A/N: It's here folks! The wedding is finally upon us. Hope you all enjoy this extended chapter!
Reader: Thank you, yes she most certainly can. Insufferable, and more than a little delusional on occasion.
Guest: Thanks, it is certainly how I'd imagine her to be in this situation.
unnamed visitor: Thank you, glad you're looking forward to the wedding. Yes, Cersei certainly has some interesting plans, but they might not quite pan out the way she wants them to. Of course, a lot hinges on Jaime's cooperation, and while he does seem to have a blind love for his sister, I think he would think twice if he knew about the real relationship between Myrcella and Robb. There is a long way to go before any of this could be implemented anyway, so there's no immediate danger for anyone on the horizon. Hope you enjoy the wedding.
Boramir: Thank you very much, you're very welcome. Yes, her insistence on blaming Sansa is borderline psychotic. Cersei is seriously delusional, and as you pointed out, a lot more similar to Robert than she would thank you to mention. Of course, her reliance on the alcohol is seriously clouding whatever judgement she actually possesses. Both your points are completely right, she can't just assume Jaime will help her. While he loves her, he is certainly not going to just disregard all the ways in which her plan will completely backfire. I also don't think he would ignore Myrcella's own will, even if he does still bear a grudge against Robb for his captivity. And no, neither Tommen or Myrcella are under her influence. I don't even think Joffrey was ever really under her influence. I think she overestimates her own role in their lives, and doesn't realise that by being an ambitious queen she has lost the chance at being a warm mother. I also agree it is very hypocritical for her to assume that Myrcella would give up her son's title in the event of Robb's death. Myrcella would not, I think everyone will clearly see that, besides Cersei of course. Haha, yes, you can assume that was what was in Theon's letter, and the Iron Islands are still part of Robb's kingdom, though I would say they are ruled with some form of independence. Just as the Riverlands are very much under Edmure's control, despite Robb being king.
Right-ho folks, on we go. It's wedding time!
(And folks, remember, this is an M rating. If you don't like intimate scenes, you may want to skip the last bit of the chapter.)
:)
X: White Wedding
Robb
It had snowed in the night, a proper fall which had coated Winterfell in an inch of the cold, wet flakes. Robb wagered that it would turn to muddy slush by the end of the day, and he had instructed a group of men to clear a path through the courtyard to the Godswood as soon as he had risen that morning. He was walking along that cleared path now, pleased to see that they had done a good job. It was not himself he was concerned with, it was Myrcella. He knew how happy she was with her wedding dress, and he imagined she would be upset if the bottom of it was soaked through and stained with mud by the time she reached the Godswood. Though he thought it likely that she would inevitably damage the bottom of it, he was hopeful that it would not be as bad now that she had a clear walkway.
It would not be long. Soon she would be making her own way to the Godswood. The thought of it had his hands coming to rearrange his doublet nervously. He declined the urge to look back at the Smalljon, who was walking behind him carrying the cloak bearing the white direwolf on a background of silver silk. Only a precious few of his lords had made the journey for the wedding. He had been expecting many to decline, and he was not offended, he only hoped that Myrcella would not be. It was easy to make excuses at such a time. It was too far to be gone from their own keeps what with winter well on its way. The Greatjon had not come, that was Robb's only regret. His son had though. The Smalljon was one of Robb's closest friends, and he had believed him implicitly when he had told him that his father was ill.
None of the Mormonts were present, not that Robb was expecting them to come. Bear Island was a long distance in the best of weathers. He did not blame them at all for not making the journey. Lord Bolton was absent, not that Robb had been particularly hungry for his company. The Cerwyns had come, and several of the Flints. A few Manderlys had made the journey, and most unexpectedly of all, Harrion Karstark. His father had not come, but he had sent his one surviving son in his place, with his apologies. Robb did not need his apologies, and he had implored Harrion to make sure his father knew how grateful he was to have a Karstark presence at his wedding. None of his lords had been overly impressed at the thought of a Lannister queen, but Robb knew that it was hardest of all for Lord Karstark to stomach.
