Chapter Twenty-one
Evening came sooner than Tyrion would have liked. Once dinner was over, he tried to linger at the table for as long as possible, but Sansa had other ideas. As soon as the plates were cleared away, she suggested that they all retire early for the evening, and suddenly, everyone was headed their separate ways. There would be no boisterous after-dinner conversation, no idle chatter in Sansa's sitting room. Jaime and Brienne retired to the Guest House, and Arya took Eddard by the hand and promised to tell him the most thrilling adventure story he'd ever heard. It was obvious that she knew what Tyrion and Sansa intended to do that night and had agreed to keep Eddard out of the way.
Even after everyone else had gone, Tyrion remained seated at the table, searching desperately for another drop of wine, but Sansa stopped him before he could reach for the flagon.
"I think you've had enough for one night," she said, staring at him from just inside the open doorway.
"I don't think I've had quite enough."
Sansa approached the table and moved the flagon beyond his reach, and Tyrion slumped back against his chair and sighed.
"Go," she said. "I will see you in my chamber shortly."
Tyrion couldn't even look at Sansa. He didn't want to see the resentment in her eyes. So, without another word, he pushed himself off the chair and left the room, heading to his chamber to prepare for bed.
When Tyrion reached his room, he made quick work of his clothes, changing into a nightshift and robe, his fingers trembling with the effort. Over the years, he had imagined making love to Sansa more times than he could count. In his fantasies, she was always willing and eager to have him in her bed. But he'd never imagined anything like this. Tyrion felt very much like he was about to walk down the hall and rape his wife, and that was the last thing in the world he wanted. Of course, his cock didn't seem to know the difference. Despite the disquiet that had settled in his soul, he had no doubt that his body would cooperate when it came time to fulfill his duty.
Tyrion opened the door and stood there silently for a moment, wondering what Sansa would do if he didn't go to her room. Would she send Arya to fetch him and force him to come to her upon threat of death? Or would she come to his chamber herself and simply slip into his bed? Tyrion didn't particularly care for either scenario, and he knew he would much rather be a man than a coward. He would go to his wife and do as she'd asked because it was his duty to do so, and for no other reason.
Tyrion's footsteps sounded hollow as he walked down the deserted corridor on his way to his wife's chamber. He didn't know how much time she needed to ready herself, but he wanted this ordeal to be over with as soon as possible. When he reached her door, he stood there for a long time, his heart in his throat, as he struggled to summon up the courage to knock. It took longer than he would have liked before he finally rapped on the door.
Sansa bid him enter, and Tyrion had to force himself to move. He knew that once he stepped into the room, there would be no going back. Sansa would not let him leave until he had given her exactly what she had asked for.
Tyrion inhaled a shaky breath and pushed the door open. He stepped into the room, the blood racing through his veins.
Sansa's chamber was surprisingly warm and inviting, the candlelight casting a hazy yellow glow across every corner of the room. Tyrion looked up and saw his wife standing at the end of the bed, and his heart skipped a single beat.
Sansa's hair lay loosely about her shoulders, a fiery red halo fit for a goddess. She wore a long white nightgown accented with frills and ribbons, the kind he had always imagined her wearing in his fantasies. She was everything Tyrion had ever wanted, and he had to blink several times to make sure that what he was seeing was real.
"Close the door," Sansa commanded, her voice gentle but firm.
It took Tyrion a second to comprehend her words. When he finally did, he turned around and closed the door behind him, taking a moment to compose himself. Already, his cock was hard and his blood was on fire, and he didn't want Sansa to see the lust that was undoubtedly in his eyes.
Tyrion turned around slowly, forcing his body under control. He finally looked up at Sansa again, relatively certain that she wouldn't be able to see the evidence of his desire.
Tyrion expected Sansa to speak, but she didn't. Instead, she reached up and tugged at the ribbon that held her nightgown together. The knot gave way, and the fabric fell aside, exposing the creamy expanse of her collarbone.
The breath caught in Tyrion's throat as his eyes transfixed on her soft, delicate skin. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and his whole body flushed cold.
Without any warning, Sansa pushed the fabric off her shoulders, dropping her gown to the floor and allowing it to pool at her feet. In an instant, she was naked before him, and Tyrion couldn't do anything but stare.
