Chapter 10
Thunder and Lightning
Twelve thousand words in a single weekend! I'm spoiling you. Better not get used to it, but I'm hoping it makes up for that week I missed.
Gendry allowed Thunder his head. The destrier knew what to do, aye, perhaps better then Gendry did himself.
Thunder set a steady pace. Arya and Lightning had set off at a gallop, but Thunder played the wiser game. Many times he and Gendry had covered longer distances than this together. They shared an instinctive understanding, Thunder would slow to a trot when tiring and Gendry never pushed, for his horse would resume the ground covering canter soon enough, his long strides eating up the miles. Gendry was confident Arya had no such plan, otherwise he'd be going cap in hand to Jon, or Gods forbid, Aegon, looking to borrow twenty bloody gold Dragons. Aye, Arya had a high opinion of her own worth indeed.
Lightning was certainly faster, for she was already almost out of view. Gendry reckoned that, setting such a pace, Arya could sustain two or three miles at most before she would have to rest her mount. Slow and steady would win him this race.
Gendry let his mind wander, as it always did when soothed by the steady beat of Thunder's hooves, rolling like a three beat drum. Arya was as prickly as a hedgehog and each time he thought he had stroked those prickly spines of hers into submission; one wrong word was enough to send her curling into a defensive, angry ball whose prickly armour repelled his every advance. A man could only take so much rejection. They must reach an understanding soon, as Gendry doubted his wounded pride would withstand many more such assaults.
Arya was angry, nae, she was furious, although as the ground sped past under Lightning's hooves and as the wind blew through her hair, Arya found it harder to remember why she was quite so angry. Gendry had never claimed to be a maid and 'twas obvious from his first kiss that he was well practiced in the art of kissing a woman senseless. Then why did it pain her so to think of him kissing another woman as he had kissed her, with his tongue dancing in her mouth, his hands warm and possessive on her, drawing her deeper in? Why did her stomach drop away every time she thought of another woman lying beneath him, his whispering soft words against that woman's ear and putting his cock any other woman who was not her? 'Twas like a knife stabbing at her, leaving little tiny pinpricks of pain and blood time and again. Seven buggering hells. She was jealous. Arya Stark, who did not want or need anyone, the lone wolf, the faceless man, was sick and green with jealously.
Arya, who had long believed vengeance alone was enough to sustain her, was no longer so certain. She needed more. She wanted more. She wanted him. There could no longer be doubt about that. Her mind was decided. She would have him, but 'twould be on her terms.
Over halfway, Gendry spied what he thought was a white horse's rump in the distance. Thunder blew out a snort of confirmation, as if chiding Gendry for ever doubting it could be done. The gap was closing steadily. 'Twas obvious Lightning had run herself out, as the horse had slowed to a walk. Gendry's delight was complete when he saw Arya drop down from the saddle and begin to walk beside her horse.
He patted Thunder's neck gratefully. The wager was already won. Thunder could continue at this pace for the rest of the afternoon and into the night if need be. However, a little victory celebration was in order and he gave a kick to Thunder's flanks, sending the mighty destrier galloping to close the last distance between them. When they were near and Thunder began to slow, Gendry urged his horse on, wanting to leave Arya in no doubt of his ability to easily win this wager and claim his prize.
Lightning and Arya both stopped walking and stood silently to watch as Gendry and Thunder approached in a storm of pounding hoofs and dust. Gendry held the reigns in one hand, so he could give an extravagant flourish with his other as he hung out of the saddle and bowed to her. His grin was met by her ill tempered grimace.
Once he was well past, he wheeled Thunder around and trotted the snorting horse back, point proved.
Lightning and Arya were still walking, their heads down, well and truly beaten. He would be magnanimous in his victory and hoped she would, in turn, be gracious in defeat.
"Go on without me, Lightning needs a rest" Arya said miserably as he came alongside.
"No hard feelings," he grinned, leaning over from his high vantage point and extending his hand. She looked at it.
"Take my hand Arya."
