Author's Note: I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to post. It's the second longest chapter in the entire fic, and I wanted to make sure that I got it right. Thank you all for your patience.

Chapter Thirty

Sansa had expected the day to fly by, but it didn't. It crawled painfully along, the hours dragging out with interminable slowness. By the time dinner was through, she was exhausted, and yet, too full of nervous anticipation to even think of telling Tyrion not to come to her. The thought of lying with him again had been the one bright spot in a long and stressful day, a beacon of light amid the petty squabbles and household drama that she'd had to field since she'd woken up that morning.

As Tyrion left Sansa's solar after dinner, she gave him a pointed look, determined to make sure that he kept his earlier promise. Tyrion met her gaze without hesitation and nodded, reassuring her that he knew exactly what was expected of him. A moment later, he was gone, not a single word passing between them.

Arya moved up behind Sansa, her steps so light that Sansa almost didn't hear her. "If you're going to do this," Arya said, "you might consider being a bit more honest with him about your motives. That is, if you still value honesty."

Sansa turned her head to glare at Arya over her shoulder. "Can you please take Eddard to his chamber and get him settled for the night like I asked you to?"

"You mean and keep my opinions to myself?" Arya said with a smirk.

"Yes, exactly."

Arya's smile widened, but she didn't say another word. She just went back to the table to fetch Eddard, and soon, Sansa found herself alone.

Sansa wasted no time in retiring to her bedchamber to prepare for the evening ahead. She donned her prettiest nightgown and instructed her handmaiden to brush her hair until it shone as brightly as the flames dancing in the hearth. She even dabbed a few drops of perfume on her wrists, something she hadn't done in ages, and sat in front of the mirror at her dressing table, staring at her own reflection as she waited for her husband to join her.

Sansa examined her face with a critical eye. Although she had suffered a great deal in her short life, she was still young and the tragedies that lived in her heart barely showed on her face. She was still pretty, or at least, people told her that she was still pretty. The Beauty of Winterfell they called her, the fairest lady in all the north.

And yet, her husband still preferred the company of other women. Sansa supposed that she just wasn't the type of woman that Tyrion fancied. Shae had been an exotic beauty with her dark features and olive skin. Her accent had been enchanting, and Sansa was sure that Tyrion still heard her voice sometimes when he closed his eyes. Sometimes, Sansa heard her voice too, and it always made her sad. Despite what had happened between Tyrion and Shae, Sansa still cared for her former handmaiden a great deal and still mourned her loss.

A gentle knock on the door stirred Sansa from her musings, and she quickly turned toward the sound. "Come in," she said softly.

The door creaked open, and Tyrion stepped into the room. He was dressed in a nightshirt and robe, his hair a mess of dark golden curls atop his head. He looked painfully serious, as if he was being led to the executioner's block, and Sansa wished there was some way to make him dread his duty just a little less. She hated the fact that Tyrion had only ever come to her because he had to, not because he wanted to. It made her feel worthless and unwanted, as if the only way she could get a man to visit her bed was if she forced him to join her.

Tyrion bowed his head in Sansa's direction. "Good evening, my lady," he said, his tone undeniably strained. Once he had properly greeted her, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Sansa stood, her heart sinking as she rose to her feet. She didn't want things to be like this between them, so formal, so forced. It was painful in a way that she almost couldn't bear.

Tyrion turned back toward Sansa, his eyes moving directly to her face. He didn't look her over, didn't take the time to appreciate the pretty gown she wore or the fall of crimson curls cascading over her shoulder. He just looked her squarely in the eyes, clearly determined to fulfill his duty and leave. "Shall we get on with it then?" he asked, as if she were no better than one of his whores.

But Sansa was in no hurry to go to bed. The sooner they went to bed, the sooner Tyrion would leave, and Sansa wanted to spend as much time with him as she could. "Would you care for some wine?" she asked, suddenly feeling the need to calm her nerves before they went any further.

"Wine?" Tyrion seemed startled by the question. "Yes, yes, that would be lovely."

Sansa turned away and moved toward the small table in the corner of the room. At her request, her maidservant had brought her a flagon of Winterfell's best wine and two matching glasses. Sansa filled both glasses and then turned around and offered one to Tyrion.

Tyrion ambled across the room, stopping an arm's length from Sansa, just close enough to reach out and take the wine from her hand. Their fingers touched as the glass passed between them, and they both looked away awkwardly, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it should.

Sansa took a fortifying sip of wine, peering over the rim of her glass to look at Tyrion. He swallowed nearly half his glass in a single instant, and Sansa suddenly regretted having given him the wine in the first place.

"Do you intend to get drunk before we've even begun?" she snapped.

