Sorry this took a bit longer-the muse left for a bit! Thank you for all the kind reviews, I'll make an effort to answer each of them over the next few days :D
Sansa glanced around the interior of Sandor's room. The well-appointed furnishings gave the solar a warm feel. Solid oak paneling lined the walls of the stateroom and thick Meerish tapestries covered floor. A dim candle hung in a lantern suspended from the rafters in the corner, the flaxen wick flickering with each rolling movement of the vessel.
Carefully Sandor bent to put out the fire in the stove and then maneuvered his way toward the bed with Sansa cradled close to his chest. "You'll be safe and warm here with me." The ship continued to sway and pitch but Sansa felt secure in his arms. She never failed to marvel at how powerful and strong he was, and that her betrothed always made her feel safe, even in a storm at sea.
Sansa noticed the slight shudder that rippled through his muscular body as he approached the bed. His body was hardened by years of daily training, yet he held her tenderly, almost gently, as if she truly was a fragile little bird. The feel of being in his arms made her dizzy with excitement, and so she rested her cheek against his neck. Heat radiated from his muscular frame, instantly warming her despite the chilled air permeating the room.
As he settled her into the furs, the emerald silk sleeping gown draped softly over her body. Following the path of his eyes, she glanced down to see that the supple material had revealed every detail of her curves. Giggling self-consciously, as Sansa sunk into the thick feather mattress, the young woman moved to cover herself. "My love, your bed is so comfortable and soft, far more so than mine! How did the maid ever manage to get it like this?"
"I did it. Fixing my own bunk is a force of habit. I never had a chamber maid in King's Landing." He rolled over on his side, his normally hard gray eyes softening as his eyes leisurely wandered over her body.
The intensity of his gaze alone made her breath come in short gasps. Trying hard to disguise her nerves, she gently reached for his hand and held it against her cheek. "Truly? You never had a maid there?" Sansa swept a lock of hair behind his good ear.
Chuckling, the man leaned over her further, his long dark hair brushing against her neck and chest as he did so. Smirking, he ran his finger over her jaw. "Not one who made my bed."
Sansa's face fell; his words felt like a sharp blow to her chest, and suddenly she could scarcely catch her breath to speak. Hastily she turned loose of his hand. Biting back tears, she stared out the porthole as a flash of lightning lit up the room. "Oh, I, I did not mean-"
Watching her curiously, Sandor cursed himself at the abrupt change his words brought about in his betrothed. "Fuck, Sansa, I didn't-"
The ship pitched sharply, causing Sansa to roll across the featherbed and land squarely against him, her small form now nestled against his chest. Clinging to him, she shakily asked, "Does it not worry you when the ship reels?"
"I've been in far worse storms many a time. The weather will likely give us more rain than rough seas once it blows out. We'll be alright."
"Oh." She imagined that a man who during his life had sailed clear to the Iron Islands for battle would know about such things but his words did little to assuage her worry.
"Don't you feel safe with me, Little bird?" Sandor rasped softly at her, stroking her cheek and willing her to look him in the eyes once more.
Sansa felt a warm flush spread over her as she shyly returned his look. "Yes, I do," she said, holding his gaze.
"Good. You trust me?" He inched his index finger down the slope of her neck and lightly touched the material of her robe. The warmth from his hand burned through her gown. A flutter echoed in her stomach and her heart began pounding under the feel of his calloused finger grazing her skin. "You know I do."
"Then take this bloody thing off; we'll have more warmth if our skins touch," he hoarsely insisted. "It'll get cold soon enough in here with the stove out." Sandor looked away and shed his tunic, carelessly balling it up and tossing it into the corner.
"Alright," Sansa reddened, moving away from him to undo the ribbons of her robe. Grinning, he watched her intently, his heated gaze causing her to flush further. Quickly she removed her dressing cover before diving back under the furs.
Clearing his throat, the man got out of bed and wrapped thick silver and white fox fur around her. "I'm going to change, lass. It makes no difference to me, but being a maid and all, you may want to look away," Sandor muttered. Turning his back to her, he hurriedly began unlacing his breeches.
When she realized what he was doing, Sansa colored deeply and swiftly turned toward the wall. The rustling of material was soon followed by litany of curses.
"What is it?"
"Bloody smallclothes. I hate the thrice damned things."
It never occurred to her men would feel differently than women about something as mundane as smallclothes. Why would he dislike them? Sansa blushed at his comment but her curiosity got the better of her. "You dislike them? Does that mean you do not normally-wear them?"
Sandor scowled at her. "Fuck no; my breeches are tight enough as it is."
She had no trouble believing that, as she had often noticed the way his heavily muscled thighs always strained his breeches. "Are you taking them off?" She squeaked out.
