I removed a few paragraphs of graphical description, but I didn't mark it out with [...] this time. You can read the chapter as it is and, hopefully, it's pretty coherent.
Arya
They passed by a band of drunken idiots whose sentries failed to notice them. She heard them laugh and boast talking about the women they had raped while their husbands and children watched. It took a great deal of restraint to sneak past them without doing anything to them. A few drops in the flask they passed from one another would've been enough.
She gritted her teeth and turned back to where Sandor was waiting for her with the horses. They went wide of the men who had no clue how close they came to dying. The detour took added hours to their journey, and by the time they got to the next village, the bandits were already there.
She saw them set fire to the abandoned houses, and she lost it.
The village was clearly abandoned, but to see those shits burn down houses people built and loved and to which they might return once the war was over… Righteous anger took over. She got off her horse and started killing them, one by one.
When she finished, the village was quiet except for the rustling of the fire. Sandor had somehow contained it to three houses. He hadn't joined her in killing the men, and by the look he gave her, he seemed content she was alive and relatively unharmed.
They chose a comfortable house, with enough rooms and beds in good condition so he didn't need to sleep on the floor. He didn't scald her for attacking the bandits, but if he kept to his two rules, she wouldn't get any treat that night. Killing those men was a fight that could have certainly been avoided.
Although she didn't expect his visit, she kept only her undershirt on. She was not going to wear any kind of pants in bed for as long as they travelled together. Even if he didn't come to her bed, remaining naked from the waist down would make it easier for her to pleasure herself.
She tossed and turned in bed, fighting the urge to go to his room and sneak into his bed. She had her pride after all. He was the dog who had to follow her around.
Next time.
Her nipples tightened, and tingled with need. The image of his huge cock painting her breasts with his seed made her whimper when she touched herself. Her touch was light, and pleasant, and familiar. She brought back the memory of his eyes looking into hers, his head between her thighs…
"Sandor," she whispered, imagining his tongue instead of her finger.
"You seem to handle it well without me," he said.
Arya opened her eyes and jerked her hand out from under the blanket. She hadn't even heard him come in the room. That was fucking dangerous. She should have been aware of her surroundings not indulge herself.
He sat down on the bed, and raised her hand to his lips. Instead of the gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand, he opened his mouth, and sucked her still wet fingers. She barely managed to stop herself from whimpering. Her pussy throbbed, demanding attention.
As if he knew it, he reached between her folds. The pleasure she felt under her own fingers was pale compared to what his fingers kindled.
"Ready for me, were ya?"
"No," she lied.
He laughed and shoved not one, but two fingers in her pussy. Arya gasped and clenched around the intrusion. After having his massive cock in her hand the night before, she knew she should get used to being stretched. He ran his thumb over her nub while two long, thick fingers thrust inside her.
Pleasure increased until she felt the edge of orgasm. She growled frustrated when he took his hand off her, but forgave him when she saw him stand up and undress himself. The room was far better lit than the one at the inn.
Arya sat up in bed and watched with open mouth as he took off his clothes. Either she was entranced or he was doing it slower than strictly necessary. A thrill went through her when his cock sprung out of his pants. She swallowed wistfully when he took it in hand and made it grow bigger and harder. If he gave her the chance, she would lick it from root to tip, and then try to take it in her mouth…
"Wanna taste it," she blurted.
His lips quirked in a smile she hadn't seen before. A mixture of smugness, amusement and surprise.
"Is that a game? Or am I disgusting?" she whispered, doubts suddenly plaguing her.
"Was it disgusting when I tasted you?" he asked, coming closer.
She shook her head.
"Sit here," he said, pointing at the edge of the bed.
Arya scampered out of the tangled sheets and sat on the edge of the bed without questions.
Sandor bent at the waist to grip the hem of her undershirt. "Raise your arms," he said, and pulled it off her.
His heavy breathing emboldened her. She took him in as best she could. She could feel him trying to stop from thrusting his hips. His hand fisted in her hair and he pulled her head back.
"Enough for now," he said.
He pushed her gently but firmly back in bed, and knelt between her thighs. She was a quivering mess of desire, but he managed to add to it. His beard on the inside of her thighs was almost as delicious as the sound of his panting and the occasional curse word. Everything kept inflaming her desire, and yet nothing brought her over the edge.
"Please," she begged in a ragged voice. "Sandor, please."
He slowed down the rhythm of his lapping to an infuriating painfully insufficient speed.
"My lady wants to come?" he asked.
She didn't have the energy to argue the title.
"Yes. Fuck, please."
She was so close. She clutched at the sheets and raised her bottom from the bed, trying to angle herself better, to rub herself on his lips, on his beard, anything that would help her get passed that plateau of pleasure where he kept her.
"Not tonight," he said
"What?" she asked weakly.
He rested his head on her inner thigh, and watched his fingers trailing slowly up and down her folds.
"Not tonight," he repeated. "You will not get a reward tonight."
"Come on! You can't mean it."
"You know why. Rewards are for when you don't risk killing yourself for no reason."
"I fucking hate you," she said.
"I hate you, too, lady Arya."
She put her hand on his head, but he removed it.
"This reminds me," he said.
He climbed into bed, and pulled her with him. Arya hoped for a moment that he was finally going to fuck her. He rolled partially on top of her, and burrowed his head in the crook of her neck. Then he stopped moving. Arya squirmed, trying halfheartedly to wriggle from underneath him. Her left side was only partially covered by his body – she wondered briefly what it would be like to feel his entire weight pressed down on her. Another frustrating shiver went through her body and increased the tension in her belly.
She tried to free her left hand to touch herself until she finished what he started. From the first movement, he laced his fingers through hers and pushed her arm down into the mattress.
She grunted in frustration and felt he muscles of his face shift against her skin. The bastard was smiling!
His left leg was on top of her. If she spread her legs she could rub herself against his thigh. For a few wonderful seconds, she chased her release against his hard muscles. She felt the wave forming inside her, and when she was on the cusp, he pulled his leg out from between her thighs and clamped them together.
"Fuck!" she screamed in frustration.
"No fucking," he said in the most obnoxious lazy tone. "Not tonight. Not until you're in Winterfell."
"Fuck you, Hound!" she said heatedly. "Who do you think you are to do this to me?"
"I'm the one who's keeping your legs closed and who's not going to let anyone else fuck you, either," he said. "Just so you don't make plans."
That knocked the air out of her. She hadn't even considered ever allowing someone other than him to touch her. The fucking fuck! She'd gone and fallen in love with the fucking Hound.
How stupid was that? Even more stupid than sulking that a man like him didn't fuck her bloody.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
'Sulk all you want.'
She heard his voice from the memories.
'The truth is you're lucky.'
Time and experience showed her that she had been lucky then. And that it should be him. The first time. And every time after that.