Thunderstruck
Chapter Seven
"I can't wait for the nights with you
I imagine the things we'd do"
No One Like You, Scorpions
Sandor called bullshit on every musician he had met who claimed that they lived for the thrill of being on stage. Complete and utter bullshit.
He had just finished the encore of "Green Fires, Black Water", the wailing guitar solo being the highlight of the longest song Cannibal Star had recorded to date. By now, he was covered in a layer of sweat. It rolled in beads down his bare chest and abs. He had ditched his shirt halfway through the first set. The pounding heat of the stage lights had been too much to bear. Much to the delight of the group of women who had pushed their way up to the front of the stage, he had pulled the sweat-soaked T-shirt off and tossed it into the crowd, watching in amusement as half a dozen women damn near clawed each others' eyes out to snatch it up.
Now, the stage lights burned hot against his skin and blinded him to the majority of the venue. It was the largest one they had played in town since their last tour ended. By his estimate, it was a sold out show. The machines that billowed out thick blankets of smoke onto the stage made him feel claustrophobic. He had told Beric to ditch the damn things but to no avail. While Sandor thought it was fucking hokey, the front man was all about aesthetics and keeping up with the proverbial Joneses of the mainstream metal scene.
When the song finally came to its end, the lights cut out and the crowd went berserk, screaming and wailing for yet another encore. A pair of red lace panties went whirling by Sandor's head and landed in front of Thoros' drum kit. Whether they were meant for him or for Thoros, Sandor didn't care to find out.
Through the dimness of light on stage, Sandor could see Beric shifting his gaze between his band mates. The man's eyes searched out any traces of approval at playing just one more song. Sandor knew how this went; an encore for an encore for an encore. You give these greedy fuckers in the crowd just one more, and they'll demand as many as they please.
Shaking his head, Sandor unburdened himself from his guitar and bounded off towards the backstage area. He squinted against the fluorescent lights of the corridor and ignored the giggles of a few groupies waiting at the dressing room door. As he approached, the girl leaning against the doorframe lifted the loose fabric of her crop top shirt to expose her tits to him. Finding himself wholly uninterested, Sandor responded with a roll of his eyes and a snort. He vaguely caught the breathy sound of the girl's whiny protests as he pushed through the door and slammed it behind him, presumably in the face of the fucking twat who thought to gain passage by showing off the goods.
He snatched up a beer from a cooler and took a greedy pull from the bottle, the cool sensation feeling fantastic as he swallowed it down. Plopping down into a large club chair with a sigh, Sandor wiped the sweat from his brow. When a light knock came at the door, he ignored it. Normally, he'd be more than happy to entertain a willing groupie for the evening. In terms of sexual appetite, he gave the rest of his band mates a run for their money. However, Sandor didn't have Bronn's swagger, Beric's sex appeal as a front man, Harwin's conventional good looks, or Thoros' charisma. The women flocked to him because of his size (assuming his dick was proportional to his height) and his aloofness; they saw a challenge in him. Tonight, Sandor wasn't in the mood for it. Tonight, his mind had been on a certain redhead – the sweetness of her lips, although he only got a small taste, the smiles she gave him, the fact that he was taking her out tomorrow night and had no idea where the fuck to take her. He was out of his league with this one, and even more so, out of his element.
Sandor's thoughts were interrupted as another knock came at the door, this time more insistent and sending a wave of irritation to sour his mood. Flying up from his seat and traversing the room in a few pounding steps, Sandor yanked the door open as he growled out a response.
"Go bark up another tree, you cum dumpsters."
In the doorway, the groupies were gone, having moved on to a more receptive recipient of their attentions. In their place was Sansa's sister, Arya, and her boyfriend, Gendry.
"Well, aren't you just a charmer? Did you bag a date with my sister with that mouth?" Arya questioned sardonically as she cocked an eyebrow at him.
Sandor exhaled a chuckle at the irony of the girl's words as he stared down at her. I very well may have bagged a date with this mouth…and I plan to get another with it too…
"Sorry. I thought you were someone else," he mumbled with a shake of the head before fully registering the girl's words. "Wait. How the fuck do you know about my date with Sansa?"
"Duh! We're sisters!" Arya taunted him, as if he were a moron for not connecting the dots.
"Besides, I saw the way you looked at her at the dinner table last night."
Sandor watched as the girl glared up at him, her words accusatory as she prodded a finger against his chest in emphasis.
"The two of you were ridiculous! My parents are either blind or stupid for not noticing."
For as small as she was, Arya seemed fearless – something that was likely to get her into trouble one of these days.
"Watch it, girl! I'm not in the mood for this shit," Sandor warned on a growl before taking another swig of his beer. With a quick glance up and down the corridor, he found it empty and quiet for the time being. "How the fuck did you get back here anyway?"
"We snuck in," Arya admitted nonchalantly with a shrug. "Dropped Sansa off and came here."
Sandor furrowed his brow at that, his interest suddenly piqued.
"She didn't want to come with you?" he asked as he willed his voice towards indifference. The last thing he needed was Arya somehow sniffing out his vested interest in the matter of her sister.
"She doesn't know we're here," Arya replied quietly, as if it were supposed to be some sort of secret.
"Why are you here then?" Sandor demanded with a grumble. He liked Arya and all, but unless she came with her sister in tow, Sandor wasn't interested in entertaining the girl.
"I knew we shouldn't have bothered you," Gendry cut in, defeated as he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I tried to talk her out of it-"
"I don't give a shit one way or another," Sandor interrupted bluntly. "You're not bothering me," he added, although it was a bit of a lie. Like all of the gigs he played, he preferred unwinding alone after coming off stage – enjoying a beer or two in solitude.
Sandor retreated away from the door and back inside the room, easing down in the club chair once more as he propped his feet up on an empty plastic crate. Arya was quick after him, scampering into the room at his heels and plopping down in the seat adjacent to him. Gendry followed her with some trepidation, clearly still concerned about imposing. Sandor handed the kid a beer from the cooler, an attempt at getting him to loosen up a bit.
"I'm here because my sister has a real talent for dating supreme douche bags," Arya declared matter-of-factly.
With his head shooting up, Sandor glowered at the girl. She had some fucking nerve, busting in here and insulting him.
"I don't mean it like that!" Arya quickly corrected. "Look, you're the only cool guy she's ever gone out with. My dad likes you. He didn't say so, but I can tell. Rickon won't stop talking about you, and my mom even admitted you're a nice guy."
Sandor couldn't help but snort at that, rolling his eyes as he watched how Arya was about damn near pleading with him; for what, he didn't quite know.
"Your mom doesn't know me from fucking Adam then," he chuckled darkly.
True enough, he wasn't planning on breaking Sansa's heart and giving Catelyn a reason to hate him. But there were plenty of other things he planned on doing with her daughter that the woman wasn't going to approve of. Sandor bit his bottom lip hard at the thought. If only Ned and Catelyn had any idea what was going on in Sansa's bedroom last night…
"Have you ever taken a girl like my sister out before?" Arya questioned suddenly, cocking her head to the side in obvious interest.
"I've never met a girl worth taking out," Sandor replied with a shrug. "Before Sansa, that is."
Shooting up out of her chair, Arya stood in front of him, a look of disbelief plastered on her face.
"Hold the goddamn phone! Is this your first date?" the girl demanded incredulously, her eyes wide with amusement.
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Sandor responded immediately and with a fair bit of irritation. "No! Of course not."
