Chapter Twenty-one

That night, Tyrion stripped himself down to just his tunic before donning his robe and leaving his chamber to visit Sansa. Unlike the previous times he had gone to her bed, he knew that this time there would be no chance of her rejecting him. Even though Sansa was still unsure of herself, Tyrion knew this was something they both wanted, and for the first time since they'd been wed, he was actually looking forward to lying with her. For once, it wouldn't be torture or a chore. He wanted her, and she wanted him – even if she couldn't quite admit it yet.

Tyrion stood outside Sansa's door, trying to keep his emotions under control. Although he was filled with nervous excitement, he knew that he had to project an air of complete calm for his bride. Whatever she needed, he would give her. And anything she didn't want to do, he would gladly back away from. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be glad of the choice she had made. He would do anything to make the encounter pleasurable for her.

Once his excitement was sufficiently tamped down, Tyrion finally knocked. Sansa quickly bid him enter, and a moment later, he was inside her bedchamber, the door closed behind him.

He looked up at Sansa. She was standing in the center of the room, dressed in just her nightshift, her bright hair laying wildly about her shoulders. She looked magnificent! How Tyrion longed for her to strip off her shift and bare her body before him. He would never ask her to do such a thing, of course, but he wished it just the same. On their wedding night, he had caught a brief glimpse of her naked body, and it had been glorious. So glorious, in fact, that it still haunted his dreams.

Tyrion's cock was already hard as he moved closer to his wife. "Good evening, Sansa," he said, stopping a comfortable distance away from her.

"Good evening, Tyrion."

She seemed calmer than she ever had before on one of these occasions. Of course, he could still feel the nervous energy radiating off of her, but it was different this time. There was less fear in her eyes now and more expectancy.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her to lower herself to her knees, so that they were at an even height, and kiss her senseless. But he knew that wasn't an option. He needed to take things slowly. He needed to be patient with her.

They stood there in awkward silence, neither one saying a word. Finally, Tyrion felt he had no choice but to speak, lest they stand there all night, staring at each other. "Would you care to join me?" he said, motioning toward the bed.

Sansa nodded. She moved across the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and then slipping her legs beneath the covers. She did not lie down. She simply sat there, watching him, as he walked around to the other side of the bed, discarded his robe, and climbed the short staircase. He settled himself on the mattress, sitting up beside Sansa, his eyes drawn to her face.

It was a joy to see her so at ease, under the circumstances. It had taken a long time, but Tyrion finally felt as if she truly did trust him. There was a connection between them that hadn't been there two days earlier, and he was grateful for it.

Tyrion wanted to start slowly, to take his time with her. He hoped that she would let him.

Without a word, he reached for her hand. He brought it to his lips, just as he had done that morning, and gently kissed her bare skin. Sansa didn't even flinch. She simply watched him, their eyes locked the entire time. Then, he turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her palm. Sansa inhaled a sharp breath, and Tyrion smiled. He kissed her again, this time, sweeping out the tip of his tongue to taste her.

Sansa instantly pulled her hand away, and Tyrion looked up at her in surprise.

"I . . . I'm sorry," she stammered, "I just didn't expect . . . that."

"It's all right. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Sansa shook her head. "No, no, you didn't. Please," she held her hand out to him again, "continue."

Tyrion was pleased that she was willing to let him try again. He cradled her hand gently in his own and lowered his head, kissing the sensitive flesh of her palm softly. Then, he used his tongue again, and he felt her stiffen.

Tyrion had no desire to make her uncomfortable. He knew that any new sensation was difficult for her and that he had to tread cautiously.

He directed his attention to her palm for only a moment more before moving higher to kiss the pulse at her wrist.

Sansa moaned softly, and Tyrion knew it was safe to continue. He kissed his way along the exposed flesh of her arm, all the way up to the soft skin at the bend of her elbow. He placed a few gentle kisses there, then leaned back and looked up at his new bride.

Her eyes were dark with desire, and Tyrion couldn't have been more pleased. He wanted her to want him. It meant more to him than anything in the world.

"Sansa, I—"

But he didn't get to finish. Sansa leaned forward, and without any warning, pressed her lips against his.

Tyrion nearly fell backwards, but he steadied himself, leaning into her. He doubted she knew much about kissing, and there was so much he wanted to teach her.

