A/N: As promised, Sansa makes her move - meaning we are entering the smutty part! The chapter changed a lot in comparison to its initial draft; it always surprises me how much this story evolves between the moment of writing to the moment of publishing. Hopefully, it is for the better!

Hope you enjoy! Remember to take care of yourself in this mad world!

In the following days, mygrayn didn't reappear, although Sansa could still experience some of its effects: she was more tired than usual and occasionally nauseated. It didn't stop her from making her plans with the maester real. Working with someone felt refreshing: his knowledge was deeply needed and she felt wiser and smarter with every passing day.

There were still no final answers from the small houses she had sent ravens to, but she didn't feel discouraged. No wonder they needed time to process the offer and weigh the possible benefits against the risks of allowing the Boltons into their households.

The first answer arrived in a fortnight - a letter from Ser Osbern. He was a landed knight, granted a small keep a few-days ride from Winterfell for his loyalty and achievements on a battlefield. The knights were rare to come upon in the North, but there were a few exceptions. Though his missive was still reluctant in tone, he wrote about much-needed help with his crops, rebuilding his keep in face of Winter, and lifting the morale of his people regarding the coming wars. He "cordially" invited lady Stark to his household; Sansa felt a sting of uncertainty at the words. She was being addressed as lady Stark, not lady Bolton, and there was no mention of Roose. Of course, the man knew she wouldn't be traveling alone, as she had made herself quite clear in her letter, but that was not the point: she feared her husband's reaction at the fact of being entirely omitted from the invitation. Maybe she could tell him the news without having to show him the answer?

Apparently, she wasn't alone in her concerns - upon reading the letter Wolkan looked at her solemnly, and she knew they understood each other wordlessly. Folding the parchment in her hands, she took a deep breath and ventured to Roose's study, holding the missive the way it would remain hidden from her husband's view.

Much to her distaste, he wanted to see it for himself. Of course he did; otherwise, it would mean he trusted her, and that wasn't a possible option. Did he even believe in the existence of trust between two separate individuals?

She watched him carefully as he read the missive, her heart in her throat, cursing her inability to truly see through him. Never before had she met a person who would be such a closed book.

"We'll travel on the morrow," he announced without even a look at her face, handing her the parchment back. She donned a thankful smile nonetheless.

"Thank you, my lord."

Her spirits were visibly elevated when she returned to Wolkan. The maester's eyes shone in joy seeing her smile, and they both threw themselves into work with newly regained strength.

Sansa had no idea what to expect from these visits, but somehow she felt hopeful. Roose had promised her not to punish the lords for their previous disobedience, and she truly wanted to believe he could keep his word. Otherwise, she will be the reason for the Northmen's misery, and she doubted she would be able to stand it. Maybe it was foolish on her part to believe anything he had said. However, there was no other choice for her but to believe.

She was in a good enough mood to put some of her other plans into practice the night before their departure.

Since her readings on the topic, she had tried her best to open her body to all the sensations it had been receiving and producing. Before the initiative, she had needed to become more aware of her reactions, of what was exactly going on during their encounters. She just needed to know. Without fear, she felt more, sensed more: like the scratching of his stubble on her thighs, his breath on her intimate parts that alone made her shiver, the occasional gentle caresses on her skin that his fingers seemed to be doing by accident. It all felt. It all burnt in this too-right-to-be-wrong or too-wrong-to-be-right way, she wasn't certain which one. Without pain, she had managed to chase and reach her pleasure in time with him, sometimes even before, with his additional help or without it. Moreover, recently her sensations had started to become even more intense, just like her body had become highly sensitive for the reasons unknown to her. Without tension, she had started guessing his moods through the ways he claimed her, and the number of words they exchanged during his visits. There had been times it was barely "my lady" spoken once or twice, but also those when they actually exchanged some coherent sentences, on business, war, or Winter. Not yet pleasure, but she had to change that. He had never been rough with her, but if something went wrong in the wide world she had known that from the quicker, more impatient pace of his thrusts, and less attention to the pleasures themselves - it had been only business. Usually, though, it hadn't.

Most of the time she had undressed herself, without his assistance, some lost chance hanging in the air between them, heavy in her mind. She had to try all the more to overcome it.

Opening her body and becoming more aware of everything had forced her to look at him during the act. It had been difficult to avert her eyes from the hearth for the first time and stare at him, but she had managed to do so. Moreover, she had discovered that the sight they represented as he lapped at her folds, her thighs clenched around his head, was rather... arousing. Of course, he had noticed the change in her behavior and saw to it that his eyes never left hers whenever he was bringing her to the edge. As long as she consciously could do that before crumbling away, she stared right back at him, her chest heaving, her intimate parts completely at his mercy. It had been slightly more difficult to look at him during the other part. Once again, she had found it might be slightly easier if she allowed her mouth to join the play, but still refused to do so. She had seen his eyes slightly darkening, noticed his breath speeding, and witnessed as the pleasure changed his face into more... human. He was, all in all, just a man, with manly desires and needs.