They would all have to meet her at the first gathering of the lords' council after winter though, and Robb was confident that Myrcella would be able to win them over. He had been unable to help liking her, and enjoying her company. She was not a Lannister to him in anything but looks, and that he was more than happy to live with. He did wish he did not have to up and leave her the morning after their wedding though. Once upon a time he imagined he would relish any chance he had to be away from her. Not now though. Now he looked forward to spending time with her and enjoying her company. Their strolls around the gardens had slowly become his favourite part of the day. He smiled wryly, knowing that when the snows fell thicker they would no longer be able to participate in that particular pastime.
He tore his mind from that as he finally entered the Godswood, noting that all those attending were already present, besides Myrcella and Olyvar of course. He strode towards the heart tree to take his place, seeing his family lined up nearby as he came to a halt. His heart panged dully for those he was missing. Jon ought to be here, but he could not leave the Wall now that there was a chance he would be unable to get back. His brother had sent him a letter of tentative congratulations, urging him to at least try and enjoy his life with his new bride. Robb was intent on writing back to reassure him that his feelings were not the same as the last time he had written about her. The memory of that letter made him cringe slightly. He had been so bitter. Unfeeling. Cold. He refused to be like that anymore, he had no cause to be like that anymore. Not now that he knew Myrcella's true nature.
Oddly he was missing Theon as well. He had not seen his friend since the war beyond the Wall. On his return to Pyke he had docked to discover that Robb had already parleyed with Tywin Lannister, and that ships from his father were no longer needed. He had written to Robb for leave to stay on the Iron Islands, and be with the family he had been raised apart from for most of his life. Robb had agreed, there was no reason not to anymore. Grudgingly he had asked Tywin for his permission on the matter, and the old lion had waved his consent dismissively before talk had swiftly turned back to the best way to rid themselves of Stannis and Renly. Theon was Lord of the Iron Islands now, his father had taken ill during the last winter and never recovered. His mother still lived, but from what Theon had told him she had been sucked even further into the depths of madness. Theon didn't complain though, nor did he seem bitter, and Robb was pleased he was finding his feet as a lord and a leader, even if it meant him being absent from Winterfell.
Robb scanned his family again, noting for the first time that his mother was not clad in black. It was the first time he had seen her in anything that resembled colour in so many years, and he was touched that she had managed it for his wedding. For Sansa's he remembered her wearing a cloak of grey. That was the closest she had come before. This time she was wearing a blue dress, albeit a rather dark shade of blue, beneath the same grey cloak. He sent her a small smile and she returned it, inclining her head slightly. He knew she would miss his father today, just as he himself would. What he wouldn't give to see him walking into the Godswood, leading Myrcella towards him. He swallowed hard. It was not his father escorting Myrcella, it was Olyvar, and Robb had just caught a glimpse of them through the trees lining the Godswood.
Her dress was as white as the untouched snow around the pool of the Godswood. Even from a distance he could see that the bodice was sewn with pearls and silver and golden thread. Pearls were woven into her hair as well, which was half braided back from her face to allow her golden curls to tumble down her back. Around her shoulders was a black cloak made of fine velvet, and Robb imagined that the golden stag of house Baratheon would be woven into the back of it. He swallowed hard as she and Olyvar came to a halt on the opposite side of the pool to him. Everyone in the Godswood seemed to have turned to stare at her, and he vaguely wondered if she looked as enchanting to them as she did to him. He had always known she was beautiful, it seemed only now he was appreciating just how captivating she really was. He took a deep breath, knowing that this was it. He could not allow the silence to continue much longer.
"Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?" Robb asked clearly, his eyes unable to move from Myrcella, even though he knew it would be Olyvar who answered.
