Sandor's first inclination was to snarl at the bloody maid and tell her he had done nothing to the little bird that she didn't want. His temper spiked and he opened his mouth to lay into her, but thought better of it when he caught sight of Sansa.
She was...breathtaking. He had the urge to push the maid out of the room and go back to what they were doing before they were interrupted. Her hair, which she had failed to tie back or plait before coming to his room, was a mess. Some of her curls were plastered to her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her sweet little mouth was red and swollen. Her robe had come undone and beneath that, he could see the thin chemise, doing little to hide the shape of her hard nipples.
His cock twitched in interest, so he quickly looked away from her, admitting that perhaps the maid had a right to her accusatory question.
Sansa closed her eyes and took a breath before addressing the maid. "Kari, is it?" Sansa asked. The maid nodded. "Right, I know this doesn't look, erm, proper, but…"
The maid's eyes darted to Sandor and she took a step toward Sansa. "We can go to Lord Snow right now, my lady. I can tell him…"
"No!" Sansa hissed, glaring at the girl. "That is unnecessary."
"But my lady…"
"Nothing improper has happened here," Sansa insisted.
Sandor rolled his eyes. Sansa's lying had improved, that much was true, but she was standing in front of a servant looking properly debauched and telling the girl that nothing improper had occurred. She would have done better to just admit they'd been fooling around.
The maid's eyes swung back and forth between Sandor and Sansa, clearly not buying what Sansa was trying to sell. Sandor watched with some amusement as Sansa seemed to lose her patience as the maid kept standing there. He could see her temper fighting with her good manners.
"May I ask why you're still here?" Sansa said through gritted teeth.
"Oh, I came for Clegane's dishes," Kari said, and scampered over to collect them. She kept shooting Sandor worried glances as though he'd pounce on her at any moment and wring her neck.
The idea did have its merits.
The maid finally left the two of them alone, but Sandor stood in the same spot, watching Sansa carefully. Her eyes were on him too, bright blue boring into him as if she could see everything in his head. Mayhaps she could - not that there were any secrets left. He had spilled everything to her earlier when he'd let his guard down.
But gods, she had told him she was in love with him. And looking at her now as she stared at him- it wasn't as though Sandor could claim to be an expert on what a woman in love looked like, but she was certainly looking at him with some kind of feeling. It looked like what he felt for her.
"Why have you not closed and barred the door?" She asked softly, a small smile on her lips.
When he looked back on it later, Sandor knew he should have kicked her out right then. While he certainly had a history of visiting her in her rooms, she had never come to his room, and during his visits, Sansa had been fully dressed. They had almost been caught. He had managed to separate himself from Sansa in time, so the maid couldn't truthfully claim to have actually seen anything, but he wasn't sure it mattered considering Sansa's state of undress. The smart thing would have been to turn her out.
But he didn't.
He walked purposefully to the door, closed and barred it. Then he turned back to her, unsure what to say, only knowing that he had no desire for her to leave. She was still giving him that look, all soft eyes and parted lips and he was weak for her. And he was tired of pretending she didn't affect him.
He closed the space between them in a stride and he was holding her once again, his arms circling her waist beneath her robe, his mouth crashing to hers. Her hands cupped each side of his face, holding him tenderly and wasn't that curious? No one had ever shown him tenderness, no one but her, and he knew this was part of the power she held over him.
Sandor had never been overly fond of kissing before, but it usually stemmed from trying to keep his face as far away from his partner as possible. With Sansa, he found that he could do this all day and night. The way she tasted, her response to his mouth on hers, it was a heady thing. He couldn't have let her go if he'd wanted to.
He had maintained admirable control over his body so far, if only in the sense that he'd kept a careful distance between his hips and Sansa. He'd been hard since she had uttered the words I want you to kiss me again. But Sandor's overexcited cock was not Sansa's problem, so he had kept himself from pressing against her.
Now, though, she was making the prettiest noises as he licked into her mouth. Now, one of her hands had found its way into his hair, her slender fingers tangling in the strands. Now, he could feel her pebbled nipples pressing into his chest through his tunic. With a hand at the small of her back, he pulled her closer, dimly aware that this would put her in contact with his hardness.
Her startled gasp made him pull back, but she tugged at his hair and pulled him back down to her. The angle was becoming uncomfortable - Sandor was bent at the knees and the waist in order to accommodate Sansa. He guided her back to the bed, having every intention of sitting them down, but when Sansa's legs hit the bed, she lost her balance and collapsed with a soft laugh.
Sandor stood over her for a moment, looking down in awe at the smile stretching across her lovely face and how bright her eyes shined. She readjusted herself so that her head was at his pillow and then held her arms open.