Somehow, Sansa found all those observations rather fascinating. Despite not being able to decipher him during the day, she realized she could develop such skill during the night. Yes, her knowledge on this field was limited, but the actions, sensations, and emotions there were purely physical, therefore not as complicated or controlled. They were primal and untamed, coming and going as they pleased, easy to study, memorize, and copy if she ever felt the need to do so. She could tell herself her own part was all about pretending, but the truth was she did not fake anything in the darkness of the night. Her moans were her own, her pleasures truly wrecking over her with a force of thunder. There was no denying it.

That night, she felt ready to take the next step, and her good mood could only facilitate it. Whatever would happen tomorrow, she will for sure leave the castle walls and venture into the snow. Even though she had been told repeatedly she wasn't a prisoner, she definitely felt like one, suffocating at the fact she wasn't allowed outside of Winterfell, and that apart from her chamber could never be alone. The journey would be beneficial for her body and soul alike, and maybe could even help her stomach get over whatever it was suffering from.

She was quite positive Roose would pay her a visit this night - they were venturing into the world the next day, so no encounters for them for days, or maybe even weeks to come.

She thought right, as soon after the darkness fell there was a knock at the door. Even though she was ready to act on her plans, the moment Roose entered her chamber her cheeks turned red. She wanted to be confident, pretending she knew what she was doing, even though she basically had no idea. The task would prove to be rather difficult, as the deep shame was still there, pestering her mind and hindering her actions. There was a nervous knot in her stomach, her throat becoming dry; but she could do it, she could conquer the shame and all the reservations and just act.

She wouldn't be Sansa Stark if she didn't at least try.

She stood up and faced him, her heart beating loudly somewhere in her throat, her cheeks painted a deep crimson; but she held her head high, and her eyes were strong, boring into his. There had to be a different aura around her because he stopped short before her, something in his glance changing.

"I'd like to try something else tonight." Her voice was steady and confident, even though she felt as if Septa Mordane would come through the door any moment and berate her for even thinking that way, not to mention saying it aloud.

Roose didn't react in any way, only watching her closely for a while. Sansa felt unease spreading throughout her; had her assumptions been wrong from the very start?

"By all means, my lady."

Relief flooded her, but she did her best not to show it, nodding her head with the same unaffected expression instead. She was given a free hand to do what she wanted. Did she know how she wanted it, though?

Trust your body, she thought, trying to steady her breathing. Trust your body and close your mind. Simple as that. Why was she so nervous exactly? She knew how to proceed. If anything, it could be a new type of pleasure. So why fret about it if she could truly do what she wanted?

Breathe.

"May you... lie down...?" Her voice was still steady, but she couldn't stop a trace of anxiety from seeping into her words. Saying that her cheeks were scarlet red would be a severe understatement, as she felt them burning much more than ever. No amount of confidence she could evoke would help her erase that flush; nonetheless, she wasn't going to let him see what was going on inside her.

Something like a flicker of amusement found its way into his eyes; even though it momentarily enraged her, it was a good sign, meaning he didn't suspect her of any foul play. Quite probably, internally he was mocking her for her slightly awkward attempts. She bit down on her indignation; she was trying her best to retain her dignity in a situation highly unfamiliar and thus uncomfortable. She was a lady, she hadn't been taught to fuck or seduce. She had always been meant to be a lord's or a prince's obedient wife, and the lessons from her septa, severed so abruptly, had always claimed the ladies were to behave properly in their bedchambers. Well. It wasn't in accordance with her plan, whatever proper ladies were doing during their private time with their husbands. Maybe she will never learn what it truly was or should be. In another life, she might have been someone's obedient, patient, and kind wife, satisfied with her life as it would be.

But it wasn't this life.

This life demanded to be bold. And if this was the easiest - though it was far from being easy - way to get in her husband's good graces, then so be it. Whatever she would have to sacrifice to get what she wanted, she no longer cared. She will do whatever it took.

Roose shed his outer furs and did as he was told, awaiting her move. She didn't undress as she was already wearing only her nightgown and nothing underneath it that could halt her movements. Her heart still beating wildly, she climbed onto the bed from its foot, sitting on her heels between her husband's legs. It felt highly peculiar to be in such a position, and she allowed herself to just stare at him for a moment, trying to make it look like a deliberate delay, almost a tease. He didn't make a move, patiently waiting for her next step, returning her gaze.

What gave her more confidence was the fact she could be the master of the situation this way; she had never even imagined how much the power shifted depending on the position. Lying down, she felt like prey, giving up her body as an offering for him to take, to use as he pleased. Being the one on the opposite side made her feel stronger, surprisingly so. Despite her inexperience, she reveled in the sensation, wondering why she hadn't done it before. Her hands did not shake as she reached for the strings of his breeches; unlacing them one by one, she tried once again to close her mind and let the body take control. There was no place for the mind here; only the physical needs mattered, and that overwhelming power which threatened to intoxicate her with its raw strength.