Even though they had once spent the night together, Tyrion had never seen Sansa naked before. Everything that had happened between them that night had happened beneath the covers, shrouded in darkness. But now, there were no covers, and the candlelight hid nothing from view. Not her soft curves, nor the pale beauty of her skin. She was magnificent! Like something out of a dream. And every inch of Tyrion ached just looking at her. He didn't know what he had done to deserve something so beautiful in his life, and he secretly feared that this was all just some cruel joke designed by the gods to punish him for his many sins.
Sansa still refused to speak. Instead, she walked around to the far side of the bed and stood beside it, waiting for him to follow.
Tyrion could barely feel his legs as he moved across the floor, his eyes never leaving his wife. He feared that if he looked away, even for a moment, she would disappear into the ether and he would never know such beauty again.
Sansa stared at him from across the bed, not saying a single word. She glanced down at his body, looking pointedly at his attire, and for the first time, Tyrion realized that he was still fully clothed. With shaking fingers, he untied his robe and shrugged it off his shoulders. Then, without allowing himself a moment to think, he pulled his nightshirt over his head and discarded it on the floor.
Sansa's eyes roamed Tyrion's body with unabashed boldness. Even though he was half hidden behind the mattress, she was so tall that she had a nearly unobstructed view. She took her time examining him, and Tyrion's skin flushed red with embarrassment. He fidgeted on his feet, wishing that she would stop staring just long enough for him to dash beneath the furs.
Although Tyrion was quite adept at pleasing women in the bedchamber, he had never been comfortable being naked around them. Until tonight, there had only been two other women who had ever seen him in all his wretched glory. He'd foolishly thought that they'd both loved him, and that had trumped all his insecurities. But beyond that, no matter how many brothels he'd been to, how many whores he'd bedded, he'd never exposed himself to anyone else like this. He hated his body for more reasons than he could name, and he didn't want anyone to see it, least of all someone who might judge him harshly.
Tyrion could feel Sansa's eyes trailing along his skin, down his chest, over his abdomen, and lower still, to the engorged flesh between his legs. He thought he saw her flinch as she caught sight of his manhood for the first time, but he wasn't sure. It might have been a trick of the candlelight. If she had flinched, she'd recovered admirably because, when she met his gaze again, there was not the slightest hint of fear or disgust in her eyes.
Sansa pulled back the furs and slipped beneath them. She sat with her back up against the headboard, her lap covered but her breasts still exposed, her hair floating around her shoulders. Seeing her like that, Tyrion couldn't help but wish that she had come to him out of love and desire, not duty and honor. But even though he had quite an extraordinary imagination, he simply couldn't fool himself into imagining that Sansa was there because she loved him or wanted him.
Tyrion stared at Sansa, unable to move. She was achingly beautiful, and he was paralyzed by the thought of climbing into bed and making love to her again. He was afraid to move closer, afraid to touch her, afraid to have all his dreams shattered. As long as he kept his distance, he could live in that moment forever, admiring his wife's beauty and protecting his own heart.
But the moment couldn't last forever, and finally, Sansa broke the silence between them. "If you extinguish the candles," she said, "you can pretend that I'm one of your whores. I'm sure it will make things easier for you."
Tyrion wanted to swear, but he bit his tongue. He tore his eyes away from Sansa and looked about the room, wondering how long it would take him to blow out all the candles, wondering if that was what she truly wanted. But despite what Sansa thought, Tyrion had no desire to pretend that she was another woman. She had asked him to share her bed for one night, and he was going to do it, but he was going to do it his way or not at all.
When Tyrion looked at Sansa again, he said, "I think I would prefer to leave the lights on. Unless, of course, it will make it easier for you to pretend that I'm someone else. Are you still longing to have the Knight of Flowers in your bed?"
A flicker of emotion passed behind Sansa's eyes. Tyrion thought it was pain, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't know what about his words had hurt her. Had she truly loved Loras Tyrell? If she had, he pitied her more than he pitied himself.
"Leave them be then," Sansa said, her voice suddenly chilly. "I have no desire to pretend."
"Well, then, that makes two of us."
Tyrion reached for the edge of the furs. He pulled them back and climbed into bed beside her, quickly tugging the covers up over his lap, feeling far too exposed for his liking.
They sat there for a moment, side by side, not looking at each other, not speaking a single word. Tyrion wasn't sure what to do. His wife was no virgin – not anymore – and he knew he didn't have to tread quite as carefully as he had the first time they had been together, but he didn't want to just climb on top of her and push himself inside either. He wanted her to want him, even if she hated herself for it. He wanted there to be some warmth between them, some connection. After all, they were trying to create a child, and Tyrion was certain it would be better if that child were created in love, not hate.