Gently, he began to move his lips against hers, and Sansa instantly pulled back a hairsbreadth, breaking contact. She was so close to him that he could feel her breath fluttering against his lips. He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss her again, but he would not do so until she was ready.

It did not take long for Sansa to regain her composure. Slowly, she inched forward, allowing her lips to brush softly against his. Then, she moved her hand to his cheek, holding him there, as she kissed him in earnest.

Tyrion couldn't hold back any longer. He entwined his fingers in Sansa's hair, drawing her closer. He kissed her with a passion he hadn't felt in more years than he could count. When he swept his tongue inside her mouth, Sansa whimpered but didn't pull away. She welcomed him inside, and he nearly came right then and there. He wanted to take things slowly with her, but every time she showed the least bit of enthusiasm for his touch, his body threatened to betray him. He needed to get himself under control, and yet, he couldn't drag himself away from her kiss.

Tyrion lowered Sansa to the bed, never breaking contact. She moved her fingers into his hair, holding him close. He had never wanted anyone more. Had circumstances been different, he would have simply gotten on top of her and taken her right then. But he couldn't. He wanted his chance to explore her while she was still willing. He feared that, once they had both found fulfilment, she would oust him from her bed and he wouldn't have a chance to touch her again for another moonturn.

Without his lips ever leaving hers, Tyrion moved one hand lower, trailing his fingers along her neck and down past her collarbone. He wanted to touch her breasts, but he feared how she would react. He held his breath as his hand swept lower, gently gliding over one firm mound.

Sansa gasped, her whole body tensing, and Tyrion was forced to end the kiss.

He hovered over her, their faces mere inches apart. "Relax, Sansa. I'm not going to hurt you."

It took her a moment, but finally, she nodded her acceptance. An instant later, she exhaled, relaxing back against the mattress.

Tyrion wasn't sure if he should kiss her again or concentrate his attentions elsewhere. He was desperate to see all of her, but he didn't know how she would feel about baring herself before him. Was she ready to expose herself to him completely? He sincerely doubted it.

And yet, he wanted them to move forward, he wanted her to learn how to be free with her body when they were alone together. And so, he kissed her again, gently this time, as his hand moved to cup her breast.

Sansa moaned into his mouth as he began to knead her soft flesh. Tyrion's cock pulsed painfully with unspent desire, but he worked through the pain, concentrating on giving his wife pleasure.

He teased one mound of flesh and then the other, before finally breaking away from her mouth and kissing his way down the length of her neck. He placed a trail of soft, wet kisses along her collarbone and then moved lower to the valley between her breasts, where her nightdress was held together by a single white ribbon. All he had to do to expose her nakedness was untie that ribbon.

Tyrion pulled back and gazed up at Sansa. She stared back at him with worry etched across her brow.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." Tyrion toyed with the ribbon that held her gown together. "But I would very much like to see you naked."

Sansa's skin flushed a shade darker. "Yes, my lord. Whatever you wish."

Tyrion knew her heart was not in her answer. She was only agreeing because she felt it was her duty to do so. He didn't want her to feel an obligation to please him, especially in her bedchamber. "No, Sansa. Not what I wish. What you wish. And if you don't want to show yourself to me, you don't have to. I am not demanding, I am asking. And you are more than welcome to say no."

She didn't answer at first, and he was afraid that he had pushed her too far, that she was going to close herself off from him again, as she had done so many times before. But she didn't. It took her a few thoughtful moments, but finally, she said, "I want you to see me, Tyrion. Please."

Tyrion's heart nearly shattered at that simple word, please. She wanted to be brave, and she wanted him to help her be brave. He could not deny her.

Slowly, he tugged at the ends of the ribbon, his eyes still locked with Sansa's. The knot easily gave way, the ends of the ribbon slipping silently through his fingers. Tyrion held his breath as his gaze drifted downward. With more calm than he felt, he pulled back the fabric on both sides of her gown, revealing her perfect breasts.

Sansa was deathly still as he examined her. Tyrion didn't want to make the ordeal any more difficult for her than it already was, but he couldn't stop himself from staring. Her skin was a flawless ivory, her breasts small but firm. Despite her apprehensions, he could tell that she was highly aroused by the tautness of her dusky nipples. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and Tyrion couldn't have been more elated.