She reluctantly held up her hand, intending to shake his. She shrieked as he pulled her up effortlessly and plopped her down in front of him. Arya put up a half hearted struggle as Thunder sidestepped, surprised by the sudden extra weight. But 'twas useless, Gendry had her firmly encircled in his arms and she already knew he was far stronger than she was. Anyway, where was she going to go? 'Twas a long way down to the ground.
She tried to sit in front of him without touching him, but Gendry hauled her back against him. "Relax. Would you rather walk?"
He was warm and solid beneath and behind her. She could feel his hot breath stir her hair and the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder. His strong arms encircled her, holding her captive. There was no escape and she surrendered to him as she leant her head on his shoulder, listened to the beat of his heart and the slow, soothing rhythm of their horses' hooves. Despite her earlier nap on the blanket, she found her eyes closing and her head nodding as they walked. Why fight it? She was becoming used to surrendering when she was with him and let sleep claim her again.
Arya awoke with a start to see the tents of the army's camp around them. 'Twas twilight and there was no yelling of 'Baratheon' now. There were few soldiers to be seen and they seemed to be settling down for the night. Lord Baratheon nodded acknowledgements to the salutes he received from the men who noticed them pass quietly by.
"You can let me down now," she said, her voice little more than a sleepy whisper.
He kissed the top of her head. "We are nearly there Arya. I'll let you down soon enough."
She sighed. Then he would claim his Lord's Kiss and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. A wager was a wager after all. And, truth be told, she felt sleepily content in his arms and lying with him in a featherbed would hardly be the worst she had suffered as the result of losing a wager.
Ty was waiting for them at the entrance to The Red Keep. The boy held a lantern aloft and Arya could see his beaming smile looking up at them as Gendry stopped before they passed under the portcullis.
"You can get down now Arya."
"But we are nearly there!" She did not want to get down and walk to the stables; she was too content where she was.
"But if you do not get down, then you enter The Red Keep before me and then I loose our wager."
He let the reigns slide through one hand, lifting it over her head so she was no longer trapped. When she made no move to dismount, he gave her a firm push so she slid off his lap and over the side. Ty put out an arm to support her as her feet landed unsteadily on the cobblestones. Her muscles, unused to riding, had seized up and her legs felt as stiff as a new born foal's. Mercifully, Ty did not let go as she took her first wobbly step into The Red Keep.
Lord Baratheon walked Thunder on into the Bailey yard and then dismounted before striding back towards them.
"Are you alright Arya?" he asked, the concern on his face thrown into sharp relief by the flickering light cast by Ty's lantern.
"I...I am just a bit stiff." She muttered as took another few, hobbled steps towards into the yard.
"Ty, see to the horses." Gendry commanded as, with one fluid motion, he swept Arya up into his arms. Another willing surrender she thought, as she wrapped her arms gratefully around his neck. He carried her across the yard and into The Red Keep.
He did not head towards her room. He must intend them to lie in his bed she thought, as nervous butterflies began to flutter around her stomach.
"Where are we going?"
"Is there a bath in your room Arya?"
"Yes, but this is not the way to my room."
"We go to the kitchens for I am hungry and you need a bath."
"I do not!" she said haughtily. She had bathed that 'morn and was sure she did not yet smell unpleasant enough for him to demand she take a bath. He still smelled vaguely of soap from his showing off in the river, but that was not what she liked best. He smelled most wonderfully of outdoors, leather and horses and something uniquely Gendry that she was finding more and more to her liking each time they were together.
"Your muscles will not be as painful in the 'morn if you take a hot bath tonight."
He elbowed open the door to the kitchens. A dozen maids stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise.
"I need food and hot water for a bath sent up to Lady Arya's room now!" he bellowed, causing a few of the maids to startle.
"Say thank you!" Arya hissed at him, appalled.
"Thank you." he snapped, as he turned on his heel and walked out.
"Do you not remember when we were the servants Gendry?" she chided, "how wearing it was to have orders barked at you all day?"
"I shall never forget, but 'tis a difficult line for me to tread Arya. I wish to be seen as the other, real Lords, are" he muttered.
She looked up at his stern, handsome face, seeing both Gendry Waters the boy and Lord Baratheon the man. "You are as much a Lord as any of them and better than most."