It took all of Tyrion's courage to turn his head and look at his wife. She was staring across the room, watching the flames dance in the hearth, seemingly lost in thought. He didn't want to disturb her, but he knew he had no choice.
"Sansa?"
She finally turned and looked at him. There was a softness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"I know this isn't what you want, but—"
Sansa didn't let him finish. Before Tyrion knew what was happening, her lips were pressed against his and her fingers were threading through his hair.
Tyrion's breath hitched in his throat, and he sat there in stunned silence, simply too shocked to react. But soon enough, his body overpowered his mind and he started kissing her back. He wrapped his fingers in her hair and drew her closer, coaxing her lips apart and tasting her sweetness.
Sansa moaned softly, clutching Tyrion even tighter. Without warning, she dragged him down onto the mattress so that they were lying next to each other, her mouth still feverishly exploring his. Her breasts pressed into his chest, burning his skin and making the blood rush to his cock. Tyrion wanted her so desperately, and he was astonished that she seemed to want him too.
Of course, in the back of his mind, Tyrion knew that there was every chance that Sansa was thinking of someone else. Whether it was the Knight of Flowers or Littlefinger or Eddard's father, he didn't know. Tyrion wanted to believe that Sansa wanted him, but he wasn't quite fool enough for that. He was no dream lover, at least not as far as Sansa Stark was concerned, and he would have to content himself with the passion she felt for another.
They kissed until they were both breathless, and when Sansa finally broke away, her hands stayed in Tyrion's hair and her eyes locked with his. The desire he saw there was so intense that, for the briefest of moments, Tyrion was certain it was meant for him and him alone. He wanted to say something, to tell Sansa how much he wanted her, how much he loved her – because he did love her, he loved everything about her – but he couldn't. He knew that if he so much as opened his mouth to speak, he would ruin everything between them. He didn't want to fight with Sansa. He just wanted to love her.
And so Tyrion closed the distance between them and kissed her softly, enjoying the feel of her lips against his own. It had been so long since he had felt any kind of tenderness that his heart nearly swelled to bursting.
Sansa's hands trailed over Tyrion's body, brazenly exploring his flesh. Her fingers kneaded his shoulders, ran along the planes of his chest, skimmed over his hips. Every nerve in Tyrion's body trembled at her touch, and his cock throbbed with each new sensation. When Sansa's fingers glided along his hardened length, he almost came.
Tyrion groaned. He tried to focus his attention on something other than the feel of his wife's hand teasing his long-neglected cock, but he was having little success. If he spilled his seed in her hand and not inside her, this entire exercise would be a complete and utter failure and he knew Sansa would never forgive him for it.
Reaching between them, Tyrion entwined his fingers with Sansa's and gently drew her hand away. He pulled her closer, his hardened shaft pressing against her stomach, as he finally let go of her hand. Then, he began his own exploration, hoping to distract her from her earlier pursuit.
Tyrion's hands roamed her body, and he reveled in the feel of Sansa's skin beneath his fingers. It had been so long since he'd touched a woman that he'd almost forgotten how wonderful it felt! Although Sansa believed that he'd bedded dozens of whores since they'd been wed, it wasn't true. Tyrion hadn't been with anyone else since he and Sansa had been married in the Great Sept of Baelor. Of course, he knew why it was hard for her to believe the truth. He had a reputation as a notorious reprobate with the sexual appetites of a rutting animal. But that had been before. Before they'd been wed. Before he'd murdered Shae. Tyrion had visited more than one brothel since he'd escaped Westeros, but he'd never been able to do more on those visits than drown himself in drink. It was part devotion to his wife and part guilt over what he had done to the last whore who had shared his bed. After he'd left Westeros, whoring had lost all its appeal and drink had become his only solace.
But Tyrion knew that Sansa would never believe that, and he was tired of trying to convince her. Just as she was tired of trying to convince him that he was Eddard's father. When they spoke with words, they always ended up hurting each other, but Tyrion was quickly learning that, when they spoke with their bodies, everything changed.
Desperate to show her just how much he adored her, Tyrion finally relinquished Sansa's mouth and blazed a trail of heated kisses down her neck and to her breasts. As he kissed one hard nipple, Sansa's fingers laced through his hair, and she arched her back off the mattress, encouraging him to take her deeper into his mouth. Tyrion dutifully obliged, and Sansa sighed in contentment.