Tyrion lowered his glass. "One glass of wine, no matter how fast I drink it, is not going to get me drunk. Trust me, my lady, I am made of heartier stuff than that."

Sansa took another sip of her drink, and Tyrion did the same. She was still unconvinced that he wasn't trying to lose himself in the bottom of his glass. She wanted him to be present for their coupling, in command of all his faculties. She wanted him to be as gentle with her tonight as he had been the times before.

Sansa put her glass back down on the table, even though it was still half full. She had the urge to pull Tyrion's glass from his lips, but she resisted. She didn't want to make an even bigger fool of herself than she already had.

When Tyrion finally lowered his glass again, Sansa held out her hand, urging him to give it back to her. He returned it without protest, and Sansa placed it on the table beside her own.

"Did that help?" Tyrion asked.

Sansa looked askance at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"The wine. Did it help? Did it make the idea of having me in your bed any easier to bear?"

"I already told you—"

"I know what you told me, but if you think I believe it, seeing you here like this, then you're not as smart as I always thought you were."

Tyrion's words hurt Sansa deeply. She had spent far too many years surrounded by people who thought she was a fool, and to hear her own husband question her intelligence was painful beyond measure.

Sansa turned away from the table and faced Tyrion again. "Just because you're incapable of believing the truth when you hear it, does not mean that I'm a fool. I told you that I want you because I do. I can't help it if you're too jaded to believe it."

"And why should I believe it when you need liquid fortification before you can let me in your bed?"

Sansa laughed bitterly. "Why shouldn't I need fortification? I know you don't want to be here. I know you're only doing this out of a sense of obligation. I know you'd rather be with one of your whores than with me. Don't think I don't know that."

Tyrion's eyes turned dark with anger, and for a moment, Sansa thought he was going to lash out at her. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and she could see him struggling to keep his temper under control. "Why is it all right for you to doubt my words, but not all right for me to doubt yours?"

"When have I ever lied to you?" Sansa asked.

"And when have I ever lied to you?"

Sansa didn't know how to reply. Beyond Tyrion's insistence that he had been faithful to her since the day they had been wed, she couldn't think of a single untruth he had ever told her. Even when she'd asked him about Shae's death, he'd been honest with her, he'd held nothing back. Sansa wanted to believe that Tyrion was telling the truth about being faithful to her, but she just couldn't. Not after she had sworn Eddard's paternity on her father's bones, while Tyrion had refused to swear his fidelity on his mother's. The fact that he had refused would always leave doubt in Sansa's mind, and she didn't think she would ever be able to get past it.

Sansa looked away, unable to meet Tyrion's gaze any longer. She didn't know what to say to him, and suddenly, she just wished he would leave.

But Tyrion had no intention of leaving, at least not yet. After a long pause, he said, "Sansa, look at me."

Sansa didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to deal with him anymore.

"Please," Tyrion said, his voice softening, "don't force me to make it a command."

Sansa's eyes darted back to Tyrion, horrified by the suggestion. Even though he was the Lord of Winterfell, he had never used his position against her before, and she hated that he was doing it now.

"That's better," Tyrion said. "Thank you. Now, answer my question."

"What question is that?" Sansa asked, pretending that she didn't remember.

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"You lied to me about being faithful."

Tyrion gritted his teeth. "Besides that."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply but couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Well?" Tyrion prompted. "I'm waiting."

"I'm sure you have lied to me many times, my lord, but since they were lies, how am I to know the difference? You're very cunning and clever and very good at subterfuge. I'm surprised Joffrey didn't appreciate you more when you were his Hand."

Tyrion's eyes grew even darker, and Sansa knew she had struck a nerve. She wished she could take back what she had just said. It was a low blow, even under the circumstances, and she very much regretted it.

"I see I've misjudged you, my lady," Tyrion replied. "You are quite clever yourself. And quite cruel. I suppose you learned a great deal from my sister during your time in King's Landing. I shall have to remember that."

Now, it was Sansa who was angry, and she couldn't control her temper quite as well as Tyrion could. "How dare you compare me to Cersei? Cersei Lannister was a monster."

"And so was her son, and yet, you think I was happy to serve him. The only good that ever happened while Joffrey was on the throne, happened while I was his Hand. I tried my damnedest to do what I could for the people of Westeros under his tyrannical rule. I may have failed, but at least I tried."

Sansa knew that Tyrion was no monster, that he had done all he could to protect the people from Joffrey's cruelty. But it hurt her to know that Tyrion thought she was just like his sister. Sansa hated Cersei Lannister, just as much as she hated being compared to her.

"I'm nothing like Cersei," Sansa said, her tone calmer than before.

