If asked him, Sandor could not tell how he came to Sansa's chamber, but there he was, locking the door and putting them way from the rest of the world. He turned and almost did not believe what he saw: Sansa, standing in the middle of the room, looking at him expectantly. He approached her slowly, she was trying to smile at him, but had no success; he paused a couple of steps away, waiting her reaction. Hesitantly, she shortened the distance between them and placed her lightly trembling hands on his shoulders. Sandor could feel her insecurity, just as he knew she could feel his, and feared that Sansa would regret her decision at any moment.
"I have no idea what to do, Sandor."
Sandor had never imagined himself in this situation, with Sansa or with any other woman. All the women he had slept with had been as experienced as he had, and he doubted that any of them had been as severely traumatized as she. He had to be gentle and careful, and he had no idea how to do it either.
"What do you want to do?"
Sansa hesitated for a moment, but when she increased the pressure of her touch and looked into his eyes, he knew he would have an answer.
"I want to see you. All of you."
"Do as you wish."
Looking away, suddenly shy, Sansa began to undo knots and open buttons, in a slow and exciting rhythm. When she reached the robe, Sandor bent down to her pull its over his head, the sound of the fabric falling to the floor was muffled by Sansa's sigh. Her touch, as subtle as a warm breeze, made his hairs bristle, longing for more.
"Still hurts?" She asked tracing one of his scars.
"No."
Sansa ran her fingers over his chest, touched each scar, teased with his hair, but none of it prepared him for the sensation of having her lips on his skin. Heat spread away from that point and his blood ran faster. He had to hold himself to not touch her, since he wanted her to enjoy the moment, the control she had over him. She wrapped his waist, lightly stroking the base of his back and staring at him with bright eyes.
"And what do you want, Sandor?"
"The same." His voice was hoarser than usual, strange even to himself.
"I..." She closed her eyes, but did not move away. "My body... My scars..."
"You stroked each of mine, let me do the same to you."
Fearful, Sansa nodded. Not even in his daydreams, Sandor dared to imagine taking her clothes off, even more doing so with her permission. He undid the loops longing to see her skin, to touch her, to kiss her, and when he finally saw her, he lost his breath, she was perfect, and fuck her scars and the bastard that caused them. He stroked her neck with his fingertips and traced a path between her breasts until she reached her belly button. He skirted her breasts and touched one of her nipples with the most delicate gesture of his life. He felt her stiffen beneath his touch and noted her face tense, her eyes closed tight.
"Bad?"
"Only my memories." She stared at him, sadness etched in her features. "I'm sorry."
"Do not be, but let me continue to touch you."
"I…"
Sandor interrupted her by placing a hand under her chin to keep her from looking away.
"Keep your eyes open and see that you do not have to be afraid of me."
Just as Sansa had done, Sandor stroked each scar, always watching her reaction to his touch. Gradually she started to relax and when he fell forward her and placed a kiss on a particularly ugly scar by the side of her belly button, he heard her sigh. He felt her hands stroking his hair before looking up and meeting her tender glance.
"Let's go to bed, Sandor."
She did not have to ask twice.