Her breath caught in her throat.
She's only came in to hand him the towel, the thick square of material the innkeeper had given her. She'd came in with the square pressed to her chest, only to be met with the sight of Sandor's back. Muscled and scarred, cris-crossed with battle wounds. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, mouth hung agape from seeing the rippling muscles, the hard abdomen that made him resembled an Adonis. The dark hair on his chest climbed down to where the steamy water settles, just below his hip bones. His large feet rested on the rim of the big brass tub. "It's hot, little bird."
Sansa said nothing. Her throat was too dry, her tongue too fat in her mouth to speak.
Sandor craned his neck and grinned, grey eyes glinting. "You should come in before it gets cool."
"I would think not." Sansa said, sternly. Her cheeks grew hot when he groaned, shifting his hips upwards. His manhood became engorged, the tip peeking just below the water until it grew. He reached below as if it was nothing, smiling cruelly at her. He placed a thick fist around his cock, moving his palm up and down. Sansa's knees became weak. "D-Do you have to do . . . That."
Sandor stretched out, muscles flexing in the candlelight. "I wouldn't have to if you weren't a damned virgin." And then he reached out to grab the soap from the little table, his hand uncovering his cock, a cock that Sansa couldn't help but look at it.
It was huge. Almost the length of her forearm, just as thick as her wrist. It sprung proudly from a nest of thick, dark curls. There was something between her legs that grew hot and empty; an urge to fill herself with something grew.
When Sandor spoke, it was frustrated. "Are you going to watch me?" He spat, turning to face her, eyes dark. "-or are you going to help? Because, bugger your maidenhead, I'll sit you on my cock right now."
His head fell back when he stretched his hand down. "Little bird?" His words were throaty, deep and rough, like stone scraping against gravel. She came to him, legs moving as if of their own accord. She swallowed hard. "Sandor-"
Sandor replied in a sly way. His strong arms suddenly grabbed her around the waist and dragged her straight into the tub. Her soaked dress was the only thing keeping her away from Sandor's abject nakedness. "You bastard!"
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, capturing her mouth in a silent, smiling kiss. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she yielded against his chest, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She didn't know if she liked having him kiss her like that.
He slipped his hand beneath both them to grasp her hips, position herself atop him so that her legs were straddling him. "You wouldn't dare." She warned, and his dark brow raised.
"You were the one suggesting it, little bird." And he shoved the bar of white soap into her hands. She dropped it, the little square too slippy, her hands too careless. It slipped into the water below, the water that was piled high by bubbles from sansa's lemon soap. "Go on." He prompted, a smile playing upon his lips. "Grab it."
The soap or his . . .? Sansa blinked and, her chest heaving with the burden of her lewd thoughts, she nodded slowly. "Alright, I will."
She reached below the water but couldn't find the soap. She touched him and he shivered, stopping the moan from leaving his lips when he realised, but she'd already heard him. Sansa smiled, cheeks growing hot. "You're dirty." She said, shifting so she could get comfortable.
"Then clean me."
"I can't find the soap." She gritted out, eyes flashing with hidden ire. His hand went round the back of her head and knotted itself in her mucky hair. "Use your mouth, little bird."