It wasn't exactly a lie; Sandor had been with plenty of women. To say that he dated any of them was a stretch. There were a few that captured his interest and ones he wouldn't exactly have minded seeing again. However, they all fizzled out quickly – the initial attraction and exhilaration falling away to ultimately lead to mutual disappointment. He hated shallow and vapid women. They hated the fact that he didn't lead an opulent rock star lifestyle.
"Where are you taking her?" Gendry inquired as he pulled Arya onto his lap, more to corral the girl than anything, it would seem.
"Shit. I don't know yet," Sandor answered with a sigh as he ran one hand over his face and through the length of his hair. "Dinner and somewhere else," he added with a shrug.
His attention was roused as he heard Arya give an exasperated sigh.
"Mormont's Steak House is her favorite restaurant," she informed. "Call ahead and make sure that they have the lemon cakes on the dessert menu. Sansa loves lemon cakes. She likes girly, romantic shit too."
"So you busted in here just to tell me what to do for my date tomorrow night?" Sandor questioned with a chuckle. Although Arya was clearly a handful to deal with, he had to admit he was grateful for her input. He wasn't likely to come up with these ideas on his own.
"She's something else, I know," Gendry added in agreement as he shook his head. Before Arya could protest his teasing, Gendry pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek in obvious affection.
"Fine," Sandor grumbled. "Steak house, lemon cakes, and some romantic shit afterwards. Got it."
"Good!" Arya exclaimed, bouncing a bit on Gendry's lap. "When you pick her up, don't come to the door. She'll come out to your car."
"Girl, I wasn't born yesterday," Sandor growled. "I'll come to the fucking door and get her, like a real knight in shining armor since, apparently, she likes that sort of thing." It wasn't that Sandor minded being on his best behavior with Sansa. In fact, he found himself agonizing over how to keep from disappointing her. Pulling up in front of her house and blaring his horn for her to come out wasn't his idea of making a good impression.
"No! Just trust me," Arya insisted as she matched Sandor's eyes. "Park on the street, and she'll come out to you. Don't come to the door."
Sandor narrowed his eyes at Arya, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh.
"You're a strange one, kid," he murmured before polishing off the last gulp of his beer.
"I'm not a kid!" Arya corrected as she hopped up from Gendry's lap to stand. "We've got to go. It's already past my curfew." Gendry followed Arya to the door, turning to wave at Sandor before leaving.
Sandor watched as Arya hovered in the door frame momentarily before turning around to face him.
"Take care of my sister," she spoke quietly, almost gently, as her eyes sought him out from across the room.
"That I can do," Sandor responded sincerely with a half smile and a slight nod of the head.
Oh, god. He knows. Just don't look at him.
Clutching the railing, Sansa continued down the stairs. Heels an inch too high and a dress a bit shorter than the ones she normally would wear for such an awkward occasion, she took each step gracefully, minding the way her heel slid slightly on the slick hardwood of the staircase. From the living room, her father was staring at her. She had heard the rustling of his newspaper and caught how it lowered ever so slightly so that he might evaluate her choice of attire. He knows. I would never wear something like this for a night entertaining the Hardyngs.
When she reached the foyer, Sansa made a bee line for the kitchen, heels clicking hurriedly against the floor. If anyone might comment on her outfit – sky blue dress with a pleated skirt skimming dangerously high above her knees, bare shoulders and strappy, nude heels – she'd lie. Arya had lying down to a rare and hardly admirable art form replete with feigned sincerity and an acute awareness of body language. This trait seemed to be blissfully absent in Sansa's genes. Regardless, she would try. Push come to shove, she'd make up some drivel about having her eye on Harry Hardyng. Her mother would surely appreciate that bit long enough for the fib to go unchallenged.
Seated at the counter, she found Arya lazily cutting cherry tomatoes in half before tossing them in a bowl of spinach, looking bored out of her mind as they landed with a soft plop. Their mother was meticulously tending to her famous lamb shanks, her culinary crowning achievement and something obviously meant to "wow" the Hardyng palettes.
"You look very nice, Sansa," her mother remarked as her eyes flickered towards Sansa, curiosity forming behind the woman's gaze but never manifesting into questions.
"Thanks, Mom," she responded gratefully before being set to the task of julienning carrots. Somewhere between the second and third carrot, Sansa caught the heaviness of her sister's eyes on her. Turning to look, Arya was staring at her, a smug grin creasing about her lips as she shook her head.
"What?" Sansa mouthed at her sister silently, to which she was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a taunting shake of the head.
Their silent exchange was cut short as their mother settled herself across the counter from them and began helping Sansa with the salad.
"I'm just so pleased we could finally have this dinner with the Hardyngs. I've been trying to get them over here for ages."
Stifling a groan, Sansa exchanged glances with her sister, who looked just as unimpressed.
"Why? They're such pretentious pricks," Arya blurted out scathingly.
Years ago, when Sansa and her family moved to Winnetka, the Hardyngs had been the first to welcome them into the neighborhood: the first to saunter over with fake smiles and a store-bought apple pie, the first to begin not-so-subtly keeping tabs on the comings and goings of the family, and the first to begin gossiping behind their backs with all the other neighbor busybodies. Her mother wanted them to fit in and seemed genuinely hurt by the Stark family's exclusion from neighborhood activities. Her mother would have given up ages ago, but Mrs. Hardyng was a prominent member on the HOA committee and made no bones about throwing her weight around, effectually shunning those she considered "unfit" to be a part of the neighborhood clique of snobs. Those who found themselves in her proverbial crosshairs eventually opted for moving to a different neighborhood rather than dealing with Hardass Hardyng, as she was called.
"Arya, for one evening could you just behave yourself?" their mother pleaded, lips pursed with in unamused frown.
Sighing, Arya seemed to relent as she tossed the last of the tomatoes into the salad bowl.
"Only because you're asking," her sister responded. "Not because I actually like the people. Mrs. Hardyng's ass has its own gravitational pull."
Sansa couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips at that. Spurred on by Sansa's laugher, Arya continued, her face flushing red as she too began to laugh through her words.
"Seriously, you could orbit planets around that thing, and Mr. Hardyng should be spending Saturday nights at AA meetings, not boozing it up in our living room. And Harry might as well be coronated as King of the Douches, successor to Joffrey Baratheon, ass hat extraordinaire."
Sansa gasped for breaths as she clutched her side, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughed so hard her stomach ached. Arya was rendered into much the same condition, more amused by the reaction she was getting than anything else. Even their mother began to break a small smile. Somewhere behind them, Sansa's father had manifested, reaching between Sansa and Arya to snatch a piece of tomato out of the salad.
"I can't say I disagree with any of that," he mumbled quietly, raising his eyes to his wife with a mischievous grin.
"Oh, not you too!" Sansa's mother giggled with a beaming smile as she chucked a piece of carrot at her husband.
"Mom, there's no two ways around it! They're a family of tools," Arya declared, breathless from laughing and smiling like crazy.
As the scent of black pepper and rosemary lamb shanks began to waft throughout the kitchen a few hours later, the family of tools rang the doorbell to indicate their arrival. The table had been set – china plates and crystal glassware pulled out of their resting place in the china cabinet – and hor d'oeuvres were neatly arranged on serving platters.
Standing in the living room with Arya and Rickon, Sansa heard gleeful greetings pouring from the foyer. There were exchanged compliments, a slew of empty "thank yous" and "we should have done this ages ago".