"Myrcella, of house Baratheon comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble," Olyvar's voice didn't waver, despite the slight murmuring that seemed to accompany the word trueborn. Robb was irked, but he pushed it aside as Olyvar continued. "She comes to claim the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Me," Robb said firmly, determined to show those whisperers that it mattered not to him. That he was glad to marry Myrcella, whatever her true status. "Robb, of house Stark," he continued clearly, "King in the North and of the Trident, and Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?" he asked, finally moving his eyes from his bride and to his good-brother.
"Olyvar, of house Frey," Olyvar replied, meeting Robb's eyes for a moment before he turned his attention to Myrcella. "Princess Myrcella, will you take this man?"
"I take this man," Myrcella said, her voice strong and clear as her eyes found Robb's.
He smiled a tiny smile for her, and she relinquished her hold on Olyvar's arm at the gesture. Slowly she walked from him, stepping around the pool until she stood face to face with Robb. He offered his hand at once and she gave her own without hesitation. Robb put a little pressure on her hand as he took it in his, holding her eyes and sharing a smile with her before they both turned slightly to face the heart tree. They knelt as one, their hands still clasped, and bowed their heads in submission to the Old Gods. Robb knew that Myrcella did not pray to these Gods, but he himself sent a silent prayer to them. A happy and contented life. That's all he asked for. That's all he had ever wanted. He squeezed her hand lightly again once he had finished, hoping that she would understand the pressure. She squeezed his back, and he assumed that she had.
He raised his bowed head before rising slowly to his feet, keeping Myrcella's hand firmly in his own to keep her steady as she rose gracefully back up. With that Robb glanced behind him, nodding slightly to the Smalljon, who approached slowly with the Stark cloak draped over his arm. Robb turned his attention back to his bride, moving his fingers to the clasp around her neck. He could feel her warm breath on the back of his hand as he unfastened her maiden's cloak from around her and slipped it away from her shoulders. He passed it back to the Smalljon, receiving the Stark cloak in return and sweeping it quickly around Myrcella's shoulders before she had the chance to get cold. His fingers shook ever so slightly as he fastened the clasp, knowing that this final gesture was the one that bound them fully as husband and wife.
When he moved his hands away again he met her eyes before talking both her hands in both of his, tugging her closer slightly. She moved willingly, her head already tilted up so she could meet his eyes. In that moment he wished that he had kissed her that night when they had stood out in the snow, when there had not been any other eyes on them. Now they were surrounded by people, and he could practically see Myrcella's nerves shining in her eyes. He couldn't not kiss her. For one thing he wanted to, and for another, it would look bad to those in attendance. They would make assumptions. Wrong assumptions, that he wished to avoid at all costs. He pushed that from his mind and leaned into Myrcella, tilting his head and closing his eyes the moment before their lips met. Hers were soft and warm as he had expected them to be, and he let his own linger for a long moment before he pulled back. She smiled widely when he did so, and he returned the gesture gladly, unable to believe that this moment he had dreaded for so many years had brought him such an inexplicable joy.
"It's gorgeous, really, but I could not have another bite," Myrcella protested, raising her hands up to stop Robb from tempting her with another forkful of raspberry and cream tart.
"Are you certain I cannot persuade you?" he asked her teasingly, and she shook her head determinedly.
"No you cannot, not in this matter at any rate," she answered him, and he chuckled, laying the fork back down against his plate before contemplating his new wife. She had discarded her cloak due to the heat in the dining hall, and the unblemished skin of her arms was teasing him through the delicate lace of her sleeves. He was so busy admiring her that he didn't notice that she was no longer occupied with sipping from her wine glass. She cleared her throat slightly, and he snapped his eyes up to meet her amused gaze. "Admiring the lace?" she arched that one brow, and he smiled sheepishly.
"Something like that," he muttered, holding her eyes for a moment before he turned to pick up his own glass.
"It's been dark for rather a while," Myrcella mused quietly as he sipped down the sweet wine.
"Indeed," he agreed with her after he swallowed his mouthful.
"I wonder when…" she hesitated, "when the call will come for us to leave," she finished, and Robb moved his hand to lay across hers.
"The bedding will not be called for," he soothed her, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand.