With practiced ease, he reached out and gently caressed one rosy bud with his fingertips. Sansa drew in a sharp breath, her flesh tensing beneath his touch.

Tyrion knew that he could try to calm her with words but that a demonstration of his affections would be much more persuasive. And so, he slowly lowered his head to one erect nipple and drew it into his mouth.

A strangled sob escaped Sansa's throat, but Tyrion ignored it. He teased her flesh with his teeth and tongue, drawing the most delicious sounds of pleasure from his wife. Within moments, her body relaxed, and she finally surrendered to his touch.

When he had finished lavishing one breast with attention, he moved to the other. This time, he felt Sansa's fingers curl into his hair, pulling him closer. He knew she was enjoying what he was doing to her, and he was oh-so-very glad.

Tyrion had never imagined being able to touch Sansa in such a way. Not even after what they had shared the last time they had been in her bed. There was an intimacy in seeing her naked, in kissing her exposed breasts, that went beyond the mere act of coupling. He was glad that she had let him in, that she trusted him enough to give all of herself to him. She was an amazing woman, and he was the luckiest man in all of Westeros.

Sansa was now squirming beneath him, her body begging his for completion. But he wasn't done with her just yet.

Tyrion moved lower, covering the smooth expanse of her stomach with chaste kisses. As he did so, he inched her shift down over her belly and past her thighs. Without any prompting, Sansa kicked the gown free, burying it somewhere beneath the blanket of furs, and suddenly, she was lying naked before him.

Tyrion pulled back so that he could examine his wife in all her glory. She was such a slim creature, lithe and graceful. He had always known that, of course, but seeing her entire body now, he was struck by just how willowy and nubile she was. Her breasts looked even more beautiful from his new vantage point, and the russet curls between her legs beckoned him like a siren's song. Tyrion couldn't help but feel that it was a shame that such perfection was to be wasted on a dwarf. After all, Sansa could have had any man in Westeros. She deserved a strong, strapping knight in her bed, a handsome man with strength and beauty to match her own. Instead, she had ended up with him. She deserved a great deal better.

"What's wrong, Tyrion? Am I not pleasing to you?"

Tyrion's gaze shot to hers. "Of course, you are. Why would you think that?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, self-consciously covering her breasts. "You look . . . displeased."

"No, Sansa, no. I was just thinking that you deserve so much better than an ugly dwarf in your bed. You're too beautiful for me, and I know it."

Sansa sat up then, forcing Tyrion to move aside. She dropped her arms, once again exposing herself to him, her earlier insecurities forgotten. "You are not ugly, Tyrion. You are actually quite handsome. And I don't want any other man in my bed. Only you. Do you understand that?"

"You feel that way now because of all that you've been through and because I'm the only man who's shown you kindness in more years than you can remember. But someday, someday you're going to realize that you could have had so much more."

She shook her head. "Never. No one is ever going to be more patient with me or more understanding. "I . . . I want you, Tyrion. Please."

Tyrion was struck silent. He knew that Sansa liked what he did to her when they were in bed together, but to hear her actually say that she wanted him was more than he had ever imagined possible. His mind returned to that long-ago night, back in King's Landing, when they'd first been wed. That night, he'd told her that he would not share her bed until she wanted him to. That night, the possibility of her ever wanting him to had been so remote that he'd been unable to imagine any scenario in which it might come to pass. But now, now they were here, together, and Sansa wanted him. Tyrion didn't know how to react. He was too overcome with emotion to think clearly.

Tyrion couldn't speak. He could barely even breathe. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss her, and Sansa met him halfway. They kissed until they were both breathless.

"I want you, Tyrion," she whispered again huskily. "Please, take me."

Tyrion very much wanted to lay her back on the bed, crawl between her legs, and give her exactly what she had asked for. But there was something else he wanted more. He wanted her to feel that she had control of the situation, that she was as much in command as he was. And so, he pulled back, leaving a considerable distance between them, and said, "I want you to take me."

Sansa stared at him in confusion. "What?"

"You want me, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you are going to take me this time, not the other way around."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"It's fairly simple. I'll show you."