"Of course you're not. My sister was a mean, cruel, selfish woman who only cared about herself. Oh, she claimed to care about her family, but I don't know if she ever really did. Sometimes I thought she cared, but after what she did to Tommen's young bride, I can't help but question even that. But you, Sansa. I have never questioned your love for your family or your kindness or selflessness. You are often too selfless for your own good, which I suppose is why we ended up here tonight in the first place."

"Selflessness has nothing to do with it."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Sansa replied. "I meant what I said. I want you, Tyrion, whether you believe me or not."

Tyrion sighed heavily and looked away. It was obvious that he was frustrated. Sansa knew he didn't want to be there, but she had hoped he could at least pretend for her sake. She didn't think she was asking too much. He was a man. She was a woman. He had needs just like any other man. Surely, she could fulfill them just like any other woman.

The silence between them was deafening, and Sansa knew she had to say something. "Would it help if you pretended that I was someone else?"

A biting laugh escaped Tyrion's throat, but he still refused to look at her. "You mean like the first time we were together, all those years ago in King's Landing?"

Tyrion's words hit Sansa like a dagger to the heart. Had he been thinking of Shae that night? In five long years, it had never once occurred to Sansa that Tyrion might have been thinking about another woman the night he had taken her innocence. But now, she could scarcely doubt it.

"I . . . I hadn't realized that you were thinking about someone else even then," Sansa said, unable to keep the pain from her voice.

"What?" Tyrion's eyes found hers again. "No, no. I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about you and Ser Loras. Or don't you remember?"

"I wasn't thinking about Ser Loras. Not after you kissed me."

Tyrion stared at Sansa in stunned disbelief, his eyes searching her face for the truth. He didn't speak. He didn't say a single word. And Sansa realized that she desperately needed to know who Tyrion had been thinking of the first time they had been together.

"Were you thinking about her?" Sansa asked.

"Who?"

"Shae."

Tyrion inhaled a shaky breath, the word obviously as difficult for him to hear as it was for her to say. He shook his head. "No, Sansa, no. That night . . . that night, I was only thinking of you. There was no one else in the entire world that night. Just you."

Sansa turned away then, giving Tyrion her back. She was suddenly overcome with emotion, and she didn't want him to see the tears that were threatening to fall. She loved him so much, and more than anything, she wished that he could love her in return.

Tyrion moved up behind Sansa, but he didn't reach out. Instead, he said, "Sansa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to keep the tears from coming. "That was a very long time ago, and things are very different now, aren't they?"

"Are they? We're still in a loveless marriage that neither one of us wants. The only real difference I see is that we used to be friends, and now, we seem to be adversaries."

Sansa straightened her spine, Tyrion's words wounding her deeply. "Do you really want out of this marriage?"

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"Yes, it does. Is that what you really want, Tyrion Lannister? Do you want out of this loveless marriage?"

Tyrion was silent for a long time, and Sansa waited patiently for him to answer. When he didn't, she finally turned around and looked at him again. He was staring up at her with so much pain in his eyes that he looked like a wounded animal. He looked exactly how Sansa felt inside.

"What . . . what do you want, Tyrion? Honestly?"

"What do I want?" he repeated the question as if he was trying to make sense of the words. "What do I want? I want . . . I want for you to trust me, Sansa. That's what I want. That's all I've ever wanted. I understand, better than you think, how hurt you were when I didn't believe you about Eddard's paternity. I do. Because that's how I feel now. You don't trust me, and trust – even more than love – is essential to a good marriage, to the kind of marriage your mother and father had, to the kind of marriage you deserve. Without that, why should we even bother trying?"

Tyrion's words were said with such sincerity that Sansa was tempted to believe everything he had ever told her. She was tempted to believe that he had been faithful to her from the very beginning, that he was the good, honest, trustworthy man she had always thought him to be. But she was scared to believe it. She had been a fool more than once in her life, first for Joffrey and then for Littlefinger. She didn't want to be anyone's fool ever again.

"Tell me honestly," Sansa said, struggling to keep her tone as even as possible, "tell me if you were faithful or not, and I'll believe you. But before you do, please know that it doesn't matter to me who else has shared your bed. I just want you to be honest with me. If you can be honest, that's all that matters."

"And yet, I have been honest with you before and it hasn't mattered. Why should this time be any different?"

"What you said is true. Trust is the most important part of a marriage. And if we're going to stay married – and it seems we have no choice in the matter now – then I'm going to choose to trust you because I'm tired of being miserable and I'm tired of fighting all the time."

Tyrion nodded slowly, clearly contemplating his answer before replying. Sansa waited patiently for him to confess his sins, to confess his infidelities. She knew it was going to hurt, but she was prepared for the pain. Lies hurt more than anything, even ugly truths, and Sansa wanted the truth.