"What do you mean?" she turned to frown at him, and he could have sworn a glimmer of disappointment shone in them. Had she thought he had meant there would be no bedding, and been disappointed? The thought made his stomach twist in knots, and had him thinking that they really ought to retire soon.
"I mean I will not have you humiliated, the men pawing at you. I won't allow it, you're my queen," he explained, "we will retire when we are both ready."
"From that I can only assume that you are waiting on me," she smiled rather wickedly at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.
"And will you keep me waiting?" he asked her softly, leaning in slightly closer to her.
"No," the simple word sounded like magic, and Robb's eyes could see the quickening of her breathing in the way her bodice rose and fell more rapidly.
"Then will you allow me to escort you to my chambers?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yes," she breathed back, that one word making his breeches feel uncomfortably tight. Gods, he had been far too long without a woman. Looking at Myrcella, however, had him certain that his patience would be well rewarded. Slowly he pushed back his chair and rose up to his feet, offering her his hand. She took it, rising up to her own feet. At their action the dining hall seemed to pause, and Robb swallowed hard, knowing he would have to address them.
"The queen and I are retiring for the night," Robb declared, feeling Myrcella add pressure to his hand at his words. "Please, in our absence continue to feast, drink and dance until whatever hour you choose!" A cheer went up at his words, and there was the distinct clanking of many tankards and glasses. Robb pulled Myrcella away from the high table and off the dais, skirting the edge of the dining hall rather that leading her through the middle of the throng of people. Her hand was holding on tightly to his, but he did not complain of the pressure, knowing that she was likely nervous. He himself was nervous, having never taken a maid into his bed before. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but he knew well enough that he would not be able to prevent all of her discomfort. He could make it as bearable as possible, that was about as much as he could promise. After the first time he could promise her pleasure, his time with Ada had taught him the best ways to satisfy a woman.
He almost shuddered with desire, thinking of manipulating Myrcella's glorious body in any number of ways. How he longed to have her shaking beneath him, clenching tightly around him and crying out her relief to the Gods. Damn it all, his breeches really were unbearably tight now, and they were not even half way up the stairs. He quickened the pace slightly, hoping that Myrcella would not be offended by his eagerness. With every step he reminded himself that he could not just remove her gown and ravish her as soon as they closed the door to his chambers. He had to be slow with her. Gentle. He had to be patient and reassure her that he was happy to go at her pace. This time, at least. Gods. He almost groaned as he remembered he would have to leave her in the morning. It would be a good week at least before he could really show his wife what sharing his bed could be like.
Robb could have wept in relief when they came upon his chamber door, and he pushed it open, pulling Myrcella in after him before he closed it firmly behind them and slid the lock into place. He turned to look at her then, seeing her eyes lingering on the locked door. "I would leave it open, but we have rather a lot in the keep tonight, and a large portion of them will likely end up drunk and disorientated," he smiled reassuringly at her and she giggled slightly. His eyes were drawn to her hands, seeing how her fingers flexed towards her palms. He frowned, crossing to her and gently taking hold of her hands. "I hate it when you do that," he murmured, looking up to meet her eyes and seeing that a frown adorned her own face. "I hate to think that anything here makes you feel like he did. That I make you feel like he did."
"You don't!" Myrcella protested at once, her hands flying to his chest as her head shook almost violently. "You couldn't, you never did…not once have I been frightened of you. Apprehensive, yes. Nervous, yes. But not frightened. You don't frighten me, Robb. You could never make me feel the way he did, not ever, it is not your nature, and I thank the Gods for it every day!" He let one of his own hands come up and caress one of hers in response, hoping to calm the wild look in her eyes.
"I wasn't accusing you," he said softly, "but after what you told me, I can't help but notice it. I know you're nervous about tonight, but I swear the last thing in this world I want to do is hurt you."