Mrs. Hardyng wasted no time making herself a plate of hor d'oeuvres while Mr. Hardyng requested a double shot of bourbon on the rocks. Sansa had spotted Harry as he walked in, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his corduroys as he sported a bored expression on his face, which was framed by tousled, dark blond locks. More greetings were exchanged as the Hardyng's arranged themselves around the living room. Mrs. Hardyng dished out her typical array of backhanded compliments. This time, she declared how much she admired the humble way in which the house was decorated – nothing extravagant and everything seeming so quaint with middle-class charm. Sansa noticed that Mr. Hardyng hardly spoke as he sucked down his first glass of bourbon and shook the remnants of melting ice to rouse her father's attention. Contrarily sucking down nothing but his own pride, her father wordlessly lifted himself to his feet to begrudgingly refill the man's glass.
Rickon fidgeted in his seat before resting against their mother with sleepy eyes, Arya alternated an icy glare towards each of member of the Hardyng family in turn, and Sansa tried her best to smile and nod at Mrs. Hardyng, who had been dominating the conversation despite having her mouth full of food. From the kitchen, Sansa heard the oven timer buzz. Collectively, every Stark in the room, save Rickon, who had fallen asleep nestled against their mother, jumped to their feet, eager for the opportunity to excuse themselves from the one-sided conversation.
"I'll get it!" Sansa nearly shouted as she bounded from her seat and shuffled into the kitchen. Bent over as she pulled the lamb shanks out from the oven, she felt the heaviness of eyes on her and heard as someone cleared their throat behind her. Sansa stood up abruptly, realizing now that she was probably giving whoever it was a good show, given that the skirt of her dress was barely covering her ass cheeks.
After carefully pulling the roasting pan from the oven and tossing off the oven mitts, Sansa turned around to see Harry approaching in uncertain steps, moving slyly around the perimeter of the counter with a knowing grin.
"I'm sorry about what happened with you and Joff," Harry spoke, although Sansa could not discern any traces of true sympathy.
"Thanks," she mumbled, her gratitude just as insincere as Harry's gesture of apology. With awkwardness being the order of the evening, Sansa stood silently, shifting from one foot to the other as she eyed the doorway of the kitchen adjacent to them.
"He's been saying that he broke up with you because you didn't put out," Harry finally spoke, drumming his fingertips against the counter.
Sansa felt her forehead crease in both confusion and disgust. Thoroughly disenchanted from her dissolved relationship with Joffrey, Sansa couldn't stomach this bullshit.
"I'm aware of that," she snapped icily.
"Why don't you do anything about it?"
The question came, blasé as ever, as Harry's countenance slipped back into its default of expressionless boredom.
"I tried. Remember?" Sansa spoke through gritted teeth as she pointed at the right side of her cheek. The bruise had faded and healed with time and cold packs. The memory had not and wasn't likely to leave her anytime soon.
"I mean, if it's not true, then why would he be saying it?" Harry crossed his arms about his chest at that, and his sudden amusement at the conversation was now plain as day. Another one of Joffrey's cronies.
"For the same reason you're asking me this question: because he's an asshole." The words bubbled up, from where, she did not know. They exited her lips effortlessly, and Sansa felt the victory manifest into a smile, saccharine and mocking. "Excuse me. Your mother isn't finished stuffing her face with food," she added before snatching up another tray of hor d'oeuvres and sashaying into the living room.
Another hour passed of uncomfortable conversation. Sansa noticed how her mother had stopped smiling at this point, perhaps too socially exhausted to carry on the charade. Her father appeared to be fairing no better and was being held hostage in a conversation with Harry and Mr. Hardyng about the stock market. When the clock struck seven, Sansa felt her heart skip a beat, and her eyes met Arya's across the room.
Wordless and sly, Arya slipped from her seat and nonchalantly strode from the room to the foyer. Sansa watched as her sister gazed out the window before announcing that she was going to check on the bread in the oven. Her announcement was met with disinterested nods. From where she was seated, Sansa saw a black Mustang roll to a stop in front of the house. Oh, god. He's here. It's him.
With her chest heaving in short breaths, Sansa quietly rose and worked her way to the foyer. As she turned over her shoulder, she caught sight of an oven pan with garlic bread engulfed in flames. With her mouth dangling open in horror, Sansa dashed towards her sister.
"Go! I've got it under control," Arya hissed as she shoved Sansa away before sprinting into the living room with a fire extinguisher in hand. "Mom! Dad! Come quick! The kitchen is on fire!" Sansa heard Arya screech with near deafening volume.
In an instant, plates and wine glasses went tumbling to the floor as everyone scrambled towards the kitchen. By the time they made it, Arya had put out the fire with the extinguisher and was relaying the events to all but Harry, who, Sansa could have sworn, stayed behind to watch her slip out the front door with her purse in hand.
It wasn't as if he were a thoughtless man. No. After all, Sandor had made reservations at Mormont's Steak House, just as Arya had suggested, and had even inquired about their famed lemon cakes, which were indeed on the menu for the evening. He had dressed himself in black slacks and a black button down shirt. If it weren't for the hideous scars adorning half of his face, he would have pulled back the long strands of his hair. As it stood, though, his hair helped to mask the worst of his scars, so he at least took immaculate care to brush it out and make himself somewhat worthy of the long legged, red-headed beauty who would be his date for the evening.
Thoughtless? No. Certainly not, but it wasn't until he pulled into Sansa's neighborhood and traversed the winding road up to the Stark residence that it dawned on Sandor to gather some rehearsed words for whichever Stark parent was likely to answer the door. "Good evening, sir. I'm here for Sansa." That was too formal for his liking. Who the fuck was he kidding? Then again, Ned Stark – polite and cordial as he had been the previous evening – was not to be trifled with. That much Sandor knew for certain. Peppering his introduction with well-mannered"sirs"couldn't hurt, even if the word felt awkward and unfamiliar on his tongue.
As it turned out, rehearsed words would have been for naught. No sooner had Sandor climbed out of the front seat of his Mustang and drawn in a deep breath to calm himself (he was, in fact, nervous, although he didn't care to admit it) than he spotted Sansa heading down the driveway towards his car in hurried steps. As she approached, he could see her cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink, and her eyes were wide in exhilaration, as if she were engaging in activities she shouldn't be.
Sandor wasn't one to pay much attention to women's clothing, but the dress Sansa had chosen for the evening showcased every conceivable inch of her body he longed to touch, kiss, and caress: legs, shoulders, back, and a subtle swell of cleavage. Funny how priorities changed. In an instant, Sandor was no longer concerned about what her old man had to say, or rather, what he should be saying to him. Now, his efforts resided firmly in keeping his hands off of her long enough to show her a proper evening.
"I was planning to come to the door," Sandor laughed as he met Sansa at the end of the driveway.
"Oh!" was all she managed before nervously looking over her shoulder back at the house as she made her way towards his car. "I didn't want you to have to walk all that way," she added haphazardly before reaching for the handle of the passenger door.
More quickly than her, Sandor reached the handle first but not before her hand glided across his. The contact, small as it was, drew her attention to him. Looking up at him, she smiled shyly as her eyes steadied on his face despite the scars.
"Forgive me," she all but whispered. "I'm being rude. Thank you for picking me up. I've really been looking forward to tonight. You look very handsome."
Had she not matched her eyes to his, and had he not felt her fingers curl ever so slightly around his hand, Sandor would have thought her a liar - courteous but insincere, simply spouting off words a well-bred girl like her knew to say.
"Baby, you're anything but rude," Sandor murmured back, uncertain why they had taken up hushed tones with one another.