What could he do, but fall into them?
He crawled into the cradle of her legs and covered her body with his. He kept most of his weight off her and braced on his arms, but he didn't shy away from contact with her now. She was soft and warm beneath him, and he took a few moments to look at her. Her copper hair shone against the white of his bedclothes. Her lips were swollen and bruised from his attention, but they had never looked more tempting. He licked at them gently in some bid to soothe the abuse they had taken and she whimpered into his mouth.
"Sansa…" He didn't know what he meant to say - there were so many things he felt and not enough words to form his thoughts.
"Will you-" Her words fell short with a sharp intake of breath. She licked at her lips as she considered what she wanted to ask him. "Can you-"
He pressed a kiss to her chin, then her jaw, and just under her ear. It was meant to reassure her, to let her know he was listening and he would be patient with her for once. But it seemed that she couldn't find the words to convey what it was she was asking. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a breath, as though she were fortifying herself.
Then she rolled her hips against his.
Sansa was not experienced. She only knew what to do in theory, though Myranda Royce had done her best to educate her in this regard. Judging from Sandor's pained groan and the way he buried his face in her neck, she was not too far off the mark in what she was trying to accomplish. So she did it again, and this time, the press of his length against her touched something it hadn't the first time, and she hissed in pleasure, her fingernails digging into Sandor's shoulders.
He was panting against her neck now, his muscles tense beneath her hands as though he was fighting the urge to move. She needed to keep moving though, and she was sure that if he moved with her that the two of them could discover something groundbreaking. She kissed his cheek and nuzzled her nose against his ear.
"Can you move? Please, I-"
Before she could finish the thought, Sandor had pushed his hips into hers, then rolled them up in such a way that had a moan falling from her lips. She was wet between her legs, she could feel it, and she wondered if he could feel it too. She didn't know whether the thought embarrassed or aroused her.
Inexperienced, she was - but not completely stupid. She knew this was leading somewhere. Every press of Sandor's hips against her own promised a steady climb and an inevitable fall. The last remnants of the girl Sansa had once been - the girl who would have shied away from something so scandalous - wanted to hide her flaming cheeks in the pillow as she turned away, wanted to ignore everything she was feeling.
But the woman she was now - the woman who was helplessly in love with the man moving above her, the creature inside her who seemed to be made entirely of desire - craved whatever lay on the other side of this maddening pleasure. She could hardly focus on kissing him, so consumed was she with the sensations rolling through her body.
Then, one of his hands moved from the spot by her head. It trailed down her body, sliding over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, until he reached her thigh. He squeezed it in his huge hand and Sansa would swear the heat of his skin was burning through the fabric of her gown. He tugged at her gown and his hand found the bare skin of her thigh. She gasped into his mouth and, though her eyes were closed, she knew he was smiling, could feel the corners of his lips curl upward against her own.
Of their own accord, her hips lifted, seeking the friction that had been removed when Sandor lifted her gown. A deep, rumbling sound rattled his chest as she whined in frustration. Was he laughing at her? She shifted restlessly, trying to restrain herself from begging him to touch her again. Just as she was about to concede defeat and ask him nicely to put his hands on her, she felt a feather-light brush of his fingers against the gusset of her smallclothes and sucked in a breath.
"Oh," she peeped as she felt her hips jerk involuntarily. She opened her eyes to find that he was staring at her intently, as though he was watching for some kind of sign by reading her expression. If he was looking for hints that he should stop, he wouldn't find them by looking at her. She lifted her hips again, expectantly, and arched a brow in challenge as she stared into his silver-grey eyes.
His mouth twisted in something like a wry smirk and he shook his head. He blew out a breath, then slowly, brushed his fingers against her clothed sex again. And gods, it was everything. She had never felt anything like it. Even the times that Sansa had been brave enough to touch herself down there couldn't compare to him touching her there. When he did it a third time, applying more pressure, Sansa bit into her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
Her fingers dug into the rough material of his tunic, suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel his bare skin. She tugged at it as he watched her in undisguised amusement. She frowned up at him, which only made his mouth twitch into something closer to a real smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose.
"Something you want, little bird?" He rasped.
"Off," she told him, seemingly unable to make the request in a polite manner. Not that it was truly a request. If he didn't start removing clothes immediately, she was not above using her lady's voice to demand that he undress.
He studied her for a few moments, his mouth still turned up in a smirk, then he sat up, reached for the back of his tunic, and shed it obediently. On his knees, hovering over her, Sansa took in the wide breadth of his shoulders, the massive chest, and the tight muscles of his stomach. His torso was covered in soft-looking black hair, interrupted here and there by scars, some small and silvery, others large and pale pink.