"I know," she whispered, her free hand coming to toy with the leather lacings of his doublet. He didn't move. He kept silent, just watching the progress of her finger as she wound the lacing round and around it. When she tugged on it slightly, as though for permission, he met her eyes and inclined his head slightly. At his action she pulled more firmly, undoing the top of his doublet. He heard her take a steadying breath, and he stepped closer on hearing it, moving his hand from hers so he could place both of his on her waist.
"As slow as you like," he promised, not moving his eyes from hers. "Say 'stop', and I will, without question." She nodded at his words, both hands at his chest working to unthread his doublet. Robb kept his hands resting gently on her waist as she slowly loosened it until she came to the bottom and left his doublet hanging open.
Her hands clenched around the open lapels of his doublet and he leaned in closer to her and brushed his lips against her cheek. She tilted her head at his action, turning it closer towards him. Her action was enough to encourage him to capture her lips with his. This time it was far from chaste, as he sucked her bottom lip between his own to encourage her to grant him access to her mouth. She did so, with a surprised gasp, and Robb wasted little time, slipping his tongue into her mouth and kissing her deeply. Her own lips were tentative, but they were ever so soft and wonderful against his as she slowly adjusted to the rhythm he had set. He caressed her tongue with his own and she twisted hers deftly with his, causing him to pull on her waist until her body was pressed flush against him.
She didn't protest as his closeness, if anything she reciprocated his advances, her hands moving from his lapels so she could wrap her arms tightly around his neck. Her movement encouraged him to let his hands wander up her back, feeling the lacings of her dress as he did so. When he found the top of them he blindly worked his fingers to untie them, feeling them come away beneath his touch. Myrcella twisted the fingers on one of her hands around the hair at the nape of his neck as he began to slowly unthread the lacings of her dress the way she had loosened his doublet. She pulled away from his kiss when he reached halfway down her back, her breathing ragged and her eyes wide. "Should I stop?" he asked her, and she shook her head.
"I just needed to breathe," she panted out, and he chuckled at her.
"You'll get used to it," he said, still deftly unthreading her laces.
"I do hope so," she smiled that wicked little smile that he had seen during the feast, and he couldn't help but return it.
"I can't promise you a perfect night, Myrcella," he said seriously when he pulled the last of her lacings free.
"This is already more than I ever imagined," she said just as seriously, and he smiled slightly.
"When I return from Torrhen's Square, I swear to you, I will make up for it," he promised her, and she blinked slowly at him.
"I don't know what that means," she said, her eyes wide on his.
"It doesn't matter now," he said, shaking his head and moving his hands to run down the length of her arms. When he reached her shoulders she allowed her arms to unwind from around his neck, moving them back do her sides. "Can I?" he asked her permission, digging his fingers underneath the silk covering her shoulders. She nodded her consent, and he dipped his eyes to look down at her hands as he began to pull down her dress. Her fingers twitched slightly, but they did not curl back against her palms as he peeled the silk down her arms and torso.
She was wearing a flimsy shift beneath, and he was gratified to see that the buds of her breasts were peaked. He knew it could not be due to the cold, as his chamber was almost as warm as the dining hall had been, and there was no sign of gooseflesh on her skin. He delighted in revealing her skin, the soft, creamy expanse of it was entirely flawless. Nothing marred it. Not one scar nor blemish. Not so far anyway. Robb made it his silent mission to explore every inch of her skin. Perhaps not tonight, but one night, one night in the not too distant future. He would scour every inch. He promised himself that. He wanted to promise her, too, but he wasn't sure whether she would want to hear it at this point, as her beautiful wedding gown dropped and pooled at her feet. Robb moved his hands back to her shoulders, massaging her gently as he met her eyes. "You can take this off yourself, when you're ready," he nodded towards her shift.
"Thank you," she smiled at him, a proper smile that lit up her eyes.
"That doesn't mean it has to be tonight," he elaborated, and she nodded, though he noticed that her eyes had widened slightly in surprise.
"Perhaps if you lose a little of your own clothing," her tone was teasing, but he could hear the tiny shake in her voice.