He stepped towards her, the space between them small but alive with an electricity that seemed to flow between them uninterrupted. Sansa did not move away and did not avert her eyes. If she was nervous, she did not let on but instead, mimicked his step forward until her body was flush against his. She continued to stare up at him with knowing eyes, wanting eyes.
Pulling the door open for her, Sandor watched Sansa climb into his car, stealing a glance as her skirt rose dangerously high up her thighs. A minx, indeed. He caught the subtle, satisfied smile she gave, presumably to herself, as he walked around to the driver's side. Only then did she readjust her skirt.
"I have to say I'm happy you picked me up in a car and not your motorcycle," Sansa admitted as Sandor fired up the engine, which grumbled with a mechanical roar.
"What's wrong with the motorcycle? If I remember correctly, you seemed to like having your legs wrapped around me," Sandor retorted smugly.
He had come to expect a timid smile, a playful roll of the eyes, or perhaps a nervous giggle at such lewd jokes. Shifting a glance towards Sansa, Sandor was surprised to find that instead, she had lifted an eyebrow at him, but her lips were curled into a devious smile.
The ride towards Mormont's was pleasant, filled with more conversations geared towards getting to know one another. By the time they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Sandor had learned more about her passion for animals and her future plans as a vet, her growing disdain for sorority life, and her interests in music, which were a bit different than his but intriguing nonetheless. It was a natural give and take in conversation, something he hadn't quite encountered with any other female before. Usually, the women he made even a half-assed attempt to "date" couldn't be bothered, and honestly, neither could he. Conversations were forced and awkward, ultimately reinforcing the notion that he was doomed to have only sexual relationships with women.
The restaurant was situated on the North Side of town with a tremendous view of Lake Michigan. It was quaint and classy but not overbearingly ritzy. The patio seating overlooking the rippling waters was in high demand that evening, but never a thoughtless man, Sandor had reserved seating in a quiet corner of the patio.
"This is my favorite restaurant!" Sansa gasped with glee as the car rolled to a stop in the parking lot. "How did you know?" she added, bouncing a bit in her seat with a beaming smile.
"I have my ways," Sandor informed with a shrug, internally writhing at whipping out such a cheesy line.
After circling around to open Sansa's door and offer his hand, they made their way into the building and were seated outside. Sansa had descended into silence as she marveled at the view of the lake, the fresh cut flowers placed at the center of their table, the soft sounds of the piano from inside. In turn, Sandor watched her, noting the way the corner of her mouth lifted in a dreamy smile and her eyes scanned the waters before settling back on him. The gratitude in her countenance was plain as day. As her full lips opened for her to say something, the waiter manifested by their table, rattling off the evening's special and inquiring about drink orders. Settling for water at the moment so that they might study the drink menu, the waiter obliged and fluttered away to the next table.
Sandor perused the menu, scanning the list of whiskeys in hopes of finding his favorite. He was only acutely aware of the giggling off to his right, which was accompanied by hushed whispers. When he lifted his eyes, Sansa shot him a smile as she discreetly motioned her head in the direction of a group of hostesses and waitresses gathered near the entrance to the patio, gawking at him and Sansa. It was the last place on earth he expected to be recognized: in a hole-in-the-wall pub on the South Side of town, sure − but not here.
"You seem to have some admirers," Sansa observed as she cast a furtive glance towards the girls, who were now aware that they had been spotted.
"How do you know they're not admiring you?" Sandor countered, taking a sip of his water and passing the drink menu to Sansa.
"Just a guess," Sansa shrugged with a smile. "I'm a girl."
"Maybe that's what they get down on." Sandor watched as Sansa lifted her eyes to him, wide in bewilderment. "I can't say I blame them," he continued, lowering his voice to a grumbling timbre as he swept his gaze up and down her form in an obvious leer.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or something?" Sansa laughed, settling back in her seat.
"It's whatever you want it to be." Sandor leveled his eyes on her, his mouth curling into a lascivious grin. As much as he wanted to stymie this sort of banter, at least for the evening, he couldn't help himself. Every shy smile and scandalized blush from Sansa only succeeded in egging him on further.
"I'll take it as a compliment. Although, most men compliment a woman on what she's wearing or how she looks," she haughtily schooled, sipping delicately from her glass of water.
"Oh yeah?" Sandor bit his lip, accepting the challenge as Sansa held her head high with a self-satisfied smile. "Okay. You're a fucking knockout, and I like your dress. I'd like it better if it were on my bedroom floor along with whatever you've got going on underneath it."
For a moment, she said nothing, but instead seemed suddenly interested in the drink menu before her. In an immediate panic he had not expected, Sandor was certain he had crossed the line. She took his crude jabs in stride, but perhaps this was a bit too much.
"You're presumptuous," she spoke softly, still studying the menu with her eyes downturned.
He thought to apologize, to turn the tides of conversation towards something more appropriate for a first date.
"I'm honest," was all he could come up with. Sandor had moments of thoughtlessness, and apparently, moments of stubbornness as well. With his water glass to his lips, he finally saw Sansa lift her eyes to him. Slowly, she leaned over the table and spoke in hushed tones.
"You're presumptuous to assume I'm wearing something underneath this." With that, she sat back up, gauging his reaction as she went.
Choking on the gulp of water he had just taken, Sandor wiped his lips with the back of his hand, coughing before he felt his mouth dangle open in utter shock.
"Oh, I see how this works. You can dish it out, but you can't take it?" Sansa teased coquettishly.
"No, I'll take everything you're offering. A couple times over," Sandor warned ominously, his voice dark and deep. "Better be careful what you're putting on the table, though, little bird," he added with a grumbling chuckle. His blood was up, pumping through his veins with an emerging heat. He needed a drink to get through the evening, but perhaps a drink would only embolden him further. It made no matter to him.
He had to give it to the girl, though. She could hold her own against him, and it was entirely enticing in a way he hadn't quite experienced before. She was beyond physically appealing, but there was a mental challenge involved as well. Smart, sweet, sexy. Sansa Stark was a deadly combination by all accounts.
"So what are you wearing underneath that dress?" Sandor pressed further. The banter was a slow roll of burning desires, and he wasn't about to stop it now. No, he'd let the momentum take them wherever it pleased.
"A lady doesn't talk about such things."
Having puzzled out her own brand of deviousness, Sansa flashed him a smile, one auburn eyebrow arched playfully. Her polished manners were a full-on charade now. The girl knew what she was doing. To assume otherwise would be to dangerously underestimate her. It was enthralling, to say the least.
"A lady wouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Tell me," Sandor insisted.
"I can tell you later," was her counter, and with that, her lips sealed shut, unwilling to divulge any further.
"You can show me later," Sandor managed before the waiter appeared next to their table once more.
"Have you two decided on drinks for the evening?" the waifish middle-aged man queried, hands placidly folded behind his back.
"You were looking at wines," Sandor noted as he steadied his eyes on Sansa. "What kind of wine do you like?" he questioned as she bit her lip. She was underage, but a in a place like this, it was doubtful she'd be carded. Nevertheless, he saw the uncertainty in her eyes.
"I'm not sure. White, maybe. Sweet," she offered, suddenly shy and yet her gaze remained on him.
"A glass of your best sweet white wine for the lady," Sandor requested before ordering his own drink and offering Sansa a wink, reveling in the way her lips pulled into a bright smile.
The drinks came, and with them, more banter − innuendos and subtle teasing, fueled by the effects of alcohol. By the time the waiter wandered over to take their meal orders, Sansa was halfway through her glass of wine and swaying lightly in her seat, a soft smile permanently gracing her lips. She had placed her fingers delicately on his forearm, settling her hand there gently as she laughed merrily at the stories he was regaling her with from Cannibal Star's last tour.