He smiled with satisfaction as she snuggled into his chest and let herself be carried to her room.
There were two crows sitting outside her rooms. One must have been asleep as he received a kick from the other and shook his head violently as they approached.
Gendry greeted the crows by name before finally setting Arya down outside her door on legs that were a good deal steadier now than they had been.
"You can sleep in your own beds tonight boys. There's no more need for you here."
"But Jon said…"
"I will be here until the 'morn and I can assure you that I will not let Lady Arya out of my sight until then." Gendry told them with a wink.
One of the crows sniggered and Arya had to stop herself from giving him a swift kick. She could have happily given Gendry one too for that wink.
The crows got up, stretched and made their way off down the corridor quite happily. Gendry had disappeared into her room. After making quite sure the crows were definitely away, Arya followed him in on protesting legs.
He was already sitting on a chair, taking his boots off. 'Twas such an act of possession. He had been here but a few minutes and already he had made himself quite at home. Those nervous butterflies re-appeared in her stomach.
"Are you not stiff?" she asked, wincing as she hobbled to the other chair.
He threw his head back and laughed.
"Aye, but not where you are Milady."
It took her a few moments before she understood what he found so amusing. Realising he was thinking on his cock made her more nervous still. She knew she was blushing. She could feel it rising up her neck, to the top of her head.
"I think I have spent so long astride Thunder that my arse had moulded itself to my saddle." He chuckled, "A hot bath and my Lord's Kiss will set you right Lady."
His lazy smile and heavy lidded eyes as he regarded her across the room, made his intentions quite clear. She shivered in fear and delight. She would have to wait a while longer for him to fulfil his promises though as they were interrupted by a hesitant knock at the door.
Gendry bellowed "Enter" before Arya could reply.
A possession of kitchen maids walked in carrying trays of food and pales of steaming hot water.
He ate as if he hadn't seen food in a month. She watched in silence for a while as he ripped meat from a roasted fowl and devoured a large chunk of warm bread. Eventually she could hold her tongue no longer.
"You may find this hard to believe my Lord, but there is more food in the kitchens. I do not think it likely you will starve, but I do think it likely you will have stomach cramps if you continue eating like that."
He laughed and held out a piece of meat to her. "I forget my manners. Are you hungry?"
She shook her head. She wanted something, but it wasn't food.
"'Tis an old soldier's habit. Eat now, as it may a long while until your next."
She looked at him sceptically as he finally slowed his pace and admitted, "Perhaps it is a deeper habit as I can still remember our days of starving on the run."
When she did not answer he asked gently, "Do you remember them too?"
Truly she hadn't thought of them in years. The irony was not lost on her. Years of not thinking of him at all and now she could think of little else.
She nodded hesitantly. He covered one of his hands with hers.
"'Tis all in the past and I need to remember I must behave as a Lord and not as a starving Bastard; always hungry for the scraps from another's table."
That was the second time tonight he had mentioned his uncertainty about behaving as a Lord should. It obviously weighed heavily on his mind, although Arya saw no reason for it to. She knew a dozen Lords who had done nothing other than be born to merit their titles, whereas he had earned his by his own efforts. He should consider himself better than those other Lords, she thought, not beneath them.
He stood up as more maids arrived with more pails. He ordered the maids not to pour the last few into the bath. They set the pails down beside the huge tub and Gendry strode after them to the door. He ordered that no-one was to disturb him until the morning. Then he dropped the latch in place. There was no escape.
She tried to calm her hammering heart. The heated glint in his eyes as he walked slowly back towards her told her she was wise to be nervous.
He removed his shirt, tugging the edge out of his britches and pulling it up over his head in one fluid motion. It was discarded behind him as he approached. She tried not to watch, but he fascinated her. She studied his body intently as muscles moved under smooth skin and that expanse of silky black hair that she longed to stroke was revealed. He did not break his stride as he continued towards her, loosening his sword belt as he came.
She stood up, nervously running her unexpectedly clammy hands down the front of her britches. Her body pulsed with heat and a strange throbbing had begun between her legs.