"As you wish, my queen," he decided against drawing attention to it, matching her intended teasing tone. He shrugged his doublet carefully from his shoulders before loosening the ties on his tunic. Suddenly he felt incredibly self-conscious with her eyes fixed so intently on him. His scarred body had never bothered any of the other women he had taken to his bed, but none of them had been Myrcella. Most of them had scars or blemishes of their own. Not Myrcella. Not his milk-skinned wife. He bit down on his lower lip before he pulled the tunic up and over his head, tossing it aside before looking to her for a reaction.
Her eyes had widened slightly and his heart hammered, seeing how the perfect green of them was pulled towards his left shoulder. That was the worst of his scars, where the three talons had scraped through the weakness in his armour and raked through his skin. They hadn't been deep, but they had been bloody and he had always known they would be with him forever. At least they were no longer angry, and pink, and raw. They were fully healed now, a flawless white against his skin. He swallowed, keeping his eyes on Myrcella as she moved her eyes over the rest of his chest and arms. She took a step closer to him, her fingers coming to whisper along his forearm and up to his bicep. Her forefinger traced a tiny scar just above the crease in his elbow, her eyes raising to his again. "How did you do this one?" she asked, and he wanted to kiss her and never stop. The relief in him was so overwhelming that he was almost crushed by the weight of it.
"As a child, sparring with wooden swords," he told her, "we were only in tunics, and Jon caught me on the arm. There was a nasty splinter in the wood and it embedded itself in my skin. The Maester pulled it out with tweezers and I screamed the whole time, more to make Jon feel guilty than anything else." He grinned at the end, and she smiled back at him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that he had never seen before as she looked at him. Slowly she moved her hands up to rest on her own shoulders, and Robb swallowed hard as she hooked her fingers under the thin straps of her shift. He kept his eyes on hers as she slipped them slowly along her shoulders, unable to look away from her piercing gaze.
"Take me to bed," she whispered, the wisp of silk that was her shift falling to the floor at her feet.
Robb didn't need telling twice, placing his hands on her now bare waist and steering her slowly towards the bed. He turned her gently so that she was stood before him as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. She bit down on her lip as he allowed his eyes to wander the splendour of her. Still he could see no flaw. No blemish. Nothing to suggest she was anything other than sheer perfection. Her breasts were firm and perfectly rounded, and he couldn't help but imagine how they would fit perfectly in his hands. Her waist was narrow and her stomach flat. His eyes wandered the curve of her hips, biting down on his own lip as he sought out what was between her creamy thighs. Gods. He wanted her. He looked up to her face again, seeing her eyes wide once more. "You're perfection," he breathed, and he could see the relief relaxing all of her features.
In the next moment he bent down to hurriedly unlace and pull off his boots, before he straightened up again, pulling back the furs on the bed as he slowly stood up. "After you," he gestured for Myrcella to climb in, and she did so, clearly unsure of how she should arrange the furs around her. "Whatever makes you comfortable," he reminded her, and she drew them up around her waist at his words. Robb averted his eyes momentarily as he moved to unlace his breeches, finally freeing his painfully hard length from its confines. He breathed a sigh of relief before he turned to climb in next to Myrcella, avoiding her gaze for the moment, only looking at her again when he too had drawn the furs up around his waist.
"I don't know what to do next," she told him quietly, her hand reaching out to settle on his chest. "Will you guide me?" she asked shyly.
"Of course," he replied, shifting himself carefully so that he could move above her. A flash of uncertainty crossed her features for a moment, but then he noticed her slowly moving her legs apart for him. "Follow your instincts," he breathed, settling himself between her legs before pressing a kiss to her neck. "If I do something you don't like, tell me to stop," he whispered, lavishing more kisses along her neck and collarbone. "And if you do like it, tell me to do it again," he continued in an amused tone, feeling her hands come to lay flat against the top of his back.
"I like that," she said quietly, "what you're doing now." He smiled against her skin, imagining the light blush that would have flared up on her cheeks.
"Then I will continue," he murmured against her softness, nuzzling along her collarbone before he latched onto her neck.