They both ordered steaks, the apparent piece de resistance of the restaurant, according to Sansa, after Sandor assured her to get anything she wanted and as much as she liked. He'd spare no expense for her. Their food came out as the sun began to set, and candles were lit between them at the table. With a contented sigh, Sansa cast him an adoring glance from across the table.
"This is all so lovely, Sandor."
When she smiled at him, he felt his reserve begin to thaw, to melt away as he toyed with the idea of leaning across the table and giving her a proper kiss. He wanted to taste her, to finally indulge in her without interruption. By some comical jest of the universe, Sandor caught movement out of the corner of his eye as a man casually sauntered over to their table.
"Sansa," the man spoke in a velveteen voice.
"Professor Baelish," she responded, flustered as she dropped her fork and knife to the plate with a clatter.
The man hovering next to the table, or rather next to Sansa, appeared to be in his early forties. With a near-neon Hawaiian print shirt and pastel sport coat, he was outfitted to appear much younger than his actual age. The net effect was almost laughable, and Sandor worked to stifle the sardonic chuckle bubbling up from within him.
"Oh please! I insist you call me Petyr," the man spoke as he rested his hand heavily on Sansa's bare shoulder. "Gorgeous evening for a night out," he continued before finally acknowledging Sandor's presence with a dubious stare.
Silence momentarily settled between all three of them. Sansa fidgeted in her seat, the man continued to gape through seedy eyes at Sandor, and Sandor stared back, unwilling to return the man's saccharine smile as his jaw set tensely.
"Petyr, this is Sandor," Sansa introduced nervously. "Sandor, Petyr."
Sandor said nothing, but instead, offered the man only a curt nod of the head as he swirled the tepid contents of his whiskey glass.
"It's nice to meet you. I'm a long-time friend of the Starks," Petyr informed warily although with a cheerful tone in his voice. Not that it mattered. Sandor didn't buy this man's bullshit for one second. Besides, Petyr's hand had moved discreetly down Sansa's back. She stiffened in response, internally writhing, it would seem.
"And Sansa's professor by the sound of it," Sandor countered before narrowing his eyes at the man.
"Oh yes. I teach at Northwestern," Petyr chuckled, finally pulling his hand away from Sansa before motioning his head towards the building behind them. "I know the owner of this restaurant, Jorah, and stop in quite often. Although, I don't think I've ever seen you here before. What part of town are you from? Surely not the North Side."
"No. South Side, although I'm from California originally," Sandor intoned bluntly, clenching his jaw to stop a slew of threats and insults from hurling out of his mouth. The fucker had some real nerve.
"Fascinating," Petyr remarked insincerely. "I hail from Baltimore. And what is it you do for a living, Sandor?"
Finishing the rest of his drink with a healthy gulp, Sandor slammed the glass back down on the table a bit harder than he intended and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm a mechanic." He matched the man's eyes, challenging him to make some sort of passive-aggressive comment.
"He's also a guitarist in a very popular metal band," Sansa broke in proudly as she smiled at Sandor.
"We share a few things in common then." When Petyr spoke, he was staring at Sansa, huffing out a laugh before turning his eyes back to Sandor. "I'm the lead singer in a Huey Lewis and the News cover band. We play around town. Just for fun, of course. You can't make a living being a musician, but clearly you know that, hence your mechanic job."
Sandor felt his hands, both of which were resting on the table in clear view for all involved, curl into fists. From across the table, he could see the disappointment in Sansa's eyes, her pleasant evening unraveling into a disaster. Steeling himself, Sandor swallowed hard and regained his composure.
"No, definitely not in a cover band, but record deals aren't exactly chump change."
"Fair enough," Petyr shrugged before narrowing his eyes at Sandor, his smile giving way to his thin lips sealing shut in a scowl. "Well, you two enjoy your meal. Sansa, it was a pleasure as always. Your mother will be thrilled to hear of this run-in," he added, patting Sansa on the shoulder before ambling off with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pastel pants.
"What a fucking prick," Sandor grumbled with a shake of his head. By the way Petyr turned his head slightly over his shoulder, Sandor was sure he had heard him.
"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered with a frown as she picked at her mashed potatoes. By the crestfallen look on her face, he knew she was not only disappointed by the sudden turn of events but clearly embarrassed as well.
Reaching across the table, Sandor cupped his hand beneath her chin, tipping her head up to look at him.
"Hey, you don't get to be sorry for that. Don't apologize for him," he insisted. He watched as a smile began to reemerge on her lips, and her body seemed to relax.
Continuing with their meal, the mood had lightened some, but Sandor was vexed by the ordeal with Petyr. The guy was a creep, no doubt, but he couldn't put out of his mind the way the man had looked at Sansa and touched her.
"Does he always look at you like that? And…put his hands on you?" The question came with some reservation, and it bordered on being none of his goddamn business. However, Sansa offered a wan smile and a discontented sigh.
"He definitely creeps me out but hasn't ever crossed the line," she reassured him. "He's my mom's friend, so…"
"So you put up with it," Sandor finished. "Your mom mentioned him the other day, and I thought he may have been an ex-boyfriend." Finding some humor in his assumption now, Sandor shook his head with a throaty chuckle.
If he found the situation fleetingly humorous, Sansa seemed to find it down right hilarious. In an instant, she was laughing once more and vanquishing any residual discomfort brought on by the run-in with Petyr.
"You can't be serious?" she giggled through gasping breaths. "I would never date a guy like that! I mean, do you see how he dresses? He's like Don Johnson and Tom Selleck's love child."
Moments later, when he caught the eye of the waiter, Sandor discreetly nodded his head at the man, who returned the gesture before shuffling back towards the kitchen.
"I have a surprise for you," Sandor spoke, feeling himself growing inexplicably nervous.
"What is it?" Sansa urged, pouting her bottom lip when Sandor shook his head in response to her inquiry.
"Tell me!" she insisted.
Sandor wordlessly motioned his head towards the waiter, who was coming up with a plate of three small lemon cakes dusted with powdered sugar. Wide-eyes dazzling in the candlelight, Sansa flashed him with a million-watt smile.
"Lemon cakes are my favorite!" she exclaimed, bouncing slightly in her seat and clapping her hands together before delving into one of the confections.
"I called ahead to make sure they were on the menu."
Taking a small portion onto his fork, Sandor tried the cake. Not particularly afflicted with a sweet tooth, he enjoyed them nonetheless, but more so, was relieved that Sansa seemed to be in high spirits once more as she savored the dessert.
After splitting the third lemon cake with her and paying for the bill, Sansa thanked him once more and rested her hand on top of his. Wrapping his fingers around her palm, Sandor lifted her hand and slowly pressed a kiss to each of her fingers in turn. He watched, enraptured, as her lips parted slightly in surprise, and her chest began to rise and fall rapidly with each breath. When his ministrations were done, he begrudgingly disentangled his hand from hers. Even with such a simple and apparently chaste gesture, he could feel his pulse quicken and the familiar heat of arousal pass through him.
"Let's get out of here."
With that, he took Sansa's hand in his and led her out of the restaurant.
The fluttering of butterflies in her stomach had hardly ceased throughout the duration of the evening. She hadn't quite known what to expect from Sandor. He was rough around the edges, but thoughtful in his own way. He had handled this evening with a haphazard delicacy, one which suggested he hadn't quite "courted" a woman per se. She adored that he took himself out of his element to show her a good time and was thoroughly mortified when Baelish showed up with back-handed comments dripping in condescension. Sansa had thought the evening was ruined then, that Sandor had been made to feel so thoroughly out of place that perhaps he might never want to take her out again.