"All right then," Tyrion said. "I'll tell you the truth. It isn't going to be easy, but I'll tell you."

Sansa's heart sank like a stone, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She gripped the table behind her to keep herself from falling to the floor. She waited, her breath caught in her throat, for Tyrion to finally confess the truth.

"I, Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin and Joanna Lannister of Casterly Rock, do solemnly swear on the bones of my dear, departed mother that I have not bedded anyone but you, Sansa Stark, since the day we were wed. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

By the time Tyrion finished, Sansa's entire body was shaking. Then, without warning, her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she burst into tears. Relief and guilt washed over her in equal measure, and she didn't know how to face Tyrion again after having doubted him for so long.

"Sansa." Tyrion's voice was soft and warm as he called out her name, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Sansa, don't cry. Please, don't cry."

Sansa dropped her hands to her lap and stared at the floor, happy to be looking anywhere but at Tyrion's face. She shook her head, dislodging a single tear and sending it rolling down her cheek. "I'm such a wretched person," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, Tyrion."

Tyrion made a sound almost like a laugh. "You're not wretched, Sansa. You're about as far from wretched as anyone I've ever known. Look at me, please. I want to see your face."

Sansa finally looked up at him, her vision blurry with tears. His gaze was soft, gentle, and she knew he felt no resentment toward her, no matter how much she deserved it.

"It's all right, Sansa. I'm not angry with you. I'm just glad that this is all finally over, that you finally believe me. You can't imagine the relief I feel."

"But I made you swear on your mother's bones."

Tyrion shook his head, smiling softly. "No, you didn't. That was my choice, not yours. You didn't make me do it. I did it because . . . because I want what you want. I want a marriage based on trust, and the only way we're going to start trusting each other is if everything is finally out in the open between us. We've both done things we're not proud of. I . . . I made you swear that Eddard is my son on your father's bones. Sansa, I am so sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry. I put my insecurities before your feelings, and I wish, more than anything, that I could take it back."

Sansa was touched by Tyrion's words, though she knew that nothing could change what had already passed between them. "What's done is done," she said, "and neither one of us can go back."

"Then maybe it's time we started moving forward. I trust you implicitly, Sansa. And I think, now, you trust me too, don't you?"

Sansa nodded. "I do. Though I feel like a fool for not having taken you at your word before."

"No," Tyrion said, "you are no fool, Sansa. I didn't believe you any more than you believed me, not because I thought you were a liar, but because I couldn't believe that someone like you could ever be faithful to someone like me. It had everything to do with my own insecurities and nothing to do with you. And for your part, why should you have believed that the most lust filled, lecherous man in all of Westeros had chosen to be celibate for five long years? It sounds more fantastical than anything in one of your fairy stories. No one could fault you for not believing it. Not really."

Even though Sansa no longer doubted Tyrion's fidelity, she still didn't understand why he had remained faithful to her during their long estrangement. He was a man, after all, with needs so notorious that bards sang songs about it. Sansa wanted to believe that Tyrion had abstained from bedding other women because he was secretly in love with her, but she couldn't quite believe that. "Why . . . why did you choose to stay faithful when you could have easily strayed?"

Tyrion glanced away, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "It's . . . it's not for any good reason, I assure you. It's complicated."

Sansa was afraid she didn't want to know the truth, but she doubted they would ever discuss the matter again and she needed answers. "I would like to know anyway, no matter how bad it is."

Tyrion sighed. He looked up at Sansa again, his eyes deep with regret. "There were two reasons I remained celibate all that time. The first was . . . was Shae."

Hearing Shae's name on Tyrion's lips was excruciatingly painful, but Sansa hid all emotion from her face. She had asked for the truth, and she would have to endure it, no matter how much it hurt.

"You . . . you know what she was," Tyrion went on, his voice thick with emotion. "What she really was. And I couldn't . . . I couldn't set foot inside a brothel without thinking about her, without thinking about what I had done to her. I—" He looked away again, clearly overcome with emotion. It took him a moment before he was able to continue. "I didn't feel I had a right to ever touch a whore again," he said, still unable to meet Sansa's gaze. "I felt I had given up that right the moment I'd strangled the life out of the woman I had once loved."

Sansa bowed her head, staring at the floor, afraid that Tyrion would see the pain in her eyes. She had loved Shae herself, though in a different way than Tyrion, and she still mourned her loss. But that wasn't why Sansa had been forced to look away. She was jealous — so painfully jealous — of a woman her husband had murdered in a fit of passion. It was the most pathetic, most absurd feeling in the world, and Sansa was heartily ashamed of herself. Despite how tragically things had ended between them, Tyrion had loved Shae, and Sansa knew that was more than he had ever felt for her.