Tyrion sucked and licked and nipped at the rosy peak until Sansa was squirming beneath him. Then, he kissed his way to her other breast and lavished it with the same attention.
Sansa crooked one leg over Tyrion's hip, nestling her other knee between his legs and pushing her sex against his thigh. Tyrion gasped, startled by the unexpected contact. Without thinking, he began to move his leg, pressing it against her in a slow, steady rhythm, causing her to moan wantonly.
The Sansa Stark that Tyrion had bedded back in King's Landing had not shown this kind of boldness in the bedchamber, and he couldn't help but wonder who had taught her to seek her own pleasure. Had it been Eddard's father or someone else? Or had she learned it on her own? Suddenly, an image flashed before Tyrion's eyes of his wife lying naked in her bed, one hand on her breast, the other between her legs, her eager fingers buried deep inside her. And again, he almost came, the mere thought of his wife pleasuring herself simply too much for him to bear.
Tyrion pulled back, desperate to put some distance between them before he ruined everything. He'd been celibate for far too long, and he was woefully out of practice when it came to controlling his own body.
Tyrion tried to slip from Sansa's arms, but she kept her leg locked over his hip, her hands in his hair, refusing to let him go. He looked up at her and was startled by the desire he saw in her eyes. He still wasn't sure who Sansa wanted, but it was obvious that she was desperate to be loved.
Overcome with emotion, Tyrion opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully, he never got the chance. Before he could even catch his breath, Sansa maneuvered him onto his back. She straddled his hips, hovering above him for a moment, before leaning down and devouring his mouth.
Tyrion sighed deeply, his hands clutching at her back as he tried to pull her even closer. She moved her hips against him in a primal rhythm, taking what she wanted with shameless abandon. Tyrion wondered how long it would be until she raised up on her knees and impaled herself on his cock. He was equal parts shocked and thrilled by his wife's behavior, and he was helpless to do anything but lie there and let her have her way with him.
Soon, Sansa was kissing her way down his neck and across his chest. She stopped at one nipple, licking and sucking just as he had done to her, and Tyrion couldn't deny that it felt damned good. He entwined his fingers in her hair and let her have her fill of him.
Sansa kissed a meandering path all the way down his stomach, stopping just long enough to swirl her tongue in his navel before moving lower. Tyrion stared down at her in silent wonder as she explored his body with her mouth and hands. She seemed hungry for him, desperate, as if she was trying to memorize every last inch of him for some unfathomable reason.
When her eager mouth finally neared his cock, Sansa paused. She looked up at Tyrion, and they stared at each other in heart stopping silence. Sansa's eyes were cloudy with desire, but also uncertainty, and he wondered if she was waiting for permission to continue or just working up the courage to do what she had already decided to do.
Every muscle in Tyrion's body was taut with anticipation, and he feared that, whatever Sansa did next, would be his undoing. But he didn't want her to stop. He wanted her to keep going until she was well and truly sated.
Tyrion swallowed hard. Then, he nodded, hoping that was what Sansa needed.
Sansa finally broke his gaze, turning her attention back to the throbbing shaft between his legs. Slowly, gently, she reached up a hand and skimmed her fingers along his aching flesh.
Tyrion fought the urge to swear. He gripped the bedsheets and concentrated all his energy on not coming in her hand.
Sansa glanced up at Tyrion, her expression suddenly inscrutable. Without looking away, she ran her fingers up his length again, making him shiver. The hint of a smile ghosted her lips, and she repeated the movement, obviously enjoying his reaction.
Sansa caressed him with the most exquisite tenderness, nearly driving him mad. Finally, she looked away, her eyes drifting downward to give his manhood her full attention. She took her time with him, teasing and torturing, until Tyrion was moaning beneath her.
"Sansa, please." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They sounded so weak, so desperate. He didn't think he had ever sounded more pitiful in all his life.
Tyrion thought Sansa might ignore his pleading, but she didn't. With calculated slowness, she lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.
Tyrion hissed through his teeth. He wrapped his fingers even more tightly in the bedsheets, trying to keep his body under control.
Sansa trailed a row of chaste, delicate kisses down one side of his shaft and then up the other. When she reached the tip again, she did the unthinkable. She lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
Tyrion nearly bolted off the bed. His hips arched upward, and for a single instant, he truly thought he was going to die. He had never felt anything more glorious, and he could barely process the deluge of sensations flooding his body. Sansa's mouth was warm, wet, eager, and what she lacked in technique, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. Tyrion was so hard that he was afraid he might choke her, but Sansa didn't seem the least bit concerned. She was just as enraptured by him as he was by her, and he didn't think anything in the world could have fazed her at that moment. Winterfell could have been on fire, and Sansa wouldn't have cared.