Tyrion lay back on the mattress, staring up at his wife. Although she was now naked, he was still wearing his tunic. His manhood was fully erect, and it strained at the linen of his shirt, pulling the hem up to the tops of his thighs. "I want you to get on top of me," he said soundly.

Sansa's eyes scanned the length of his body, stopping for just a moment where his eager cock was tenting the fabric of his tunic. When she looked back at Tyrion, she shook her head adamantly. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"But—"

"Do you trust me, Sansa?"

"Yes, but—"

"What happened the last time you trusted me in your bed?"

Her gaze fell from his, and he could see her playing out the memory of their last night together in her mind. The last time he had asked her to trust him, he had gifted her with unimaginable pleasure. He knew she wouldn't deny him now.

"Well?" Tyrion prompted.

She finally looked at him again. "How . . . how do I—?"

"Exactly how you think. Come here, Sansa."

He held out his hand to her, and she inched closer.

"Straddle my hips."

She lowered her gaze, her eyes focused on his erection. "I can't. There's no way."

"Yes, you can. It's been inside you before. It will not be difficult or painful. I promise."

Sansa eyed him doubtfully but did as he had instructed. Instead of straddling his hips, however, she straddled his legs, obviously afraid to impale herself on his cock.

"Good girl," he said. "Now, lift the hem of my tunic."

Sansa stiffened, but Tyrion was determined to help her push past her apprehension.

"You can do it. You're a married woman now. There's nothing shameful in it."

Sansa reached for the hem of his shirt. It took her a moment, but she was finally able to move it upward, revealing his engorged shaft. Sansa stared at it, her eyes examining every last inch, and Tyrion squirmed beneath her scrutiny. His manhood was far from a thing of beauty, and he was quite surprised that she had taken such an interest in it. He had expected her to look away as soon as he'd been exposed.

Sansa reached out a tentative hand, and Tyrion held his breath, waiting to see what she would do. With the gentleness of a feather, she caressed his heated flesh, and he nearly came that very instant.

"Sansa," he called out in a strained voice.

She pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't be sorry. I am delighted that you want to touch me, but not now, not this time. If you do, I may not last until I am inside you, and this whole exercise will be for naught."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, but finally, he saw understanding dawn behind her pretty blue eyes. "Then what would you have me do, Tyrion?"

"Lower yourself onto me. You can do it."

Sansa still looked doubtful, but she did as she was told. She moved forward, so that her hips were just above his, then slowly lowered herself down onto his cock.

Sansa gasped as she settled herself on top of him. She stared at Tyrion in wonder, obviously amazed that she'd been able to do as he'd instructed. Tyrion willed himself not to come. He wanted her to enjoy herself first. She deserved to take her pleasure from him, and he was determined to do everything he could to make that happen.

"Now," Tyrion managed, the words nearly strangled from his throat, "ride me."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"As you would a horse," he provided.

Sansa made no further protest. It seemed their present position had left her utterly speechless. So, instead of talking, she began to move. At first, her movements were tentative. He could tell that she feared her weight would crush him, but he was heartier than that.

"You need not be afraid of hurting me, Sansa. I am a lot sturdier than I look. Just lose yourself. Take your pleasure, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Trust me."

By now, those two little words worked like magic with his wife. Her body finally relaxed, and she began to find her rhythm. It was slow at first but soon escalated to a frenzied pace. She threw her head back, pushing her breasts forward as she rode him hard, striving for her own release. Despite the ribbing she had received only two days earlier about her enthusiasm in the bedchamber, she couldn't hold back her cries of ecstasy. She was as impassioned as ever, and it was glorious.

Tyrion was thoroughly entranced by the sight of her, her red hair haloing around her like flames as she took her pleasure. He dug his fingertips into her legs, desperate to hold out until she climaxed, but she was making it nearly impossible. Just the sight of her was enough to make him come, so he shut his eyes as tightly as he could and waited for her to reach her peak.

When she finally came, she called out his name, and that was enough to drive Tyrion over the edge. His entire world shattered in a single instant, and he lost himself inside of her.

It took Tyrion a moment to drift back into consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Sansa hovering above him, her head down, her hair cascading over his chest. He reached out his hand and placed it on the crown of her head, stroking her hair softly.

Sansa looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, afraid to know the answer.

A small smile graced her lips. "Yes," she replied.

Tyrion sighed in relief. "Good. I'm glad."