She swallowed hard as her eyes trailed down to where the hair disappeared into his breeches. Her mouth went dry as she dropped them lower to the well-defined outline of his manhood. She darted out her tongue to lick at her dry lips, and when she glanced back at Sandor's eyes, she could see that he was watching her mouth. With a rush of bravery, she sat up and pulled her gown over her head, shivering when the cool air touched her naked skin. She lowered herself back to the bed and fought the urge to cover herself.
She was blushing. Turning pink from her cheeks all the way down to her perfect chest. He wanted to touch her, and it seemed like maybe she wanted him to touch her, but he was frozen in place. His fingers curled inward to his palm in an attempt to stop himself from reaching out. She was trembling, though from the cold or from her nerves, he didn't know. Gods, she was beautiful. He'd always known that, but this -
She extended one arm toward him in invitation and what could he do but go to her? He lowered himself over her, his nose brushing against hers a second before he covered her mouth with his. Her lips were full and so soft. Her breasts pressed into his chest, hard little nipples poking into his skin. He lifted a hand to cup her breast, thumbing at the hard peak and she rewarded him with a gasp and an arch of her back.
Encouraged, he pulled his mouth away from hers and dipped his head to her chest. And then he kissed her breast as he would kiss her mouth, lips sucking gently, tongue darting out to swipe against her sensitive flesh. And all the while, she made the prettiest little noises. Breathy gasps and desperate whines and barely choked-back moans.
Gods, he wanted her. Every part of her. Every sound. Every inch of soft flesh. Every needy cry that fell from her lips. Every urgent tug to his hair from her trembling fingers. He hadn't properly had her yet and he already knew he would never get enough.
As he nipped at her breast, his hand trailed back down, fingers skimming her stomach. He stopped when his fingertips met the edge of her smallclothes, pulling off her nipple with a soft pop so he could see her face.
Her blue eyes had gone dark and her full mouth was parted as she breathed heavily, lips red and swollen. He could feel her shaking beneath him, but the little nod she gave him encouraged him to continue. He yanked at the strings of her smallclothes together and the fabric fell open. Without looking down, he grabbed hold of the thin fabric between her legs and tugged it down, then tossed it aside.
He tore his eyes away from her face in favor of letting them travel down her body - her breasts were full and heaving with her uneven breaths, her waist was small, flaring out into shapely hips. Between her legs, a thatch of dark red hair covered her sex, the curls visibly damp from the wetness gathering between her thighs.
Sandor felt like he was burning up with desire. He wanted to put his mouth on her, he wanted to put his cock inside her, he wanted to fuck her until she couldn't walk. But he knew she had never done any of those things, so instead he slowly brought his hand to her thigh, just below where she was so wet for him.
On instinct, her thighs jerked as though to close, but he was sitting between her legs so the action didn't accomplish much. He looked back to her face to find her biting into her lip. She was breathing as though winded. He was prepared to stop, not wanting to spook her, but Sansa must have read the hesitation on his face because with a deep, purposeful breath, she widened her trembling legs and gave a tiny nod.
Sandor drew gentle circles into her thigh with his thumb and then slowly moved upward. His thumb ran along her outer folds, gathering the wetness seeping from her. Her hips jerked as he touched her and she emitted a breathy gasp. He trailed his thumb back down and pressed it against her entrance, not pushing inside precisely, but against her.
She moaned and rolled her hips against his hand, more wetness rushing out of her at the movement. And while Sandor was in complete control and planned to take this as slow as possible, he couldn't resist the urge to pull his thumb away for a moment and lift it to his mouth, sucking away the taste of her from his thumb.
Gods, he could eat her alive. She tasted better than he'd imagined and he had imagined a lot.
When she whined impatiently, he put his hand back between her legs, this time caressing her soft little cunt with two fingers, running them up and down her slit as she got wetter and wetter. As much as he wanted to push them into her, see how well his two fingers could fill her, he knew he had to be gentle. It wasn't something he was used to, but for her, he felt he could do anything, make any concession. His thumb moved up, rolling against her clit, and gently, so gently, he pressed just the tip of one finger inside her.
She hissed, but Sandor could tell it in pleasure, her hips rocking forward, trying to take his finger deeper, but he adjusted as she moved, determined to avoid hurting her. He watched her face to check that she wasn't wincing or too tense, then he pressed in a little more.
And gods, she was tight and wet and hot and he wanted nothing more than to feel those sensations somewhere other than his finger. But he couldn't think about that now, lest he get so distracted that he couldn't touch her properly. His cock was aching to be touched, so he gripped it tightly and gave it a few squeezes through his breeches, just trying to relieve some of the ache. Then he captured her mouth with his again, trying to focus on the softness of her mouth and not his painfully hard and neglected cock.