Although he seemed to take everything in stride and shrugged it off, the thought had remained with Sansa, especially now as he led her back to the car. She didn't know if he had anything else planned for the evening or if he was now ready to get the night over with. The worry settled at the pit of her stomach, effectually squashing any remaining butterflies. In the corner of her eye, she could see Sandor had shifted his gaze to her. She lowered her head so that he might not see her frown. Certainly, she didn't want him to think she had had a bad time. On the contrary, everything had been beyond her expectations: the gorgeous view of the lake, the candle light, the conversation, their meal topped off with her favorite dessert.
When they reached the passenger side of the car, Sansa allowed Sandor to reach in front of her to open the door. Instead, though, he pressed his hands against the car on either side of her, leaning forward slightly as Sansa settled with her back against the car. Face to face now, she offered him what must have been a dull smile. His brow furrowed and his eyes grew heavy with concern.
"What's the matter?" he questioned, his voice husky and deep and sending a shiver to run up her spine.
"I just…," Sansa began, feeling her own voice catch in her throat as she scanned through her mind to find the right words. The truth. Just tell him the truth.
"It's silly really," she laughed nervously. "It's just…I've had such a wonderful time with you. I don't want the evening to end."
She thought he might laugh at her or perhaps find a way to turn this into a lewd joke. At first, he said nothing and when Sansa lifted her eyes to him, she found the corner of his mouth was upturned in a half-smile. His own gaze, though, was settled on her lips and one arm had coiled around the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush. His other hand rested against the side of her neck, his fingers buried into the thick waves of her hair.
At once, the butterflies were back in business. She felt her stomach flip, her heart beat, and her tongue glaze across her lower lip in anticipation. He was going to kiss her. A proper kiss on a proper date.
Sandor's mouth pressed against hers, soft yet restrained at first as he gauged her reaction. He let his lips caress against hers, surprisingly tender and sweet in a man who had spent much of their conversations suggesting all the physical things they might do together. Sansa's arms snaked around his middle in return and her lips parted against his. His tongue slipped into her mouth. It was then that the hunger came, the desire they both seemed to share. Sansa returned the kiss with a fervor, gingerly biting his bottom lip and pressing herself closer against him. Unwittingly and somewhere along the line, she had begun to slowly writhe against him. She wanted to be closer to him, for her body to be melded against his. With her breasts pressed against his chest, Sandor reluctantly broke the kiss, giving a small lick to her lips before pulling away slightly.
"I had planned for us to take a walk down the boardwalk. I know a place that's a bit more secluded," he breathed against her mouth before claiming her lips again, unhurriedly and lingering.
Sansa hummed a reply in return as she nodded her head, too preoccupied to mind much where they ended up so long as he kept kissing her.
After a few unsuccessful tries at ceasing their attentions to one another, Sandor finally managed to open Sansa's door with a grumbling sigh. Inside the car, he stared longingly at her, his eyes sweeping up and down her form. Biting her lip, Sansa leaned over the center console. She pressed her mouth against his neck, running her tongue in dawdling circles right beneath the corner of his jaw. She listened in rapt to the heaviness of his breathing, near panting and interspersed with deep moans. His hand was clutching her bare thigh, moving up slowly beneath the skirt of her dress and stopping right before her panty line.
Outside the car, both her and Sandor seemed to simultaneously catch the sight of an older couple gawking at them in horror and disgust. Turning the car on, Sandor let out a rumbling laugh.
"We better get out of here before we're banned from this place for putting on a little after-dinner show."
Giggling, Sansa nodded her head, breathless and bleary-eyed with desire she hadn't quite experienced before. After a short drive south, Sandor parked the car in a lot alongside the shore of Lake Michigan. As promised, there seemed to not be another soul in sight. From up north, the lights still danced in far-off orbs on the water which lapped against the sands of the beach. Out of the car, Sandor took her hand once more, leading her towards the length of sand down off the boardwalk.
"I've never been to this part of the shore before," Sansa said as she slipped out of her heels.
"Let me guess, you haven't ventured far outside of Oak Street beach," Sandor queried with a smile.
"I've been a few other places, but nothing like this though. This is…" Sansa let the words die on her tongue. It was perfect and she was enchanted by it all. She found herself staring at Sandor, watching now as he studied the waters. He must have felt her eyes on him. Without a word, he turned towards her, his hands settling on the slender curve of her waist. With a pull, she was pressed against him once more. Even in the darkness, she could still make out the way he drank in the sight of her. It wasn't a leer looking, but rather he seemed to relish her form and savor the way she looked in this moment.
"This is one of my favorite places in Chicago," he divulged, one hand gliding down her shoulder and the length of her arm. It was just a ghost of touch, but elicited goosebumps to prickle her skin. The back of his hand ran up her arm and slowly traversed down her back.
Sansa returned his touch as she pressed her palms against his chest. His muscles were taut underneath as she smoothed her hands towards his shoulders, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.
"It's gorgeous," she spoke with a contented sigh. "But, maybe…"
"Maybe it's not ideal for what we have in mind?" Sandor finished her thought, a wicked smile on his lips.
Sansa nodded her head in devious delight, happy that he was the one to vocalize the suggestion. Sandor effortlessly lifted her up and in return Sansa gave a squeal of surprise before wrapping her legs around his waist. Carefully, Sandor carried her back towards the car and felt for the handle of the backseat door.
After setting her down, Sansa climbed in, scooting along the seat to make room for Sandor. He carefully lowered himself on top of her and a tingle ran through her as the bare skin of her back made contact with the coolness of the leather seat. His lips met hers, picking up where they had left off with ease. With her legs draped over his hips, Sansa surrendered herself to the kiss, freeing her inhibitions as she went. It started as a gentle give and take, sensuous and exploratory, their hands roaming one another's body. Finding the same place on his neck as before, Sansa alternatingly licked and kissed the spot that seemed to drive Sandor wild. With each pass of her tongue, his breathing became more rapid and he rocked his hips against her. She could feel his hardness between her legs and one hand was cupping her breast, kneading gently. He reclaimed her mouth with a deep kiss, his tongue hot against hers and his hands running down the silhouette of her curves. Emboldened and with an insatiable ache emerging between her legs, Sansa rolled her hips against him until they felt into a rhythm with one another. It was slow and deliberate, their eyes meeting, heavy with lust.
Sandor's hands were running up the outsides of her thighs, pushing up further underneath her skirt as he hooked two fingers beneath either side of her panties.
"Are you sure you don't put out on a first date, hmm?" he murmured against her mouth, gliding his tongue across her bottom lip.
His thumb was running along the outside of her panties over her slit until he pressed gently at her nub in smooth circles. Sansa hummed in return, her eyes closing and mouth opening to release a soft moan. Instinctively, her knees dropped further apart, her legs opening against his touch. The wetness between her legs was soaking through her underwear and she knew he could tell as a low, reverberating groan rumbled from his throat.
With each pass of his thumb came a jolt of tingles through her body as her hips slowly ground against his touch. He had pulled away ever so slightly to watch her. Her skirt was around her waist now, her head dropped back, as she continued to buck her hips. She wanted just a little bit more; his long fingers dipping into her, reaching all the spots that she couldn't quite reach as he whispered all the things he wanted to do her, would do to her, in her ear.