Sansa felt Tyrion's eyes upon her again, but she couldn't look up. She wasn't in any state to face him. She felt small and petty and worthless, and once again, she wished that he would just leave so that she could be alone to sort out her emotions before they overwhelmed her.

"I'm sorry, Sansa."

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, her gaze focused on the floor.

"I'm sorry that I'm not the man you wanted me to be. I'm sorry that I'm not the man you deserve."

Sansa shook her head. She inhaled a steadying breath and finally forced herself to look at Tyrion again. "You don't need to apologize for anything. The truth is the truth, and it's better that I should know it than not."

Tyrion nodded. "The truth is not always an easy thing to admit."

"No, it isn't. But it is essential to leading an honorable life. And despite what you've done in the past, owning up to your sins now is the first step to becoming an honorable man."

A wry smile curved Tyrion's lips. "You don't really think I can be an honorable man, do you?"

"I think anything is possible if you want it badly enough."

Tyrion was thoughtful for a moment. "Who knows? That may be true. I suppose we shall just have to wait and see."

"Tell me your second reason."

"What?" Tyrion asked, clearly surprised by the question.

"You said there were two reasons why you remained celibate for so long. What was the second reason?"

Tyrion laughed awkwardly. "Ah, well, that. You see, an hour ago, I would have been wary of confessing it, for fear that you wouldn't believe me. But now that I know you are willing to take me at my word, I have no such qualms, though I do feel a bit silly saying it."

"Saying what?"

"You, Sansa Stark. You. You're the second reason, and perhaps the most important one."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat, and the breath hitched in her throat. She had never expected Tyrion to say such a thing, and she wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. She didn't want to get her hopes up, but for one brief moment, she just couldn't help herself. "What . . . what do you mean?"

"You're my wife, Sansa. When we were married all those years ago in the Great Sept of Baelor, I covered you with my cloak and vowed to protect you, to be faithful to you. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days," Tyrion said, repeating the words he had spoken before the High Septon. "Or don't you remember?"

"I remember." Sansa had been terrified that day, but she still remembered it as if no time had passed at all. As she'd stood at the altar, she had hoped and prayed that her brother Robb would ride into King's Landing, break down the doors of the sept, and put an end to the marriage before it had even begun. But Robb had never made it to King's Landing, and Sansa had given herself over to Tyrion's protection despite her fears.

"Well," Tyrion said, "I didn't want to dishonor that vow, despite the fact that I wasn't even sure that you were still my wife."

It was no confession of love, of course, but it warmed Sansa's heart all the same. After Tyrion had abandoned her, there had been times when she'd been certain that he'd forgotten all about her, that he'd left all memory of her behind when he'd left Westeros. To know that he had spared a thought for her, on occasion at least, meant a great deal to Sansa. "Does that mean that when you leave here, you will still stay true to that vow?" Sansa asked, fearful of Tyrion's answer.

"You are still my wife, Sansa Stark, and as long as we both still draw breath, I will keep myself only unto you. You have my word."

Sansa was suddenly overcome with emotion. She smiled at Tyrion, but tears pooled in her eyes, nonetheless.

Tyrion laughed. "Does the thought really make you want to weep? I know I'm not the husband of your dreams, but surely, my fidelity means something to you, especially after all this time."

"It means a great deal to me," Sansa replied, her tone solemn. "It means everything."

"Good. I know there isn't much I can give you to make you happy, but at least I can give you that."

Sansa flattened her hands against her stomach, suddenly remembering why they were there in the first place. "There is something else you can give me."

Tyrion smiled softly at her. "I suppose there is, if you still want it."

"I do."

Tyrion nodded. Then, he looked away, gazing nervously about the room as if a great responsibility had suddenly been placed on his shoulders and he didn't quite know how to handle it. "Well, then," he said, finally forcing himself to look at her again. "We should probably get on with it. It's getting late, and we've already spent far too much time talking."

Sansa could have talked all night, actually. After five long years of marriage, she felt close to Tyrion for the very first time. Maybe it was because of his confession, or maybe it was because she finally felt she could trust him. Whatever it was, something had changed between them, and had circumstances been different, Sansa could have stayed up all night just listening to Tyrion talk.

Sansa wiped the tears from her cheeks and finally stood. Her knees ached from sitting on the floor for too long, but she was barely conscious of it. The blood was running fast through her veins, and she could already feel a familiar heat pooling between her legs. She wanted Tyrion more than she had ever wanted him before, and she couldn't wait another moment to be with him.