"Sansa." Tyrion choked out her name, wanting her to continue but also desperate for her to relent. They were in her bed for a purpose, a purpose they both seemed to have forgotten.
Tyrion reached down, threading his fingers through Sansa's hair, trying to get her attention. "Sansa . . . please . . . stop," he said through labored breaths. "Please."
She didn't seem to hear him at first, but he kept pleading, and eventually, she pulled back, gazing up at him with glassy eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice barely her own.
"This . . . you can't . . . please, stop."
Sansa's brow furrowed, and her cheeks tinged a darker shade of pink, and Tyrion couldn't tell if she was confused or insulted.
"If you keep going," he said, somehow managing to get all the words out in one breath, "I'm not going to last long enough to give you a baby. Do you understand?"
Sansa stared at him blankly, as if trying to comprehend his words. It took her a moment, but finally, she nodded.
"Good." Tyrion held out his hand to her, inviting her to move up the bed. "Now, shall we get on with it?"
Sansa turned onto her side, intending to lie down next to him, but that wasn't what Tyrion wanted. She had already done an admirable job of taking control, and he had no intention of asserting dominance now. Before she could lie down, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Not like that," he said.
Sansa's eyes met Tyrion's, and he could tell by the uncertainty in her gaze that she didn't understand what he wanted.
"You were doing just fine before," he said gently. "I want you to keep going. I want you to get on top of me and take your pleasure."
The blood drained from Sansa's cheeks, her previous boldness suddenly forgotten. She shook her head. "No, I—"
"Yes, you can. This is your night, Sansa. Take what you want from me while you still can. I am yours to command."
Sansa glanced down at Tyrion's cock, making it pulse with need, and he wanted nothing more than to bury it inside her. But he stayed perfectly still, biding his time and waiting to see if his wife would do as he'd asked.
When Sansa looked up at Tyrion again, there was renewed determination in her eyes. Slowly, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, kissing him with a softness and a sweetness that warmed his blood. As she continued to kiss him, she slipped one leg over his body and settled herself above him, her heated flesh pressing urgently against his shaft.
Tyrion wanted her so badly that he could barely breathe. He had never wanted anything more in his entire life. Not gold, not power, not even his father's love. He wanted Sansa more than he had ever wanted anything, and if he died right then and there, he knew he would die a happy man.
Sansa deepened the kiss, kissing him one last time before finally breaking away and sitting back on her knees. She stared into his eyes with unmistakable desire, and Tyrion dug his fingers into the mattress, waiting for her to claim him.
Her eyes never leaving his, Sansa lifted up on her knees, repositioned herself above him, and then, with excruciating slowness, lowered herself down onto his cock.
Tyrion squeezed his eyes shut, the feel of her surrounding him nearly his undoing. He gripped the mattress even tighter, trying to hold himself back, trying to last as long as he could.
Sansa took her time adjusting to the feel of him inside her, moving tentatively at first, striving to find a rhythm that suited her. It wasn't long before she found it and began to take her pleasure in earnest. She rode him hard, as if she hadn't been touched by a man in five long years, and for one glorious moment, Tyrion chose to believe that it was true, that it was all true. He chose to believe that Sansa loved him, that she had been faithful to him since the day they'd been wed, that Eddard was his son. He chose to believe it all because he wanted to. He wanted it more than anything.
Sansa drove him to the edge with startling quickness, and every muscle in Tyrion's body tensed in anticipation. His mind stopped working, and he was barely conscious of anything but the feel of his cock pulsing inside her and her cries of pleasure mingling with his own.
And then, suddenly, it happened.
Sansa ground down onto him, and Tyrion's whole body shuddered with release. He came hard inside her, her name tearing from his throat. Above him, Sansa continued to strive toward her own climax, sending little shocks of pleasure shooting up his spine. He sank down into the mattress, his limbs weak, his body trembling with fulfilment. He opened his eyes and stared up at her, watching her in silent wonder as she fought to take what was rightfully hers.