"No I'm putting them on. If you're so bloody curious, Little bird, turn around and have your look."
Giggling, she kept her face to the wall. "No, I will give you your privacy." Pausing, she quietly asked, "But don't you wear them when you sleep?"
"Never! Why the fuck would I? Tonight I will, since I have company. No need to worry, lass; I'll keep your innocence intact," he wickedly bared his teeth into a wide grin.
Ignoring the last part of his remark, she probed further, "Do you-I mean, did you always wear them when you-when you had company?"
Silently the man cursed himself again for his careless remark. The bed dipped low when Sandor settled in beside her. Sansa opened her eyes shyly and peeked at him.
Seven save me from maidens and their bloody questions. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close to his chest and sighed into her hair. "Warmer now?"
"Yes, thank you," she snuggled her back against him.
Sandor squinted at her and tipped her chin back to face him. She was so innocent in so many ways that he did not have the heart to tease her further. "I should have kept my bloody trap shut. In all my years, I never had a woman spend the night in my bed, Sansa. You are the first and the only one, believe that."
She smiled brightly at his words, and chuckling, he slowly ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "Is that what you wanted to know?"
Sansa could not help but think he looked as though he was about to devour her. "Well, yes. But you-" Sansa paused, her words getting tangled in her mouth once more under his mocking gaze. "You have been with-that is to say, you-"
"Well I bloody well never wanted any wench or camp follower sleeping in my bed, woman," Sandor growled, his eyes widening at her in disbelief. "There is no way in Seven hells I would have slept beside one of them-they'd have robbed me blind, lass! I got what I paid for and sent them on their way."
"It is none of my concern," Sansa tried to affect a carefree tone secretly pleased by his confession. "I should not question you about things that happened long ago."
His eyes narrowed at her and Sansa watched his mouth twitched several times before he rasped, "Little bird, I am a damned fool to have even brought it up. Fuck, you deserve better than brute like me," he resignedly cursed through gritted teeth. "I've no idea how to treat a lady. I'm bound to end up hurting you."
"You won't hurt me," Sansa caressed his face, drawing his face to hers.
Sandor's mouthed twitched again. "Don't do that, Sansa." His eyes flashed angrily as he shook his head at her. "I don't want to be reminded of that night."
"I will never forget it; for it was the first time I realized how you felt, or at least dared to hope-"
"Well it is entirely different memory for me, so let it go."
"Alright," she quietly agreed. "We both are only a bit nervous, which always makes for awkward conversation," she laughed before softly kissing his cheek. "So, am I correct in concluding that I am the first woman whom you have allowed to sleep in your bed?"
The rain battered against the balcony's glass panes, causing them both to briefly look toward the window.
"Aye, you are the first and the last," Sandor muttered low, his deep voice thick with emotion. "Gods forbid, if anything should happen to you, lass, I'll not take another."
Sansa knew then he must have given the possibility a fair amount of thought. Sitting up, she held his cheek. "What will you do with your life, then?"
"I'll fucking spend my life cutting down and burning any weirwood tree or image of the Seven in my path, that's what." He looked away, twisting one of her curls in between his fingers.
Overwhelmed by his declaration, Sansa pulled him closer and whispered, "Dearest, nothing will happen to either of us. You must believe in our love."
"Chirping again, are you?" He grumbled, trying to make the tone of his voice lighter.
"No, I would never chirp over such," she caressed his face and brushed the hair away from his eyes. "The gods have answered my prayers and seen fit to bring us together. We will have a long life ahead of us. Please, let as have no more talk of this while we are thus."
Sandor pursed his lips together in silent agreement. His scarred mouth was a curiosity to her, at once smooth and rough, tender and hard. She ran her fingers through his beard and inched her way closer to his face. "I-I want you to know that I appreciate you trying to protect me from-"
Fury clouded his face, and he narrowed his eyes bitterly at her before spitting out, "An unwanted bastard of mine, is that what you mean?"
"That is most certainly not what I meant. Have you no faith in me at all?" Sansa gazed sadly at him. "Never will a child we bring forth be unwanted or a labeled a bastard, Sandor, no matter the conditions under which it is brought," she whispered, holding his face in her hands. Leaning her forehead against his, the young woman fought to restrain her tears.
"Forgive me," he muttered, wiping her tears away with the rough pad of his thumb. "You still want to wed such a brute?"
"Yes, of course I do," she kissed him. "What I meant to say is that I appreciate you wanting to protect me from any harm giving in to my desires may lead to with the northern lords. You put my wellbeing ahead of your own needs once again. I know it is not easy for you to be in this position we are in now, dearest."
Languidly she traced her tongue lightly over his lips before covering his mouth in a deep kiss. "But I only care about what is between us, and our feelings for each other. No one else has a place or a say in the matter; I will not allow it. You must believe me."