Sandor's motions had slowed, but now all four of his fingers from each hand were slipped beneath the sides of her panties as he gripped her hips, stilling her movements. Only then did it occur to her that he had asked a question, a request to go further. She wanted it. God, she wanted it, but she also wasn't that kind of girl. With a beleaguered and frustrated sigh, Sansa closed her eyes.
"Yes, I'm sure," she confirmed begrudgingly with a nod. She felt Sandor remove his hand from her hips and settle them against her sides as he propped himself up on his elbows.
"That's a shame," he whispered against her neck, his words terminating in kisses. "I'd love to bury my face between your legs right now and devour you. I bet you taste amazing."
Sansa felt a wave of heat move through her and the tantalizing visuals quickly followed. No one had ever done that to her before. Joffrey had refused when she expressed curiosity at what it might feel like. Perhaps he felt the way her breathing had become ragged or maybe it was the unbidden moan that had escaped her lips at his words, but Sandor had lifted his lips from her neck and was staring down at her laid out beneath him.
He was waiting for a response again, she realized, permission to proceed. The space between them had grown heavy in a different sort of way.
"You have no idea the things I want to do to you, girl." Sandor shook his head with a laugh, his hair brushing lightly against her cheek.
Another silence had settled between them and Sansa found she couldn't look him in the eyes.
"Is that all you want me for?" she asked haltingly as she stared at the floorboard of the car.
"Well, no. Ideally, you'd reciprocate," Sandor retorted with an exhaled laugh.
Sansa wriggled beneath him, her palms pushing against his chest as she sat up. Confused, Sandor obliged and extracted himself from off of her. Sansa smoothed her skirt down as she settled into the seat.
"I'm not joking, Sandor. I want to know. I'm not that kind of girl." An anxious sort of fear had come over her; perhaps irrational, but certainly a product of her time with Joffrey. Surely, Sandor had the right of it when he said that sometimes people aren't all that they seemed to be.
Bewildered as he sat next to her, Sandor ran one hand over his face, sighing before turning to look at her.
"I know you're not that kind of girl, which is why I like you," he offered in earnest, his eyes heavy with import and matched to hers. "I don't want some girl who's only good for one thing. I want someone I can actually talk to, someone smart and sweet. Someone I respect."
Sansa nodded her head, her eyes downturned as a smile began to creep across her lips. Turning towards her, Sandor settled one hand against the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek bone. When she lifted her gaze to him, he began once more.
"Sansa, we won't do anything you don't want to. My fucking god, you turn me on, but I'm not going to blow you off just because you're not riding my dick right now."
She knew he meant every last word. She could tell by the perplexed look on his face, the way he seemed more concerned with proving to her he was sincere than with resuming their activities. Sansa also saw the disappointment coloring his features; not disappointment with the turn of events, but rather disappointment with himself.
Despite the gracelessness of his words, she knew it was the truth. When a small giggle escaped her lips, Sandor turned a confused stare towards her. Settling her hand on top of his, Sansa nodded her head before leaning forward to place a soft kiss against his lips.
"You turn me on too," she whispered against his mouth before carefully crawling onto his lap.
"I know I do," he responded assuredly and with a smile before returning her kiss with as much delicacy as she had initiated it with. His lips were a warm caress against hers and his arms wrapped around the small of her back. Lifting an eyebrow in curiosity, Sansa stared at Sandor with a questioning smile.
"You're so fucking wet right now," he added with a deep chuckle as he smoothed his hands up and down her back. He was staring at her, his lips curled into a smile and his head rested back against the seat.
"You don't know that," Sansa countered, sinking into him further as her hips swiveled slightly against him. She could feel he was hard again and moaning quietly with the cadence of her movements.
"Prove me wrong," he spoke on a husky voice, his hands at her hips and guiding her motions.
"I can't," Sansa admitted before biting her lip.
"Prove me right then," Sandor mumbled against her mouth, occupying her lips.
Sansa took a measured breath before sliding back slowly and perching herself on his knees. With her back pressed up against the driver's seat, Sansa pulled up the skirt of her dress. As much as her breathing had become erratic, nearly panting with anticipation, so too had Sandor's. He watched her in wonderment, his eyes alternating between studying her face and eagerly drinking in the sight of her hand running up the inside of her thigh.
Reaching the soaked juncture between her legs, Sansa hesitated and tried to gather up the courage to show him how much he turned her on. Eyes dark and heavy with desire, Sandor slowly nodded his head in encouragement. Pulling in a deep breath, Sansa pushed her underwear to one side, revealing herself to him. She watched him swallow hard and sigh a deep breath which came more as a grumbling moan followed by a nearly indiscernible slew of expletives. His hands gripped the tops of her thighs and he momentary tore the heaviness of his stare from between her legs so that he could look her in the eyes.
"Touch yourself," he commanded before unwittingly licking his lips.
"Wh-what?" Sansa stammered as another wave of heat moved through her body. Leaning forward slowly, Sandor whispered against her lips.
"I want to watch you touch yourself." Sensing her hesitation, he offered her a slow kiss, unhurried and sweet, which she returned gladly. When he settled back in his seat once more, hands resting behind his head, Sansa felt a surge of desire envelope her, spurring her on as she moved her hand between her legs.
As her finger swept across her clit and trailed through the pool of wetness between her legs, Sansa couldn't remember a time she had been this turned on. She dipped one finger and then two into herself and relished the momentary satisfaction she felt. Her head lolled back and her eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the feeling of her own hand working between her legs. She whimpered and writhed, moaned and sighed. When Sandor's own moans had joined her in a duet, she opened her eyes. He was watching her, his mouth parted, lips moist as he stroked the length of his cock.
Forgetting all courtesies, Sansa stared at his manhood, reveling in his size which was more than generously proportioned to his body. He was huge and the sight of him stroking himself, the sounds of his groans, elicited another flush of wetness to emerge between her legs.
Chuckling as he now noticed her leering at him, Sandor pulled her hand away from between her legs. The two fingers that had been buried inside of her were glistening with wetness. Slowly and with his eyes seeking her out in the darkness of the car, Sandor sucked on her fingers, his tongue swiping against their length.
"I was right; you're wet and you taste amazing," he declared with a grin. "I win," he added, burying his face against her neck and nipping gently beneath her ear.
"What do you win?" Sansa queried with a sigh, delighting in the subtle jolts of pleasure reverberating through her.
"You tell me," Sandor murmured against her neck between kisses.
Without the pretense of thought, Sansa reached for one of his hands and guided it between her legs. And, without hesitation on his end, Sandor slid one long finger inside of her, stroking deftly against the spot she couldn't quite reach herself. Sansa let a sharp moan escape her lips. Spurred on by her response, Sandor slipped a second finger inside of her and his thumb moved in small, teasing circles against her clit. In a haze of ecstasy, Sansa reached between them, taking Sandor's cock in her hand and smoothing her palm up and down his length.
Biting his lip hard, he grunted in response. His fingers had momentarily stilled as he moaned against her neck. Surrendering to the bliss, Sansa rocked her hips against his hand, writhing until she found just the right spot. Continually, she did this and with each roll of her hips, she felt her legs beginning to shake.
"Need something else to ride, girl?"
Faintly, Sansa caught the sound of his voice interspersed with the moans of his own pleasure. He was whispering in her ear, his arm wrapped around the small of her back to still her movements as his fingers slid in and out of her, listening in rapt to the sounds pouring from her lips. "I won't stop you. God knows, I haven't stopped thinking about it since I met you. Your tits bouncing, legs spread for me, moaning my name, begging me for more. You think about it too, don't you?"