He hung his sword and scabbard over a chair before moving his hands to the top of his own britches, where that thin trail of silky black hair disappeared into the unknown. She could not tear her eyes away as he grasped the ends of the laces with both hands, tugging, loosening, revealing more smooth skin and thicker, curlier hair. He paused and it was only when he laughed; a deep, satisfied sound of pure male arrogance, and asked her if she liked what she saw, that she realised she was gawking and hurriedly turned away. She needed to do something with her hands, anything to stop herself reaching out and stroking that fine, black hair.
She took the few steps towards the bath and gripped the side, noticing immediately that she was gripping it so hard her knuckles were white.
Although she did not dare look directly at him, out of the corner of her eye she could see that he had discarded his boots and was now sliding his britches down, over slim hips and solid thighs, thickly covered in the same dark hair that she found so irresistible on his chest. As he stood up she saw his manhood, fearsome and erect against the hard plane of his stomach.
She had never seen a man like that before and 'twas one thing touching him through the thick cloth of his britches and quite another having him naked and expectant before her now. 'Twas too much and she needed to get away. She felt as if her head was spinning and she couldn't think straight. She needed to get away from the steam and the heat and him.
"The bath is hardly full. I shall go and have the maids fetch more water." She muttered as she moved further away from him, around the edge of the bath.
"We have plenty water for our bath." His voice was husky, deep.
Seven hells. He had said 'our' bath. She had not considered that. Not at all.
"Surely you do not mean us to share?" she gasped, but one look at him; his eyes regarding her with that look she now recognised as lust and his erect cock was enough to confirm to her that was exactly what he intended. A tickle of fear danced in her stomach.
He took a step forwards, showing her all the magnificent, naked maleness of him. She took an involuntary step back.
"Come here."
"Just as there is more food in the kitchen, there is enough hot water for separate baths and I shall have mine later."
What was she doing? She wanted this. Hadn't she nearly begged him to take her this afternoon by the river? But that seemed different. It had all happened so quickly and she hadn't had time to think and now she couldn't think at all. She did not want to resist, but neither could she make herself take a step towards him. She stood, as if rooted to the spot, beside the bath.
"Come here."
"What will the maids say?"
She knew he would not take her against her will. If she said no, then he would leave. If she took that one step towards him, she would be lost.
"Come here."
No-one had ever told her she was beautiful until he had.
No-one had ever kissed her until he had.
No-one had ever touched her and made her feel as excited and yet as safe as he had. May the Gods help her.
If she was going to lie with anyone, she wanted it to be him.
She took a deep breath and took that first tentative step. He immediately closed the rest of the distance between them, taking her face gently in his hands.
"I want to see you naked" he whispered, his warm breath feathering against her cheek.
He ran his fingers slowly, softly, down the sides of her face, along her jaw and down her neck, finding the button at the top of her tunic. His hands brushed against her throat, unfastening the first button and sending shivers ricocheting all thorough her body. She didn't dare think what effect he would have as he went lower.
She looked up at him, studying his face, for to look down would have meant she would have had to look at that and the thought of where he intended it to go was too much. So she looked up and tried to study his face as he worked. His eyebrows were pulled together in concentration and she was not going to think on that scar…
Two buttons undone, now…three,
Those long, dark eyelashes would not have looked out of place on a beautiful girl…
Four…as his fingers brushed against the bindings she used to flatten her breasts, she was both excited and terrified.
He stopped as her secret was discovered.
He eased her tunic down over her shoulders and threw it across the floor, exposing her bindings.
"What is this?"
"They…get in the way and I…I do not like…them." She admitted, stumbling over the words in shame.
"Why would you not like part of yourself?" he asked, concern etched onto his face as he began unravelling the long piece of cloth. "They are such wondrous, beautiful parts of you." His warm hands touching her skin brought back memories of the feast, when he had stroked his fingers over the edge of her bodice. The same shivers returned now, both hot and cold at the same time. Did he really find her beautiful?
"Lift your arms for me" he murmured.