A few more frenzied thrusts of her hips and Sansa came crashing over the edge, her walls pulsing around him, his name falling from her lips. She nearly collapsed on top of him, her palms pressing into the mattress on either side of him to keep herself aloft. She hovered over Tyrion, her head down, her breath ragged, her hair cascading against his chest like a wall of fire. He ached to reach up and run his fingers through her hair, but he was too spent to even move.
They stayed that way for a long time, both struggling to catch their breath. Tyrion had no idea what was going to happen now. Would Sansa demand that he leave her bed, or would she let him linger to enjoy the afterglow of their coupling?
Tyrion remembered the first time he and Sansa had been together, how he'd longed to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He hadn't, of course. He'd given her space instead, afraid that asking for true intimacy would have been asking for too much. Now, once again, he longed for that closeness – perhaps even more than he had the last time – but he refused to ask anything of Sansa that he knew she wasn't willing to give.
When her breathing finally slowed, Sansa raised her head, her eyes locking with Tyrion's. Her expression was unreadable, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do next.
Slowly, Sansa seemed to come back to herself. She glanced away awkwardly, then eased herself off of him, finally relinquishing his cock.
The cold air was a shock to Tyrion's system, and he inhaled a sharp breath. Sansa moved away, lying on the bed beside him, grabbing for the furs and pulling them all the way up to her chin. Tyrion didn't try to cover himself. He was still too exhausted to move.
They continued to lay there together, both staring up at the ceiling, neither one saying a single word. The room was deathly quiet except for the fire crackling in the hearth. Tyrion yearned to turn toward his wife, rest his head on her shoulder, and snuggle beneath the furs with her, but he knew such a display of tenderness would be unwelcome. Sansa had invited him into her bed to fulfill a duty, that was all. No matter how much pleasure they'd given each other, there was still an ocean of mistrust between them, and nothing was going to change that. Although Tyrion had been able to forget his doubts in the heat of passion, reality was starting to creep back in and all his doubts had returned. He knew he couldn't stay in Sansa's bed forever. The sooner he left, the sooner he could stop torturing himself with what might have been.
Tyrion sat up, the movement making him dizzy. He stilled for a moment, his eyes resting on the hearth, oblivious to the flames dancing within. Sansa sat up beside him, and when he finally turned to look at her, he saw that she had the furs clutched tightly to her chest. It was obvious that the spell she'd been under had been broken, and she was once again the proper, demure young woman he had always believed her to be.
They stared at each other for the longest time, not a word spoken between them. Tyrion didn't know what there was to say. They had done what they'd intended to do – with a few diversions along the way – but now, their task was complete and there was nothing more to be done.
"I should be going," he said, his voice sounding foreign in the quiet room.
Sansa looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She just nodded, letting him know that it was all right for him to go.
Tyrion dragged his eyes away from her, biting back a curse. He turned and climbed down from the bed, retrieving his nightshirt and robe and slipping into them with unsteady hands. He could feel Sansa's eyes upon him, watching his every move. He wasn't sure if she was watching because she was fascinated by the sight of him or because she wanted to make sure that he truly intended to leave.
When Tyrion was finally presentable again, he turned back toward the bed and looked up at his wife. She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he had no desire to leave her, but he knew he had no choice. "Good night, my lady. I pray you sleep well."
"Good night, my lord."
Tyrion would have given anything in the world to hear Sansa say his name at that moment, but he had already gotten more than he deserved. He couldn't be greedy. The gods wouldn't like that.
Tyrion bowed his head, then turned and walked to the door. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to turn around, throw himself into her arms, and kiss her senseless. But despite the unbridled passion she had displayed earlier, he knew that was the last thing she wanted. They had made their peace with each other and had agreed to go their separate ways for the night. Tyrion knew it was better to accept that than to risk ending the evening in an argument.
Without another word, Tyrion opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. He pulled the door closed behind him and stood there in the quiet silence, trying to catch his breath. He wanted Sansa so desperately, even now, and yet, he knew they would probably never spend another night together. She had invited him into her bed once, just once, in hopes of producing a child. If it had worked, he would never touch her again.
An anguished sob ripped from Tyrion's throat, and he swore beneath his breath, hating himself for being such a fool. He had gotten his hopes up again. For one brief moment while Sansa had been making love to him, he'd actually thought that it was all real, this fairytale life that the gods had dangled in front of him like a shiny bauble. But it wasn't real. It was all just an illusion. Sansa may have wanted him in the heat of the moment, but that didn't mean she wanted him in her life, and he had to remember that. If he didn't, he'd surely get his heart broken again, and this time, he would never recover.