shouldn't have to see that. Shame started to burn within him. He looked at Sansa. She was nearly panting, watching as the girl sucked on Sandor's cock. Relax, Sansa mouthed to him. Bloodly unlikely, he thought.

This was even better than Sansa had hoped for, aside from Sandor's refusal to give himself up to the experience. Apparently the girl had some skill, though, because, after a moment, Sandor grunted. He scowled though Sansa knew his level of arousal was increasing. She motioned for him to get on top and he did, giving her a dark look in the process.

Sansa gave a steady nod and he sat up on his knees, quickly unrolling a thin sheepskin sheath over his erection. Sansa requested one from the maester now and again during her moonblood, though Sandor never asked her to. Tonight, though, he took care. His seed was for Sansa alone. When he was ready, he looked toward his wife. Please, she mouthed. Reluctantly, he positioned himself between the girl's legs. Slow. He was. The girl squirmed under him then relaxed. Sandor pumped slowly, trying to deny the pleasure he was feeling. After some time, he realized he hadn't looked at Sansa in awhile. She wasn't on the bench. No, she was on the other side of the bed, watching.

Her husband was the most seductive thing she had ever seen. The more she watched him move, the more glad she was that she'd asked him to do this for her. This wasn't about the girl. Sansa wanted, more than anything, to see Sandor as he made love. She drank in the undulation of his hips and lower abdomen. His triceps stood out with a hardness that made her mouth water. The light sheen of sweat on his back, the way his hair hung down, partially shielding his strong profile, these were all things she'd never seen, and would never have been able to see while he was making love to her. She walked to the foot of the bed. The smooth movements of his hips were beautiful even as they were arousing. His powerful legs, the way his knees dug into the bedding; Sansa committed each movement, each muscle to memory. She knew he'd never indulge her this way again. She was grateful to be able to see him this way now. Even when the girl wrapped her legs around Sandor's waist, she couldn't feel jealous. Her own inner thighs could feel even now the strength and heat that was Sandor between them. The fingers digging into his shoulders might as well have been hers, so well did she know the suppleness of his skin. She walked around the bed. Every angle gave her a new appreciation for him and ignited a flame deeper inside her than had burned there before.

Sandor saw Sansa recline on the bench again. His eyes roamed over her. He imagined her beneath him. He was surprised to learn that he liked seeing her entire body even as his body was being satisfied by someone else. Sansa slid her hand between her legs and began to pleasure herself. Sandor had never seen anyone, anyone, do that before and the sight of it almost caused him to release then and there. Her eyes were glazed over and her lips were parted. She closed her eyes and turned to the side but then looked back toward him, taking in the span of his shoulders and the musculature of his back.

Sandor's mouth hung open. He increased the speed of his thrusts. The desire to reach orgasm quickly was at war with his desire to watch his wife expertly maneuver her fingers over and inside her body. Sansa was quickly rubbing her fingers over herself, her eyes caressing him. Sandor grunted and lowered his mouth to the girl's teat. Yes, Sansa mouthed with a nod. He held her gaze as he sucked the girl's nipple. A small smile broke across Sansa's face. Sandor was pumping hard and fast. He grabbed the girl's arms and pinned them over her head, her gasp not registering. He held them there with one hand while the other caught the back of her thigh bringing her knee toward her chest. The girl was moaning in earnest. Sandor could feel her contracting around his cock. It wouldn't be long. He was slamming into her, desperate to send Sansa over the edge. He locked eyes with his wife. Yes, he mouthed. Yes. The briefest look of surprise showed on her face and then she tipped her head back, mouth open, as spasms of pleasure shook her.

It took a moment for Sandor to realize that the cries he heard were not from Sansa but from the girl. Sansa had somehow remained silent to keep her presence unknown. The girl's body was pulsing around him, squeezing him, centering so much tension on his head that he knew he was nearly done for. He tried to hold out. Sansa was watching him hungrily. He knew, then, that this was what she'd wanted and he wanted her to have it. If she wanted to watch from a distance as he lost control then, by the gods, he'd give her something to watch. Though it nearly killed him, he slowed his pace just enough to control himself. With each steady thrust, he moaned. He gritted his teeth and snarled as he pushed his length smoothly in before tilting his hips to withdraw it.

Sansa drew near. She knew all about the indentations on the side of his hips and the power they indicated. She watched Sandor's muscles flex. He had slowed down for her, she knew, to allow her to see his body work as he made love. Despite having come minutes before, she was aroused again. She moved to the foot of the bed and took Sandor's hips in her hands. She squeezed his buttocks and controlled the pace and depth of his thrusts, imaging him deep inside her. Sandor groaned and threw his head back. It was too much. He had to go faster. "Aye ... yes ...," he muttered, lost in the sensation. Just as he was reaching the end, Sansa smacked his ass with an audible crack. The shock of it increased the intensity of his orgasm and he came harder than he ever had before, with a moan fit to be heard across the Blackwater Bay.

"Fuck." He was out of breath. He collapsed on the bed. The girl took his arm and turned toward him but he gently pushed her away. He ripped the sheepskin off his cock, spilling seed on his belly, and flung it to the floor. His mind was hazy but he looked at Sansa in disbelief. He thought he'd taught her everything she knew, but this! Sansa grinned as she took in the sight of her husband, naked, sticky, and spent. She looked at the girl and then nodded toward the door. In an instant, Sandor was on his feet, pulling the girl to hers.

"Hands up." He pulled her shift over her head, took her by the elbow, and steered her toward the door. He pressed some coins into her hand, twice the promised wage, and guided her into the hall. "Go to your left." With one fluid movement, he pulled the blindfold off her eyes and closed the door before she had time to turn around.

When he turned back toward the bed, he found Sansa in the middle of it waiting for him. "Well?" she asked, hopeful that he wasn't too displeased.

He walked toward her slowly, letting her take in the effects of another woman on his body - the sheen on his belly, the bruises on his shoulders. "Little bird, I said I'd do that only once."

"I know."

"I didn't say how many times I'd do you."

Sansa laughed as he moved to increase that number by one.