When he pulled away, Sansa watches as his eyes made their way from her face, to her neck and then over her breasts. "Bloody hells, woman, I've wanted you more than anything in my entire gods forsaken life."
The torment and sheer want that resounded in his voice sent a shudder through her. "You long for what is yours for the taking," She lifted his hand to her face once more and held his gaze as she kissed each of his fingers. "I love you, and I am ready for as much as you wish to share with me, Sandor."
Hesitatingly the man met her eyes. "You fucking well don't know what you're saying, woman," he grumbled, pulling away slightly while cursing softly under his breath.
She reached out and caressed his jawline with her fingers. After several moments he relented and allowed Sansa to draw his face down toward hers once more.
Softly she brushed her lips against his mouth and stroked the hardened muscles of his low back with the flat of her palms, pulling him flush against her. Sandor tensed from the effort of restraining himself, and finally he raised up on his forearms and deepened the kiss, slowly tracing her tongue with his own.
Moaning softly, Sansa arched into his touch, and tentatively Sandor cupped her breast in his large hand. "Let me take this off; I want to see you," he rasped against her lips, his breath coming hard and fast.
Slowly his hands fumbled with the straps of her gown and fingered the ribbons, his eyes seeking her permission. The heat of his skin pressed against hers paired with his masculine scent surrounded the young woman, overwhelming her senses.
Dazed, Sansa nodded slightly; the young woman wanted nothing more than to expose herself to him, to feel his gaze caress her along with his hands.
Quickly he untied the lacing and pushed the material free from her upper body, baring her to the waist. Lifting the garment from under her, Sansa moved out of the gown and set it aside, leaving only her smallclothes. She blushed deeply under his gaze, and she softly reached up and stroked his back.
Sandor's eyes darkened with desire as he stared hungrily at her lying before him. Briefly he hesitated to touch her, until she placed his hands on either side of her waist and sighed contentedly. Ever so slowly he began following the path up to each of her breasts before trailing his hands over her abdomen.
She shuddered at the feel of his skin on hers, hard and rough and so very male. His touch made her feel whole and complete in a way she had never known. Giggling softly, she tipped her head back and reveled in his touch. "You feel so good," she sighed.
When she glanced up at him, Sansa saw Sandor's face contort into a pained, almost angry expression. "Sansa, you-gods, woman, you are so very-" he gasped against her skin, his thickly muscles arms clutching her tightly. "Why do you want this with me?" He choked out before suddenly burying his face into her neck with a deep sigh.
"I love you, and I want to be joined to you in body and heart. I have ached to be thus with you for so very long, Sandor," Sansa whispered in his ear before gently nibbling on his lobe. Lightly he began moving his hands over her once more, tracing the curve of her breast before rubbing his thumb over her nipple as his eyes silently asked for her acquiescence once more.
Sansa drew his head down to her chest. "I long for more, my love."
"Gods but you are perfect, lass." Lifting his head, he placed wet kisses along from the hollow of her throat to her breastbone.
Sansa heard him groan and felt the warmth of his breath tickle her skin as he inhaled deeply. He nuzzled into between her breasts almost tenderly, the rough stubble of his beard scratching her delicate flesh before his mouth descended onto each pink bud by turns.
Leisurely, he licked and suckled each of her perfect pink nipples, tracing every detail with his tongue, sending a surge of desire through her that silenced her nervous laughter and soon left Sansa gasping in pleasure.
"You like that, Little bird?" Sandor chuckled before his wet tongue circled her right nipple once more.
"Oh, yes, very much," Sansa moaned, blushing with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. She could feel the exquisite pressure between her legs spreading through her core as he continued gliding his tongue over her.
Bending her head, she began sucking the pulse point just below his ear in time with his ministrations. Above her, he groaned approvingly, and his teeth lightly bit down on her hardened nipples in response.
A roll of thunder clapped outside, and the ship pitched sharply once more, sending Sandor rolling over onto her. Unable to resist, the man pressed his hardened manhood against her woman's place with a long moan, all the while hungrily laving at her breast.
Sandor had awakened a longing within Sansa that she did not know she possessed, and instinctively the woman sought for more of him, knowing he alone could fulfill the passion that possessed her body and soul. Gasping, she drew her leg over his thigh and reached into his smallclothes, pressing his buttocks close to her. His thick hardened manhood rested flush against her woman's place, drawing a throaty cry from Sandor.
"My love, I need you, I need-" she moaned out, unable to resist the urge to wriggle against him. Sansa knew her behavior was shamelessly wanton but she did not care; she hungered for him, all of him, and she longed to ease the desperate want his touch elicited from her body.
Suddenly he jerked away from her, struggling to catch his breath. "Sansa, if you keep on this way I'll break."