Tyrion turned around and took off his robe. He draped it over the footboard and climbed up onto the bed. Then, he settled himself beneath the furs, sitting upright on the opposite side of the mattress, giving Sansa room to join him.

Sansa's first instinct was to slip into bed beside him still wearing her nightgown, like a proper lady. But she didn't want to be a proper lady, not tonight, not with Tyrion. She had no shame where he was concerned. He had seen her naked body before, done all manner of unspeakable things to her. She had nothing to hide from him. Except, perhaps, her love. But thankfully, he couldn't see that even if she stripped off every last stitch of clothing. Her heart was still hidden, and it would remain so, until long after Tyrion was gone.

Sansa lifted her fingers and slowly pulled apart the ribbon that held her gown together. She kept her eyes locked with Tyrion's as she pushed the fabric from her shoulders and it slid to the floor. Tyrion instantly broke her gaze, his eyes traveling down the length of her, examining every inch of exposed flesh. Sansa's skin flushed warmly, but she didn't try to hide herself. She liked the feel of Tyrion's eyes upon her. She liked the way he looked at her when she was naked. It made her feel wanted. It made her feel like a woman.

When Tyrion finally met her gaze again, the desire in his eyes was unmistakable. Although they had been together twice before, this was the first time Sansa was sure that Tyrion wanted her. Not Shae, not some whore he'd left behind in a brothel, not some fantasy she couldn't compete with, but her, Sansa Stark. Tyrion wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and it made Sansa's heart soar with hope.

Without another word, Sansa slipped beneath the furs, sitting beside Tyrion. She didn't think it was fair that he should remain clothed while she was fully exposed, so she immediately turned toward him and reached for the hem of his nightshirt. She pushed the fabric upward, grazing his thighs with the backs of her fingers, making Tyrion shiver.

Sansa fought back a smile as she undressed him, drawing the soft linen up over his swollen manhood, and higher still, to expose his chest. Tyrion lifted his arms above his head, and Sansa finally pulled the garment free. She tossed it on the floor behind the bed and took a moment to examine Tyrion in all his naked glory.

Tyrion Lannister was not like other men. Of course, Sansa had always known that. Anyone who looked at him knew that. But just because he wasn't like other men, didn't mean that he was at all unattractive. Though not muscular, his body was lean and compact, not an ounce of fat on him. His chest was covered in a light sprinkling of golden curls that grew denser the farther south Sansa's eyes traveled, and her fingers ached to touch him. Sansa laid her hands flat against his shoulders and then slowly slid them downward, reveling in the feel of the coarse hair against her palms.

Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath, as if her touch had burned him. But Sansa knew it wasn't pain that he felt, only pleasure. The same pleasure she felt whenever he touched her.

Sansa leaned forward, kissing Tyrion's neck as her fingers continued to explore his body. She skimmed one hand down his chest, across his flank, and farther still, to the hardness between his legs, gently stroking his heated flesh.

Tyrion moaned, and Sansa smiled against his neck, happy that she had figured out how to please him. She was no expert on men, but she had spent far too many years fantasizing about lying with her husband again not to have come up with a few ideas about how to please him. She closed her hand lightly around his shaft, stroking up and down his length while she continued to kiss him, enjoying the sounds of pleasure he was making.

"Sansa." Her name sounded as if it had been strangled from his throat. "Sansa, please."

For a moment, Sansa thought Tyrion wanted her to drive him toward release and she quickened her pace. But then, she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist, and a second later, he pulled her hand away and leaned back, breaking all contact between them.

"What's wrong?" Sansa asked.

Tyrion stared up at her with glassy eyes. "I think . . . I think . . . we should slow down," he said between shallow breaths. "Just for a moment."

"Don't you like it when I touch you?" she asked coyly, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

"More than you can imagine."

Sansa reached toward him. "Then maybe I should—"

Tyrion caught her wrist again before she could touch him. "Maybe I should be the one pleasuring you this time."

Sansa couldn't deny that she was intrigued by the idea. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

A knowing smile quirked Tyrion's lips. "Oh, I have a few ideas. Lie back, and I'll show you."

Sansa didn't offer a single word of protest. She just lay back on the mattress and waited for Tyrion to work his magic.

Tyrion repositioned himself on the bed, moving closer to the headboard and propping himself up on one elbow so that he could look down at her. His eyes swept the entire length of Sansa's body, and she suddenly wished they had dispensed with the furs altogether. She hated the fact that she was half hidden from his view. She liked it when Tyrion looked at her – all of her – and she didn't want to rob either one of them of that pleasure.

When Tyrion's gaze finally returned to her face, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Sansa knew it held unimaginable promise. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against her lips, making her whole body sing with desire. Instinctively, Sansa's hands moved to the back of his head, drawing him closer and deepening the contact.

