This chapter is basically a gratuitous sex scene :D If you don't like such images you could probably skip to the bit of dialogue at the end and not miss much.

CHAPTER 40

SANDOR

"Oh, Sandor," Sansa gazed up at him, her deep blue eyes two pools filled with passionate longing. "Make love to me. Here in the snow, like the first time."

It felt good to be desired, and he spread her cloak out on the ground and undressed her until she was shivering cold, her nipples two hard rosy points. He looked for a long time before he touched her, drinking in the trembling form laid out beneath him on the fur. Sansa looked so soft and submissive it was a wonder to him that this sweet creature wanted him. The strange tree looked like it was laughing at them all the while. He was upset that she had lied to him, but he wasn't angry anymore. They fell back in step with each other too quickly.

He didn't want to be stuck on the Wall for the rest of his life, but thoughts of the Others troubled him deeply. He knew the true purpose of the Wall now. It was all that stood between Westeros and apocalyptic terror. The fact that Sansa didn't believe about the dead made him feel disconnected from her, but he realized that he didn't want to bother her about it. Let her live in a world where she is safe. The truth was just one more thing for him to bear. As long as the Wall stood, the realms of men could go on without fearing the dead.

He put his arms around her and held her to him as she whispered sweet and desperate things into his good ear. She liked to make it sound as if she would die if she didn't feel him inside of her. "Sandor, please, I waited for you so long." Sansa was so loving and sweet with her kisses. She tugged at his clothes, wanting to please him. He let her pull him out of his trousers and she held his stiffened member in her delicate hands. Her touches were wanton, almost aggressive. He wanted to let himself go, as she did, and forget all about the pain they had caused each other.

But things were different now. Sansa had power, and she had used it against him. He grabbed the back of her head, his muscular fingers finding a purchase entwined in her rich red hair. Sansa gave a short gasp of pain. "Did you think of what it would mean to me to lose this?" He forced her to look at him, his stone gray eyes searching for some admission of invulnerability.

He found none. Her expression was as placid as a rabbit's, her naked chest rising and falling to the pace of a minstrel's allegretto song. He could feel her heart beating even faster through it. "It wasn't to hurt you," she whispered. She was so vulnerable beneath him.

He gripped her hair harder and twisted her head to expose the soft white flesh of her neck. "Did you think I would have mercy on the one who would take it away from me, even if that one is you?"

Sansa whimpered, "No, you wouldn't," with her breasts pointing up to the sky.

"I'll give you what you want, I always do. But I'll do it as mercilessly as possible so you can have a turn at being powerless."

Sandor fell on her like a wild animal, sucking her flesh into his mouth and grazing his teeth against her body. Sansa moaned and he felt her throat vibrating between his lips, the whole tremor flowing outward to end in the tips of her searching fingers. She put her hands on his back and her legs fell open, clinging to him like a barnacle on an ocean rock.

No one has ever seen me as she has, Sandor knew. He had confessed his heart's secrets to Sansa since he met her at Winterfell. Why did he speak so openly to a girl who could understand nothing about him? It was the strange, sick compulsion of love. He existed most completely next to his opposite, the red-haired Stark girl, and this weakness was balanced by the fact that no one had ever seen her like this—splayed and lustful, her very insides weeping to meet him.

His hand fell from her hair and followed the curves of her body down to her thigh, which he pulled apart to draw her body closer to his. He kept one hand firmly on her butt and Sansa whimpered his name as he lined himself up. The soft, welcoming folds of her sex parted and he held himself just inside her wet entrance. He leaned up on his arms and looked into her eyes. She was hissing air between her teeth as he stretched her.

Good, he thought, let her suffer for it. But as soon as he did, he felt sad about it—there were so, so many things in the world worse than Sansa, for everything wrong with her. He moved gently, pulling her deeper onto him. His head fell on her shoulder while Sansa cried out with her mouth open and her face flush. He grunted and pulled out until just the tip was inside her before pushing back in more forcefully, the smooth cave of her body giving way to his invading shaft until he felt her take him to his very root.

Sansa brought her hands up to rest on his face, one on each cheek. Touching his scar. She was glowing with happiness. He felt sympathetic to how vulnerable she was—she was so much smaller than him, soft and delicate where he was hard and rough, her body yielding to his as he penetrated her. He was vulnerable, too—what if he couldn't protect her, from dead men or living things? What if circumstance or passion forced him and Sansa apart? Could she feel that he had fear inside him, like any other man?

He concentrated on their union, rutting her deeply until he held himself inside of her and ground her into the cloak beneath them. In this moment there was nothing in the world but pleasure. He wanted to devour her. He turned his head up to kiss her and trapped her lower lip between his teeth, reaching his hands up to hold her face and opening her lips with his tongue. He thrust into her in time with her lower mouth until Sansa, slippery with sweat, twisted away from him.

He let her go for a moment, wiping his long black hair off his wet forehead, and then grabbed her by the upper arms and held her back against his chest. "I'll never let you get away from me," he growled, "And no one will ever take you." He ran his hands over her front, touching her breasts, stomach, and throat, as Sansa went limp and cooed in pleasure. "Sandor," she gasped, "No one ever could."

The soft and beautiful woman in front of him was so vulnerable to his attentions, he wanted her totally exposed to the elements so that her body would feel what it was like to be unprotected, without its shield. Sansa shuddered and Sandor grew harder, the cool night air chilling her sensitive, dewy skin. She wanted more. She positioned her thighs so that he could enter her again and he brought them together in one powerful thrust. Sansa shrieked—too loudly, so he covered her mouth with his hand while his forearm wrapped around her waist and pulled her onto him again and again, Sansa's singing muffled behind his hand. They were in step on an instinctual rhythm; his hand sought the wiry fur between her legs and her head turned from his grasp to find his mouth and kiss him.

He felt his climax building, a tingling in his spine traveling the length of his back and down to his tailbone. He thrusted with more power and speed and Sansa spread her legs helplessly wider as he grew inside of her. She cried out incoherently and Sandor growled and cursed as he held her shuddering body to his. He released deep inside of her, the heart tree in front of them a twisted imitation of their ecstasy.

It was over, but she pushed back against him, trying to keep him inside her a little while longer. He pushed her off him, panting, and she rolled over onto her back. She looked gorgeous, flushed and trembling in the snow. "Oh, Sandor," she whispered. "Please. I want you so badly. More. Again."

"Wait a while, Little Bird," he smiled, his heart full. He leaned over to wrap the cloak around her, thinking that her sweaty body would chill too quickly in the snow.

"Please," she sat up with the fur wrapped around her breast, beseeching him with gentle doe eyes. "Let's never be apart again. Truthfully, I can't bear to be without you."

He answered honestly, though it pained him. "I can't promise it. In truth, sending me away was not so ill-fitted. Sometimes, it's been all I can do to leave you for a moment—when I've become so wroth."

"Then promise me," she moved closer to him, tilting her head up for a kiss, "that you will always come back."

"Oh, Little Bird . . ." He gathered her to him and kissed her forehead. He was reminded of why he had not yet said vows in his lifetime. How can I promise her anything, as though I know the path of fate?