She did as he asked and he deftly unwrapped the cloth, passing it from hand to hand as layer after layer was peeled away. She had desired his touch on her breasts that night and she ached for it now. He unwound the last length and discarded it on the floor. She stood before him, naked from the waist up, watching him as he saw her unfettered breasts for the first time; breasts that she had wished time and again she never had. She fought the urge to bring her hands up and cover herself, wishing she had not seen herself in Sansa's mirror, for she knew now how the red welts from the bindings looked. Like scars.
"What have you done to yourself Arya?" he asked softly.
He gently placed a hand on each breast and rubbed his fingers over the marks left by the bindings. She gasped at the intensity of this new sensation, as blood returned to her skin and his hands, rough themselves, but with such a tender touch, cupped her breasts and stroked. When his thumbs rubbed over her teats, she could feel the tips harden and grow under his touch. He stared, as if transfixed, as his thumbs caressed them again and again. Did he truly like what he saw?
"How can you say you do not like what will nourish our babes, if the Gods will it?" He whispered, dipping his head down to her breast.
She had no time to think on what he said about Gods and babes as he had dropped down onto his knees and his tongue was sweeping slowly over one sensitive, swollen teat, before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it like a new born babe. A soft little cry came from the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. How had she made that noise without knowing? Gods be good. She had no idea it could feel like this.
He had her breasts cradled in his hands and continued to caress them, licking and sucking first one teat, then the other, sending bolts of lightning from there down to that aching, needy place between her legs. She touched his hair, warily at first, fighting the conflicting urges to push him away and press him tighter against her. Then he took one teat between his teeth and tugged gently. Seven hells. Her fingers were in his hair, twisting, pulling him towards her, arching her back, wanting more.
But he denied her, lifting his mouth from her.
"Promise me you will not bind yourself again Arya," he asked, his eyes dark and serious, his voice husky with desire.
She stared down at him, her skin covered in goosebumps, although the air in the room was positively hot and humid. If she did as he asked, she would need to wear smallclothes like Sansa, her men's shirts would no longer fit, everyone would know her for a woman. She shook her head.
"'Tis not right Arya. What are you hiding from?"
She remembered Tyrion's comments about her "armour" as the silence grew between them.
"What are you afraid of?" he persisted, looking up at her with those fathomless blue eyes of his.
"Nothing."
"Then promise me."
"I promise…while I am here," she said in a voice just above a whisper.
Gendry narrowed his eyes and looked at her sceptically, but eventually nodded a brief acceptance. He rose from his knees, his hands immediately finding the laces of her britches as he planted a hard kiss on her lips.
There was no doubting his intentions now. He intended to take her and she would need to tell him soon if she expected him to stop. The long hardness of his manhood was pressing against her hip and she could feel the heat of him through her britches.
As if reading her mind and anticipating her fears, he murmured, "Trust me Arya. I shall pleasure you and I shall not take you if you do not wish it."
Oh, but she did wish it. The thought of him leaving her like this, aching and wanting was worse than the fear of what he intended. She wanted more. She could not describe these feelings he had awoken, but she wanted more of him, on her, around her, inside her. He turned her gently, so that he was behind her, sliding his hands down from her teats, over the curve of her breasts, her waist, to the laces of her britches. He made short work of them, sliding his hands, warm and insistent over her hips and, shockingly, tugging her small clothes down with her britches.
She gasped with surprise. She was suddenly naked, or at least, naked where it mattered and his manhood was hot and hard and insistent against the curve of her back.
"Tell me to stop and I will."
She did not speak.
"Remove your boots" he ordered, gently but firmly.
As if in a dream, she did what she was told, only realising when she bent over that she was presenting her bare bottom to him. He had never let go of her hips and she felt his grip tighten and heard his involuntary intake of breath as he saw what no man had seen before. Did this sight please him also?
His strong hands steadied her as she wobbled on first one leg and then the other, disposing of her boots and clothes.
As she straightened up, he pulled her to him, so her back was tight against his chest and the back of her legs against his solid thighs. He was so hard and warm and his manhood was trapped between them.
He murmured only one word - "beautiful" as he encircled her in his arms.
