I just finished this chapter so I am posting it. This chapter is a lemon. If you read this far, you deserve it :)

CHAPTER 24

SANSA

He kissed her for a long time, until her desire was inflamed and she pulled wildly at him, scratching him through his cotton tunic. It was awkward to kiss him so passionately on the burned side of his face, where his mouth was just a hole, so she kissed him on the side of his face that was whole, formed, complete. Sandor leaned into her like a dog needing to be petted.

Her hands went under the last layer of his clothes. She felt the hard ridges and soft stretched skin of the scars on his chest and arms as she pulled off his shirt, but she thought she liked the perfect form of him better. Her hands went searching for parts that were not damaged.

Then he was naked above her. They had been like this before, but Sansa had always told herself that they were being modest so long as they were hidden beneath the blankets. But now that Sandor drank in the sight of her as surely as her skin the winter sun, she knew that they hid nothing from each other or the Gods. Her nipples tightened and her heart beat hard inside her chest.

Sandor caught their rosy points between his fingers and cupped her breasts. He was gentle, but he had a heavy hand. Sansa thought the pressure was delicious. She ground up against him, feeling the hard male part of him weeping against her thigh and wondering if they were ever going to start. Steel fingers gripped her hips to still her.

"Not yet," he said.

She whimpered. He reached between her legs and touched her. Having just a little bit of him inside of her caused Sansa to feel overcome with shyness and she turned away. Sandor leaned into her, kissing the exposed part of her neck and exploring deeper. All of it was so hard and sudden that she coiled up like a snake, then threw her arms around his neck and kissed his ear.

"Please," she whispered. Curiosity, anticipation, arousal and fright were all competing to be the dominant emotion in her heart. Part of her wished that it was over already, another part to savor the moment, and yet another feared that moment as surely as if it were her death. Perhaps there was something exciting about death—maybe seeing the men die had put a lust on her, like it did for Sandor, or at least made her appreciate the temporary state of being alive. She clung to him. "Be gentle with me."

He pushed off of her. "Do you want this?"

"Yes."

Sandor grabbed the backs of her knees in his hands, tilting her hips up and pulling her legs apart. Sansa felt that this was somehow obscene. She never even sat with her legs open, except for the past few months as she rode her horse, and was even embarrassed by how easily they held apart. Whatever she had imagined sex to be like, she had not imagined herself in the position she was now.

Sandor positioned himself between her legs and she could see how they would fit together. It made her blush. His body was larger and darker than hers, and hairy, and his manhood was stiff and pointed and quite strange to look upon. She closed her eyes. There was nothing pretty to look at, and she wanted to concentrate on the feeling of her first time.

Sandor bore down on her, not ungently. She gasped at the first contact, her body hot. He was a driving force pressing into her. She felt like something inside of her was tearing, like he was carving out a space inside of her with a hot knife. Sandor took his hand in hers and wove their fingers together. He pushed into her deeper, tense and grunting, and Sansa cried out. She had never felt this way; she had not even known that she was empty. She arched her back, wanting to take in more of him, and the tears behind the corners of her eyelids ran down her temples. He lowered his face to kiss her tears away, one hand pinning hers to the ground above her head and the other going down to the back of her knee to hold her open and complete their union. Sansa felt the sweat there slickening his hand and dug her nails into his shoulders. She rested her head against his chest. His heart is beating so fast, she thought.

Sandor drew back from her and Sansa's heart did a little flip. She opened her eyes and watched her hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest, over his big arms and down to his hands. Having discovered this new thing, a part of her wished he would stay inside of her forever, but feeling his length sliding out of her when a moment ago she had felt it sliding in was blowing her mind. She had never wanted him as much as she did at that moment.

I guess that's it then, Sansa thought. That was sex. How strange. Sandor was looking where Sansa could not bear to, at the newly created space between them. He had a defeated sort of expression on his face. "Gods, Sansa. You didn't lie. You really are—you really were . . ."

She frowned at him. Had he not believed that she was a maiden? But she was too disappointed at the empty feeling left inside of her now that he was gone to argue. She sighed.

And suddenly he was inside of her again. Sansa shrieked. It took him a second what had taken them minutes to accomplish the moment before. Sansa's hands flew up defensively against him. He stopped moving, but he was still inside of her, and he groaned. "Did I hurt you?"

"A little." She didn't want to lie. "It was just sudden." And it was strange to talk to Sandor while she could feel his body inside of her body. She put her arms around his neck and whispered, "But it feels good, too."

He moved in and out of her, and Sansa shuddered from all the warmth and wanting filling her heart. A slickness came from her that made it easy for him to slide in and out and the backs of her knees were sweating. Oh, this is it, Sansa thought, but she could not really think of anything, she could only feel.

"You're so wet," Sandor rasped, a pained expression on his face. "You're wetter than a fucking whore."

"Don't say that," Sansa pouted. She clung to him tighter, craving the intimacy she felt when they held each other. His breath came out in gasps against her ear and sometimes he muttered "Sansa," and "Fuck." His thrusts were deep and powerful and each time she felt like he was making her a woman again. He is making me a woman now. She couldn't believe that anyone could make her feel this way. She was making so much noise and he was driving her into the dirt beneath her cloak and she had never acted like this, twisting and moaning under him to satisfy a need she didn't know she had.

Sandor pushed off of her and held her down with one hand as though to push her away. He left her empty and Sansa opened her eyes to plead at him. But he wasn't looking at her. He cursed a string of words in a such a combination as she had never heard before and held his manhood against her stomach with his other hand. Sansa stared as it threw up all over her stomach.

They were still for a moment, and then Sandor took her face in his hands and kissed her. His tongue thrust into her mouth and Sansa shuddered, remembering how they had been a moment ago.

He ran his hands over her body and Sansa wriggled beneath him, enjoying his continued attentions. He stopped above her belly.

"You'll want to clean yourself up," he said, avoiding her eyes shyly. He handed her her torn dress and Sansa wiped herself off. What she saw when she sat up on her elbows and looked between her legs gave her pause.

"Oh," she breathed, a little shocked. There was blood. It wasn't as much as when she had her moon's blood, but it was there. She used the dry parts of the dress to clean it off her thighs. Sandor watched her with his lips parted, and when she caught him staring she smiled. "You've got some on you, too."

It was true—his penis was streaked with blood. Sansa scooted up to him and fondled him with the dress between her hands. He responded somewhat, his manhood jumping in her hands as sudden as a frog making for its escape. She realized the eroticism of what she was doing and bashfully dropped the dress to the ground.

Sandor stroked her hair. "Sansa, how do you feel?"

She thought about it for a moment. She felt raw, and sore, a warm tingling all over her body, an emptiness where he had been but a fullness in her heart, cold from the northern air, sexy, shy, and brave. But what was the point of telling him any of that? Better to feel it again the next time they made love.

"Hungry," she answered.

Sandor laughed. "Fair enough," he said, and wrapped her in her cloak.