Tyrion kissed her until she could barely breathe. Then, he broke away, trailing a line of warm, wet kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Sansa's fingers curled into his hair as liquid heat swirled through her veins. She moaned softly as Tyrion moved lower, placing a row of gentle kisses across her breasts. He stopped at each nipple just long enough to tease it to attention before moving on, driving Sansa mad with need. When he finally pulled away, he sat up and repositioned himself on the bed, moving lower still. He threw the furs aside, pushing them down toward the footboard and exposing every last inch of her naked flesh.

Sansa held her breath, wondering what Tyrion intended to do next. She stole a glance between his legs, startled by just how hard he was, and suddenly, she was desperate to have him inside her again.

Tyrion lay down on his side and leaned forward, focusing his attention on Sansa's breasts. He kissed, nipped, and licked at her over sensitized flesh as his fingers drew delicate circles across her stomach. Sansa shivered, the muscles in her abdomen fluttering in anticipation as he gently teased her.

As Tyrion continued to kiss her breasts, his fingers slowly drifted lower, skimming lightly across her upper thigh. Without a word, he slipped a hand between her legs and began playing with her curls.

Sansa gasped, the sensation far more intimate than she had remembered. It had been five long years since Tyrion had touched her like that, and it made her tremble all over.

Tyrion slid his hand lower and gently pushed apart her folds, running one finger along her length and causing a rush of warmth to flood her sex. Sansa arched her hips upward, desperate to make closer contact, and Tyrion readily obliged. He slipped a single finger inside her, and Sansa inhaled a startled breath. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, just unexpected, and it took her a moment to adjust to it. But once she did, she relaxed again, allowing Tyrion to have his way with her.

Sansa felt Tyrion smile against her belly as he continued to kiss her. He moved inside her with expert finesse, stroking and teasing until she was squirming beneath him. Soon, he added another digit, and Sansa thought her entire body might shatter. She was so close. A few more strokes and she knew he would drive her over the edge. "Please, Tyrion, please," she begged, desperate for release.

But rather than giving her what she wanted, Tyrion pulled his hand away.

Sansa moaned plaintively. "Why did you stop?"

Tyrion looked up at her with an impish grin, but he didn't answer. Instead, he laid a hand on her knee and urged her legs farther apart. Then, he settled himself between them, sitting back on his knees and gazing up at her. Slowly, he leaned forward, dipping his head so he could kiss her stomach again. This time, however, he didn't stop there. He just moved lower and lower until he was pressing soft, chaste kisses against the nest of crimson curls between her legs.

Sansa stared down at Tyrion in silent wonder, hoping and praying that he was going to do what she thought he was going to do. She didn't know a great deal about carnal pleasure beyond the basics of creating a child, but she knew that Tyrion was quite gifted when it came to pleasing women and that she was safe with him.

Without stopping to look up at her, Tyrion continued his path southward, his lips blazing a trail straight to her sex. When he finally kissed her there, Sansa squealed in delight, nearly bucking off the bed. She felt Tyrion smile again, his lips never breaking contact. He kissed her gently, softly, as if he were kissing her mouth, and it was pure ecstasy. Sansa closed her eyes and sank even deeper into the mattress, enjoying the feel of her husband giving her pleasure.

Soon, Tyrion was tasting her with his tongue, caressing her with gentle, even strokes, and Sansa thought she might go mad. With practiced ease, he found the little hidden spot at the top of her sex that always drove her wild and began teasing it. He nipped and licked and sucked, and before Sansa knew what was happening, she was screaming out his name as her body shuddered with pleasure.

For a moment, Sansa wasn't conscious of anything except the delicious warmth spreading through her limbs. She felt tired and sated, and she knew, if she kept her eyes closed long enough, she would just drift off to sleep. But that wasn't what Sansa wanted. She still wanted Tyrion to make love to her properly before the night was through.

When Sansa finally opened her eyes, she found Tyrion lying beside her, his elbow propped up on a pillow so he could look down at her. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face, but Sansa couldn't begrudge him that. Not after what he had done.

"How was that?" Tyrion asked, not even trying to hide his bravado.

"Wonderful," Sansa breathed, the word little more than a whisper.

Tyrion leaned forward and kissed her softly. She could taste her own arousal on his lips, and it made her skin flush warm with embarrassment. Sansa had never imagined allowing a man to do something so impossibly wicked to her, and now that she was slowly drifting back to earth, reality was starting to close in. She wrapped her arms around Tyrion's neck and deepened the kiss, willfully pushing her insecurities aside. She held him close, not wanting to ever let him go.