"Sandor, can you-" She moaned against his mouth when he licked at her tit again, then pushed onward. "Will you go deeper? I can handle it." She was panting, he could feel the air puffing against his forehead as he continued to give her chest attention. "Please."
That word from her sweet mouth spurred him on and he slid his finger in, as far as it would go. She arched into him, her breast filling his mouth as his finger plunged deep inside her. Her hands, which had been clawing at the bedding moments before, were now buried in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. He ground his cock against her thigh, rolling into her slowly to let her feel the full length of it, to let her know how hard he was for her.
"Move it," she ordered, breathlessly, "Please, move your hand."
What could he do but oblige?
Sansa's whole body had erupted into goosebumps when he slid his finger all the way inside her. She could swear that her body was vibrating with built up tension. Her thighs trembled around his hips as he acquiesced to her request, pulling his finger out slowly, then pushing swiftly back inside. It felt so good. Sansa had never felt so good in her life and he hadn't even taken his cock out yet. She wasn't sure if she could handle the sensation of that inside her when she felt like she would die just from this. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt and she began to have thoughts, deliciously wicked thoughts.
He belongs inside me.
How have I lived twenty-two years and never done this with anyone?
I want his cock inside me, I don't care if it hurts.
I wish he could be my husband.
Sandor had found a rhythm with his hand, and Sansa caught on, moving her hips in such a way that she took him deep every time he pushed back inside her. All the while, he kissed her mouth, and her breasts, and her neck. He didn't say anything, just watched her with something like reverence. Then the thumb that had been circling over the nub at the top her slit suddenly increased its pressure.
Sansa gasped, her head flew back against the pillow and her feet flattened on the bed. This seemed to be the reaction he wanted though because he only pressed harder and faster, his one finger and his thumb working in tandem to create so much sensation that Sansa began to feel a tingling at the base of her spine. It was too much, too good,and she was going to lose her mind if it went on much longer. She squirmed, gasping as beads of sweat broke out all over her body. All her muscles were straining and she was gasping for breath so rapidly that her throat was going dry.
And then the wave broke, and she closed her eyes and bit into her lip to keep from crying out so loudly. Her whole body trembled and then froze, and she could feel her body tighten around his finger, surely to the point of pain. When the feeling began to ebb, she felt her hips settle back on the mattress where she had lifted them. Sandor pulled his hand away from her, wiping it on the bed, before leaning forward and kissing her again - this time gently and slowly.
She trailed her hand down his body, her fingers tugging at the laces on his breeches. His fingers circled her wrist and gently pulled her hand away. She wanted to ask him why he stopped her because surely he needed a release as well. But she was quickly overcome by doubt, worried that maybe he didn't trust that she could touch him how he wanted because she was so inexperienced. He kissed her cheek and then her forehead and it certainly seemed like he was trying to ease the blow.
"You need to get back to your room," he rumbled quietly, though he made no move to leave the cradle of her legs.
He wanted her gone now? Sansa wondered if she had done something wrong, if she had been too eager, or if the noises she made were too embarrassing. She had the sudden urge to cry, but she didn't want him to mock her. So she nodded her head and wiggled a little, indicating that she couldn't very well move if he was lying halfway on top of her.
He sat up on his knees and looked down at her. And this look - it was not the look of reverence from a few minutes before - this look held something that looked frighteningly like regret. Sansa swallowed against the growing lump in her throat and, instead of waiting for him to properly move, awkwardly swung one leg on the other side of his body and then stood from the bed.
She gathered her clothing and dressed quickly, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. She didn't want to leave his room. Or rather, she didn't want to leave his company. If he wanted to come along with her, she was sure they would be more comfortable in her bed. She opened her mouth to ask something, but Sandor spoke first.
"Be quiet as you go. Don't need to be seen sneaking around the halls," he told her.
It was logical, really, that he would tell her that, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being scolded. He climbed off the bed and walked to the door, unbarring it and sticking his head out, presumably to ensure that it was abandoned. Sansa walked over to stand in front of him, unable to shake the instinct to kiss him again. She rose up on her toes, and thankfully, he leaned down, allowing her to brush her lips against his.
"Sleep well, little bird," he said, and while the words were sweet enough, his voice sounded...off.
"You as well," she responded, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. "See you tomorrow?" She didn't know why she worded it as a question. Of course she would see him tomorrow.
"Aye," he answered, his eyes dropping to the floor, some spot on the stones evidently of more interest to him at the moment than she was. "Tomorrow."
Sansa managed to make it to her room before the tears began to fall.