Gendry had to concentrate on the here and now in order to believe this was really happening; the girl of his dreams was naked in his arms and he savoured the feeling of her body against his, still tense and nervous, but reacting to his touch. How anyone could mistake her for a boy still was beyond him. Her breasts were soft and full in his hands and there was a wonderful curve from her slim waist to her hip. He pulled her tighter to him, desperate for some friction on his cock. She surprised him by leaning back against him and he gratefully accepted her weight.
He moved one hand from her waist, stroking over her stomach and lower still, to the mass of soft curls at the top of her legs. She trembled against him as he spread his fingers wide and touched the curls, thrilling as he discovered they were wet with her desire for him. Without thinking, he arched his body against hers, rubbing his straining cock against her bottom and losing himself in the explosion of pleasure even that contact provided.
He had to remind himself there was a long way to go if he was going to pleasure her first as he had planned. He took a deep breath, trying to control his rampaging body. He had to slow things right down or he would embarrass himself like a green boy.
"Our bath grows cold" he murmured, stepping away from her with a great deal of effort of will, lifting his long legs over the side of the bath and standing in the hot water. He extended his hand to her and she hesitated before taking it. She was the most delightful shade of pink he had ever seen. It seemed to extend all the way from her rosy teats, up that graceful neck, to the top of her head.
He must have smiled without realising, as she asked "Does something amuse you my Lord?" in a hushed, sombre voice.
He knew form the 'my Lord' that she wasn't happy and he wanted, no, he needed her to enjoy this. "I am just thinking that you are so very beautiful and I am the luckiest man alive." He replied sincerely, meaning every word of it. She blushed even more furiously, but still she stepped into the tub with him, and made to sit down at the far end.
That would not do! He wouldn't let go of her hand, shaking his head. "I had thought we might sit together Arya."
Without waiting for her answer, he eased himself into the water at the nearest end, never letting go of her hand and opening his arms and his knees for her. He saw her glance warily at his cock, bobbing in the water, but still she didn't refuse and he guided her to sit down with her back to him.
Water sloshed all over the stone floor as she did, not that either of them cared, being too wrapped up in the newness and excitement of it all.
Gendry braced his arms on the sides of the tub and shifted to accommodate her between his legs. She slowly sat down. The sensation was exquisite and, if he looked over her shoulder, he could see her lovely breasts just floating at the top of the water, the pink teats soft and sweet.
Again, she leant against him, and he was pleased to feel her relax. It was a sure sign she was growing in confidence and if he was tender and did not rush her, he would make this as enjoyable an experience for her as he could. At least he could make sure her memories of her first time would not be tainted by pain or rushed for fear of being discovered as they might have been by the river. Nae, he was glad he had waited to bestow his Lord's Kiss.
There was soap at the side of the bath and he took it and rubbed it in his hands until they were coated in thick suds and then he began. He started at her neck, stoking and soaping and kissing each part of her as it was cleaned and rinsed; along her shoulders, her back, he breasts. The contented little noises she was making told him he was pleasuring her already and there was more, aye much more to come.
He began again at her knees, stroking and soaping up this time, thighs, hips, stomach, then down again through the soft hair, slipping his hands between her legs, parting her, seeking that little nub of pleasure. As his fingers went round and round and she moaned and moaned again he whispered in her ear, "How does this feel?"
"Oh…I…oh" What had he asked? She could not concentrate on anything other than what he was doing with his hand. Tension was building inside her, she could feel it, winding and winding. She could feel it in him too, in the pulsing of his cock behind her, in the tightness of his muscles, in the heart of his skin. She pressed herself against his hand, wanting more from him.
"Stand up Arya."
"What? Now? Why?" He had stopped. Why had he stopped when she was so close? "Must you stop?"
"'Tis time for The Lord's Kiss."
Her limbs felt weak and limp. She felt dizzy, with need and the heat and with knowing what he intended to do next. This was not her. Where was her strength, her control? He had robbed her of it all. Robbed her? Nae, she had given it to him willingly and she intended to surrender yet more before the night was up. Resistance was futile. She had already lost the battle when she had let him into her room, when she had let him undressed her, when she had stepped into that bath with him and he knew it.