But the kiss couldn't last forever, and eventually, Tyrion pulled back. The desire in his eyes was still as urgent as it had been when she'd first stripped off her gown for him, and suddenly, Sansa remembered that Tyrion had not yet found his own release.

Her arms still draped loosely about his neck, Sansa asked, "Do you still intend to do your duty tonight?"

"I do."

"Then don't let me keep you waiting. I don't want to prolong your torment any more than I already have."

Tyrion laughed. "Oh, my dear, sweet Sansa, this is the most delicious kind of torment, and I don't mind prolonging it at all. I will take you tonight, don't doubt that, but only when you're ready and not before."

Sansa wasn't quite sure she understood his meaning. "I'm ready now."

"Are you?"

"I . . . I think so."

"Do you want me, Sansa Stark? Is there already a fire burning inside you again, or are you just trying to play the dutiful wife?"

"I've . . . I've already found my pleasure," she said, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Surely, I'm not capable of doing so again tonight."

A slow smile spread across Tyrion's lips. "Oh, Sansa, how little you know about yourself."

Tyrion lowered his head and kissed her neck, and a fresh wave of warmth flooded Sansa's entire body. His hands glided along her skin with exquisite tenderness, exploring every curve and every valley. He kissed and teased and coaxed until she was moaning beneath him, her body begging for something he had already given her.

Once Sansa was ready, Tyrion wasted no time in crawling between her legs and pushing himself inside her. The last time they had been together, Sansa had been on top, but now, Tyrion was in control, and he claimed her with a passion and urgency that took Sansa's breath away. He wasn't gentle this time. He was rough and demanding, taking what he wanted and leaving her mewling with pleasure.

Tyrion knew exactly what he was doing, and it wasn't long before Sansa was trembling in ecstasy again, her body quivering with release. Tyrion continued to thrust into her at a frenzied pace, his fingers digging painfully into her hips, but Sansa barely noticed. All she was conscious of was the delicious warmth in her bones and the feel of Tyrion moving inside her.

A few more thrusts, and suddenly, her name tore from Tyrion's throat and he shuddered against her. He spilled his seed deep in her belly, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder if, this time, it was finally going to take root.

Tyrion collapsed against her, resting his head in the valley between her breasts, and Sansa reached up to gently stroke his hair. Her arms were shaking, but it didn't matter. She wanted to touch him, needed to touch him. She had waited so long to be close to him again, and she wanted to cherish every moment of it.

When Tyrion finally caught his breath, he pulled out of her and tried to move away, but Sansa wouldn't let him go.

"Stay with me, please," she said. "I know it's not what you want, but—"

"Of course it's what I want."

Sansa slackened her hold on him, and Tyrion pushed himself up just enough so that he could look at her. Their eyes met, and Sansa held her breath, hoping beyond hope that he'd meant what he had said. "You don't have to—"

Tyrion shook his head, cutting her off. "Sansa Stark, when are you going to realize just how much I want you? I wouldn't leave this bed for all the wine in Westeros."

A tentative smile tugged at Sansa's lips. She knew that Tyrion didn't love her, but it was nice to hear him say that he wanted her. It was the first time he had said it, and it warmed her heart more than she had ever imagined possible.

"But I think," Tyrion continued, "that you would be a lot more comfortable without my weight crushing you. I may look small, but trust me, you'll be thankful for this in the morning." And then, without another word, Tyrion pushed himself off of her and lay back against the mattress.

The instant Tyrion let her go, the cool evening air kissed her skin and Sansa shivered. She sat up just far enough to retrieve the furs, then lay down by Tyrion's side, covering them both.

Tyrion held an arm out toward her. "Come, wife. Lie with me tonight."

Sansa curled up next to him, laying her head against his chest. As soon as she was settled, he wrapped his arms around her and lightly kissed the top of her head.

"Sleep," he said. "You've earned it. You were a very good Lady of Winterfell tonight. You did your duty admirably, and now, you deserve your rest."

It was more than duty, of course, that had compelled Sansa to invite Tyrion to her bed, and they both knew it. "I'm not the only one who did an admirable job of fulfilling their duty tonight."

"Well, thank you," Tyrion said, clearly amused. "I may not be good with a sword, but at least there's one thing I can do to protect the future of Winterfell." He kissed the crown of her head again and began stroking her hair. "Now, get some rest, my Lady Lannister. You've had enough excitement for one night."

Sansa closed her eyes, sighing contentedly. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so safe and so loved. Of course, she knew that Tyrion didn't actually love her, but with his arms around her and her eyes closed, it was easy to pretend that he did. She listened to the sound of his heartbeat thudding against her ear as she slowly drifted off to sleep.