The thought of giving in completely to her own desires as well as his, flashed across her mind. It would feel amazing. He would be gentle with her, she knew with a certainty. He would go slow, he'd stop if it hurt too bad. Oh, but how could it? If his fingers felt this good... And his lips, too. They were at the curve of her cleavage spilling out from her dress.
"Yes, I think about it too," Sansa breathed out her response as she pressed herself hard against him. With a firm yank, Sandor pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her bare breasts and taking one hardened nipple into his mouth. With his unoccupied hand, Sandor cupped her other breast and gently rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Through the haze of sensations rolling through her body, Sansa realized Sandor had guided his manhood between her legs and what she was grinding against was the length of his cock. It slid against her clit and he bucked his hips against her.
Gathering her faculties as best she could, Sansa slowed her own movements to a halt.
"I can't…I've never…" she admitted, feeling foolish for having let it go this far only to turn him away. Joffrey would have been livid and hurled insults at her. When Sandor stopped suddenly, she worried that he might be angry with her too. He settled back in the seat with a sigh, his hands resting against her hips. She stared down at her lap, unable to meet his eyes in case she might find disappointment lingering there.
"You're a virgin," she heard him speak gently. It was not unkind, but rather as if he had already figured as much.
Without a word, Sansa nodded. In the silence, she heard Sandor pull in a breath before feeling his arms wrap around her. Pulling her towards him until she was cradled against his chest, Sandor ran one hand down her arm as the other brushed lightly through her hair. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and one to her cheek.
"When you're ready then," he spoke quietly.
Once more, she nodded her head against his chest. Lifting her chin until his lips were matched to hers, Sandor claimed her mouth in a slow kiss, one that sealed his sincerity and calmed any emerging doubts.
"I want to see you again." He spoke plainly and with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"I'd like that," Sansa whispered, burrowing against him.
"Next weekend I don't have any shows," he informed, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers.
"I'm moving into the sorority house next weekend." Sansa squeezed his hand gently and gave him a sleepy smile. No longer would she have to sneak out of the house to see him. The thought was ridiculous in and of itself. She was an adult, after all.
"How about I drop by then? See your new place and then I can take you to my favorite guitar shop. I need to see about a Stratocaster I've had my eye on."
"It's a date."
Sansa could imagine it now; Margaery's face as Sandor pulled up, perhaps on his bike, Jeyne's snickering disgust, Myranda's nod of approval, Dany's confusion. She didn't care though. It didn't matter what they thought. All that mattered was the way he held her now, his hands warm against her skin, the scent of his cologne, his lips delivering kisses to her cheek, the tip of her nose, the top of her head.
"A date it is." Their plans were sealed as Sandor placed a delicate kiss to her lips. "I should get you home."
Sansa nodded reluctantly and, after replacing articles of clothing to their proper places on their bodies, they both extracted themselves out of the back seat of the car. The drive back to Winnetka was pleasant, filled with light conversation about the evening they'd had. Each red light afforded the opportunity for one of them to lean across the center console and steal a kiss, each consecutive one becoming more heated than the last. The light would change to green just as Sandor's fingers had made their way back between her legs or Sansa's hand found his hardened cock once more. The cars behind them would blare their horn and they'd begrudgingly continue on to the next light, only to repeat the process all over again.
By the time they made it to her neighborhood, they had once more found themselves in a predicament of not being able to keep their hands off of one another. Sandor pulled to a stop in front of her house and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, one which was in humorous juxtaposition to the activities they had been engaging in for most of the evening.
"I'll walk you to the door," he insisted, putting the engine into park.
"You are in no position to be walking me to the door when my parents are probably watching." Sansa motioned her head towards Sandor's lap and the outline of his rock-hard manhood clearly visible there.
"Fair enough," he agreed with a shrug. "I'll walk you to your door next time." With that, he stole one more kiss; this time, it was warm and lingering, unconcerned with who might be watching.
"Goodnight, little bird," he whispered against her lips before pulling away.
"Goodnight." Leaning over, Sansa kissed his cheek and flashed him a smile.
When she retreated inside, her parents were already in bed. The house was dark as she navigated upstairs as quietly as possible. Her hair was a mess, her dress disheveled, her lips swollen from kissing. The last thing she needed was for her mother, or worse, her father to catch her at the top of the stairs and berate her with questions regarding her whereabouts for the evening.
Closing the door to her bedroom, Sansa noticed Arya was gone for the night, probably having snuck out. Flicking the light on, she washed her face and brushed her teeth for bed before slipping out of her dress. She threw on an oversized T-shirt, humming to herself as she combed out the knots in her hair. She replayed the evening in her mind, hurriedly skipping through the memories of dinner as her thoughts settled on the rest of the night. She knew dating Sandor would be different and an experience she wasn't quite used to, but she hadn't anticipated the way he made her feel; the butterflies, the anticipation, the curiosity, the arousal, the excitement, the pure pleasure and glee. He was amazing and she cursed herself for even having entertained the idea early on that she might not give him a chance.
Lying down in bed, Sansa let the memories of the evening slowly flood her mind. She tried to place what exactly it was that she found so tantalizing about him. He was course yet oddly gentle with her. The things he had whispered in her ear had nearly sent her over the edge. It was erotic and enthralling in every conceivable way.
In unhurried movements, Sansa ran her hand over her T-shirt, between her breasts, and down her stomach, stopping at the elastic of her underwear. Pulling in a breath, she slipped her hand underneath, drawing up one leg so that her lips parted. With her middle finger, she gently stroked between her legs in soft, teasing motions. She was still wet from earlier in the evening, her panties soaked through.
Sitting up, she pulled off her T-shirt and pushed her underwear down to her knees. Lying back down, she spread her legs, hearing Sandor's voice clear in her head. I'd love to bury my face between your legs right now and devour you. You have no idea the things I want to do to you, girl…
She dipped two fingers into her warm wetness as deep as she could, stroking herself from the inside, but hardly able to reach the same place she that he could. Closing her eyes, she imagined him running his tongue over her clit, sucking and lapping at it until she cried out his name. And she would. For him, she would. Bundling up a third finger, she imagined what he would feel like inside of her, how he would fill her up and how she would eagerly take him in.
She licked her lips now as she envisioned riding him, just like he always talked about. With his hands roaming over her, she would ride him hard, ride him slow, experimenting with each roll of the hips as she rocked her way down his length.
Steadily reaching her climax, Sansa rolled on her stomach, her bare breasts pressed against the sheets, her cheek buried against the pillow as her fingers worked deeper and her thumb rolled against her clit harder. She imagined being on her hands and knees, letting him enter her from behind. He would pull her hair and whisper how good it felt in her ear as he thrust into her hard. And she would let him. She would tell him she wanted more and he would make her say please, just like he said he would.
Panting as she slowly withdrew her fingers soaked down their length, Sansa rolled on her back. Flushed as she caught her breath once more, she opened her eyes, which met the sight of the Cannibal Star poster hanging over Arya's bed.
You have no idea the things I'd let you do to me, she thought to herself as she stared at Sandor's unsmiling form on the poster before pulling her underwear back on and curling up under her blankets.
A/N:
First, I have to apologize for there being so much time between this update and the last! Life got super busy and the time I normally had to write completely vanished. That time is slowly coming back to me so it will not be so long for the next update!
Second, thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I appreciate every last one of them and I've fallen completely behind on replying to reviews. I sincerely hope no one takes this to mean that I do not love all the wonderful feedback because I absolutely do! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! And thank you for being so patient!