Gendry helped her up and out of the bath and dried her with ruthless efficiency. He was not slow and soft and gentle now. Every move had purpose, serious intent and she was lying on the bed, staring up at him as he kneeled above her, before she had time to gather her shredded, scattered thoughts.
He took a pillow from the top of the bed and eased it under her hips, smiling as she helped, lifting up and letting her knees fall apart for him, letting him see how slick and ready she was for him. Gods be good, she wanted this as much as he did.
Kissing the soft skin of her stomach, he trailed kisses down and down further, cradling her hips in his hands, remembering all Jon's advice, kissing her there, between her legs, grinning as she shrieked. She tried to buck, but he held her firm. Her hands were on his shoulders but she had no will to push him away. He used his tongue on her, circling, teasing, flicking and soon her hands dropped to the covers beneath her, griping handfuls of them in her fists as he bestowed his Lord's Kiss upon her.
She began to tremble, then shake as her toes curled and her head fell back. She cried out his name before her body exploded with wave after wave of pleasure.
He could still feel the stray shudders of pleasure dancing through her as he pulled away. He had to, for in truth, he could wait no longer.
She felt him move away and opened her eyes. Gendry stood before her in all his magnificence, his cock standing proud, waiting and she instinctively knew what he wanted. She pushed her self up, reaching out and carefully touching it, tracing the ridge of its head, running her fingertip over the drop of fluid oozing from the tip. He drew in a sharp breath and placed his hand firmly over hers, wrapping his fingers around hers, so she had no choice but to move her hand forward and back and again, as he showed her what he wanted. She had never touched anything like it before. It was velvet soft and hard as steel and she knew now why she was wet between her legs; she was wet for him, for this and she was ready.
"I want you inside me now."
"Are you sure Arya? For this is a serious choice we make here." His voice was a harsh whisper.
"I am sure."
He lay down beside her, letting his hand slide between her legs, slowly spreading the wetness from her and from his kisses between every fold, reawakening the fire that had barely subsided. Then he moved between her legs and she tensed, knowing what was coming, knowing it would hurt but wanting him too badly to care. She felt the tip of his cock against her entrance. She was ready, why did he wait? She was trembling with need for him and she gripped his buttocks, trying to draw him in to her, to fill this aching need she had for him.
"Please now Gendry," she urged.
Still he delayed. "We must be married before the next moon Arya, for I will not risk fathering a bastard."
She screwed her eyes shut and made an indecipherable sound.
"Say you will marry me Arya."
Why did he have to ask her now?
"I will drink moon tea. There is no need for you to wed me."
"I will not take your maidenhead without your promise."
"Then do not ask me for I will not give it."
She lifted her hips to him, pleading, but even after The Lord's Kiss and in the heat of her passion; she would not give him what he wanted most.
His need for her was unbearable, pulsing through every vein in his body. He had been hard for her since he had laid eyes on her in the training yard and a man could only take so much. He closed his eyes and lifted away from her, letting his cock slide over her stomach before he moved against her again and again spilling his seed on her belly as she gripped his buttocks murmuring "I cannot, I cannot" over and over.
As soon as he was finished, he rolled away and onto his back. He lay there for a few moments, devastated, trying to work out what to do next. Why would she not give in and take him as her husband? He felt humiliated, bereft, as if someone had just cut his heart from his chest.
He stood up, unable to look at her, aching with hurt and disappointment. As he pulled on his britches and as she never said a word, the space where his heart had been filled with ice. He pulled on his boots and reached for his shirt, finally standing up to look at her. She had pulled the cover over herself and was staring at him with cold, grey eyes.
Letting her hear the harsh chill in his words, he said "I have made my position clear to you from the beginning Arya. I want a wife, a home and children. If you do not want the same, then there can be nothing between us."
"I do not want the same."
"Then I shall bid you farewell." He ground out through clenched teeth.
Gendry picked up his sword and scabbard from the chair, buckling his belt as he walked to the door.
He left her there and he did not look back.
This one owes a lot to Brazilian Guy. When I wanted it all, he made me wait.
Until next Friday…