Sansa moved off of him then and settled herself beside him on the bed. Just as he had done the time before, he reached down and pulled the blankets up over them for modesty's sake. Now, he was just waiting for Sansa to ask him to leave. He counted the moments, savoring each one.

"Why did you ask me to do that?" she asked, surprising him.

Tyrion turned so that he could look at her. Sansa was curled up on her side, her cheek resting against her pillow.

"I wanted you to have control for once. You and I are equals, Sansa, in everything. I wanted you to understand, without any doubt, that you have as much power in this relationship as I do."

"How did you know I could do that?"

Tyrion smiled. "You are capable of a great many things, Sansa Stark. The least of which is riding your husband."

She blushed but didn't look away. "Thank you, Tyrion."

"For what?"

"For being so kind to me. For being so patient."

He shook his head. "That's not something to thank me for. A man should always be kind and patient with his wife. I'm just doing my duty."

"It's more than that, and we both know it."

Tyrion's heart thumped painfully in his chest. For a moment, he thought she was going to accuse him of being in love with her, just as Arya had done the day before. The problem was, if she did, he knew he wouldn't be able to deny it. Not anymore. Tyrion didn't know when it had happened, but at some point, he'd fallen in love with his wife. The truth was, he didn't know if it had happened here at Winterfell or back in King's Landing. All he knew was, he felt as if he'd loved her his entire life. And even if it meant a future full of heartbreak and unrequited love, he couldn't deny the truth any longer. At least, not to himself.

"I . . . I don't know what you mean," Tyrion stammered.

"You're not kind to me because it's your duty, you're kind to me because you're a good man, Tyrion Lannister. I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner."

Tyrion exhaled a relieved sigh. "I think you realized that long before tonight."

"Yes, but I wish I had realized it back in King's Landing. I should have trusted you more then, and I'm sorry I didn't."

"You had every right not to trust me. Trust is something earned over time. So is a good opinion. All that matters is that you have a good opinion of me now. The past is the past."

"And I am happy to leave it behind."

"So am I."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and again Tyrion wondered when she was going to ask him to leave. He didn't want to go, but he knew, despite what they had just shared, that they weren't lovers, they were just friends with a duty to perform. And so, overcome by the awkward silence, Tyrion said, "I should probably be going. I'm sure you want to get some sleep."

He turned to move off the bed, but Sansa's hand on his arm stopped him. "Please, stay."

Tyrion turned back toward her. "Are you sure? I know you usually prefer to be alone afterwards."

"I don't. I truly don't. I want you to stay the night. Please."

Tyrion couldn't deny her anything, nor did he want to. He settled back onto his side so that he could look at his beautiful bride. He took her hand and gently kissed each one of her fingers. "I am a very lucky man," he said, more to himself than to Sansa.

"You are not the only one the gods have chosen to bless. I could not have asked for a better husband."

Tyrion looked up at her in surprise. "You can't mean that."

"But I do. You're sweet and gentle, kind and intelligent. The entire North admires you, and rightfully so. You have done wonders here at Winterfell and for all the people of the North. You are a thoughtful and careful ruler, and you have done nothing but show me patience and understanding. How could I ever want anything more in a husband?"

"Well, I can think of a few things I'm lacking."

"Like what?"

"Like a good couple of feet in height, for one."

Sansa laughed. "You worry far too much about your height. No one calls you the Imp anymore, with good reason. So, besides that, what else do you lack?"

He wanted to say her love, but he couldn't do it. He would never ask for her love in return for his, because he knew she could never give it. So, he answered, "I suppose nothing. But I'm sure if I were less exhausted I'd think of something."

Sansa giggled. He'd never heard her giggle before. It was absolutely enchanting.

"Well, perhaps you can think of something on the morrow," she said. "But for now, you must agree that you are a wonderful husband."

"I'll agree to adequate, not wonderful."

"Extraordinary?"

"Serviceable," he countered.

Sansa laughed again. "Very well, we shall agree to disagree." She leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against his lips. "Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa."

She turned her back toward him then and settled down into the mattress. Tyrion stayed just as he was, staring at his wife, thoroughly amazed by her. Gods, how he loved her! He just wished he'd have the chance to tell her one day. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Sansa. If only she were capable of loving him in return.