How peculiar it was they had already done so much and she had seen so little of him, she mused absent-mindedly; it had been her own choice, though. When she was finally done with the strings, she pulled the material down, and he helped her get it off him by lifting his hips. And then she was left with staring at him for the first time.

For a while that was the only thing she did - just stared.

How on seven hells did it fit inside her? How could it go into her every second night without damaging her entirely? How was she even able to walk afterwards?

How...?

She risked a look at his face; he was casually watching her, something like a half-smirk on his face, with a hint of... pride?

Well. If that was what men cared about, she suspected he might have a thing to be proud of.

Hesitantly, her eyes returned to his manhood. Maybe she should call it by its true name, but one change at a time seemed like a better approach. She wasn't yet ready to touch it or actually do anything more creative than taking it inside her, so she just moved up his body until her intimate parts landed exactly above his, her skirts spreading around them like a bright wave. First, she brushed her bare folds against him; such a simple act was enough to light up the fire and discard all the remnants of shame, making her neck arch, eyes closed, hands coming to rest on his chest - a first time she had truly touched him, though this fact was lost on her at the moment. She could feel him reacting as well, hardening beneath her, his hands traveling to her hips. For some time she just repeated the motion, her own wetness coating him until she knew she was ready. Leaning against him for leverage, she moved up to slowly lower herself onto him until she took him whole and for a moment just stayed still, overwhelmed by the sensations. The stretch felt different, everything felt different; she had never experienced such fullness. Everything seemed new - the depth, the angle, his touch on her hips, her hands on his chest, the surge of control, his utter stillness as he didn't move an inch, handing her the reins. She breathed deeply, slowly, with her eyes closed, getting used to it all. Eventually, her gaze met his for one fleeting moment, and the sight of dark lust in his irises managed to shut down her mind entirely.

It was her play, and she was going to utilize it to the fullest.

She moved up and down experimentally, whimpering, biting her lower lip as she was steadily giving in to her body's needs. The world was forgotten as she established the right pace for her, up and down, her knees widening, her hands putting her whole weight on his chest - that will definitely leave a trace - her frame leaning slightly down, so there was enough friction on her burning bundle with her every movement as their pelvises crashed. Soon she found herself speeding up, the pressure inside her building and building, reaching somewhere deep, somewhere she didn't think she had ever felt before. Forgetting she wasn't alone in the room, she completely surrendered to what her body wanted, moving in a frenzy, gasping and moaning, her mind clouded by pure lust, her nails digging into the fabric of his tunic. A few more rounds up and down and she came with a cry, clenching around him in the most pleasurable way possible, riding her release until there was nothing left.

Finally, she remembered to breathe and opened her eyes, closed the whole time, to get reminded it wasn't a one-actor play. Or rather wasn't supposed to be, in theory. She found herself leaning directly above Roose, dangerously close to his face, her hands still on his chest, her hair dangling between them. He was looking at her, the smirk still present on his face as he reached up and put a wild curl behind her ear. She didn't move, staring down at him, panting.

"That was an interesting experience," he commented, his eyes still dark, but also somewhat sparkling.

She frowned, the tone of his voice giving her no clue as to what that "interesting" could truly mean. Her mind back where it belonged, she suddenly didn't feel comfortable with her position, and quickly straightened to finally ease him out of her. Gazing down she realized he was still hard and oozing, slick with her juices.

"You didn't..." She gestured at him, the tips of her ears turning red. He didn't expect her to do anything about it, did he? She definitely wasn't ready for taking any additional steps this night. Only now did she realize that by giving her a free hand at the act he had truly lived up to it, moving ever so slightly, doing almost nothing to reach his pleasure, or to help her achieve hers. Not that she needed any help this time.

That had proved to be not particularly well planned on her part - winning him over with pleasure demanded him reaching it thanks to her, not the other way around. Therefore, if he insisted on finishing inside her she didn't mind. She had already satisfied her needs both physically and mentally, by showing him she would have her say in the bedchamber as well as everywhere else.

"No. But it is enough for today."

She watched him, slightly dumbfounded, as he moved out of the bed, dressed up, and bid her his usual farewell before leaving the chamber.

Still confused, Sansa quickly cleaned herself and lay down, thinking. The night went well, but she had been certain he would wish to continue until his needs were satisfied as well. Besides, it was all about getting her pregnant, wasn't it? He wouldn't achieve it if he didn't spill inside her, or that was what she believed was right, which considering her very limited knowledge on the topic might not have been true. Assuming it was, however, it meant today somehow didn't revolve around getting her pregnant... but pleasure itself? Her pleasure? He could have easily continued their encounter but had chosen not to. Why?

This was supposed to be her night, and yet he still managed to mess in her mind. Frustrated, Sansa finally drifted into sleep, sweet sleep of a thousand pleasures, this time within her grasp.