She gasped, her back arching up slightly against his body, her reaction encouraging him to let his hand wander slowly up towards her breast. Another gasp left her when he enclosed his hand around the perfect mound. He had been right, it did fit perfectly in his hand, and a tiny little hum left her mouth as he began to tenderly massage her. As he continued kissing her and caressing her she began to slowly raise her hips up and grind against him as slowly as he was touching her breast. He stifled his own groan of pleasure in the skin of her neck, as a more pronounced hum of pleasure escaped her lips. The rolling of her hips was almost driving him wild now, and he shifted himself slightly so that his length could sit between her legs. "Don't stop," he gasped against her neck as her movements faltered. She obeyed him, continuing to grind herself against him in an agonisingly slow way.
Robb could feel her arousal against his hardness, and he knew that he could not ignore his own desires any longer. "Myrcella," he panted against her, tensing all his muscles in a bid to keep himself from peaking right there and then.
"Have me," she gasped in response, "I want you to have me, completely…" Gods, her words alone were the most arousing thing he could imagine. Her consent had him sneaking his other hand beneath the furs to squeeze around her thigh and encourage her leg to come and wrap around his waist. She took his hint, lifting her other leg to do the same. Robb was positioned right at her entrance now and he lifted his head up to meet her eyes. They were slightly unfocused, her forehead clammy with sweat and her hair mussed across the pillows. By the Gods she looked stunning. So undone and beautiful. Perfect in her imperfection.
He held her eyes as he pushed down, her nails pinching little crescents into his back as he felt himself push through the barrier he was met with. A whimper escaped her, her teeth coming to clamp down on her lower lip once more. "I'm sorry," he hissed, forcing himself to still within her, even though the urge to rock himself over and over within her tight warmth was almost overwhelming.
"Don't stop," she shook her head, her nails ceasing to dig into his back. He obeyed. Against his better judgement he obeyed her, rocking his hips back and forth. She grimaced and he faltered, but again she shook her head. There were tears in her eyes but still she refused to let him stop, and fool he was he could do nothing but continue thrusting into her. He knew she was hurting, but she felt so good around him and she was telling him to go on.
In the end he had to bury his head in the crook of her neck so he didn't have to see the discomfort etched on her face. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn't stand knowing that he was causing her pain. He kissed her neck, knowing from her own admission that she liked him to do so. Her fingertips whispered down his back in response, and he arched further into her involuntarily. His movement caused him to rock deeper inside her, and a cry that seemed half pain and half surprise escaped her. He closed his eyes tight shut as he thrust again, forcing himself to keep the pace slow as he felt his release building in him. He would not make Myrcella come this time, but he was determined he would show her every pleasure he knew how to illicit when he returned from Torrhen's Square. He promised himself that as he exploded within her, panting hard and crushing his exhausted body down against her own as he twitched to his end inside her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, when he had recovered enough breath to speak again.
"Don't be," her hands came to settle in his hair, gently twirling his curls around her fingertips. "Would you let me stay here?" she asked him quietly.
"You don't even have to ask, of course I want you to stay here," he lifted his head up to meet her eyes. "I want you to stay here even when I am not here, I want these chambers to be ours, Myrcella," he told her insistently, and she smiled weakly at him.
"Hold me," she whispered, and he shifted himself carefully to separate himself from her once more. He moved to her side and helped her settle herself across his chest, nestling her head under his chin and stroking one of his hands soothingly through her hair. "Will you promise to wake me before you leave tomorrow?" she asked him sleepily, her nails clenching into his chest slightly as she spoke.
"If that's what you want," he said, and she nodded against him. "Then I will gladly promise you."
A/N: Hope you guys enjoy that! The next chapter will probably be up on Thursday, since I'm going on an away trip on Friday. I'll be away for two weeks, and I'm unsure what the internet situation will be like. Hopefully I can update on my travels, but if not, it will be a few weeks I'm afraid, but I can promise the next chapter isn't on any evil cliffhanger, haha!
:)
