After everything that happened in the Vale, it was strange how naturally being back in the wagon house with Lord Baelish was. It was as if she hadn't almost fallen through the moon door, hadn't watched Petyr kill her aunt, hadn't heard the noises Aunt Lysa made when they consummated their marriage. The last thought came unbidden, but it didn't surprise her anymore. She had finally accepted her desire for Lord Baelish. She was a woman. But at the end of the day, she was still naive and inexperienced.
As the carriage house hit a pothole again, Lord Baelish opened his eyes, a flicker of exasperation just visible in his grey eyes. He uncrossed his arms and tapped his knuckles twice on the walls of the wagon. Five minutes later, the wagon slowed to a stop. Looking out the window, Sansa realized they had parked in front of an inn. She released a silent sigh of relief. They had been riding for days, barely stopping long enough for Sansa to relieve herself in a proper chamber pot. Lord Baelish opened the door and exited the wagon, offering her his arm for her to follow.
Gracefully, she descended the stairs and her sturdy travelling shoes hit the mud, splattering her stockings. He escorted her inside to a dingy inn packed with men, stumbling and laughing from drink.
Lord Baelish weaved them through the crowd with skill before stopping before the young woman manning the front desk.
"Do you have any rooms available miss?"
"Aye, you're in luck, we got one bed left. Does it have your name on it?"
"It certainly does" he responded, sliding a pouch of silver across the wooden panels of the desk.
"Right this way Mr. and Mrs. . . ?"
"Baker." Sansa replied, she smiled with caring eyes just visible from below her cloak hood.
Petyr swelled with pride. She played her part so well. He was beginning to wonder when she would surpass him. With each passing day, she became more of her own person - the hardships she faced molding her. She was not a younger version of her mother any longer. She was not young Cat. She was her own woman. She was Sansa. His Sansa.
Upon reaching the top floor, the young innkeeper's daughter opened the door to a tiny door almost slamming into the tub against the wall. Blessedly, the bed was just large enough for two people to sleep comfortably - but only just. Petyr inwardly rejoiced, while Sansa displayed no change in expression as she listened to the innkeeper's daughter telling her she'd bring up some warm water straight away.
"Oh that won't be necess - "
"Nonsense," the young girl replied. "I'm sure you've been travelling a long while. You'll be needin' a nice warm, relaxing bath. I won't be but a moment." And the girl was off before Petyr himself could further protest.
Although Sansa's face read emotionless, inside she was screaming. Sharing a bed with Lord Baelish is one thing. But stripping and bathing in front of him? Sansa could only imagine her septa's face if she ever found out. Her thoughts jumped from one to another until, before she realized, the innkeeper and a man had brought three heaping buckets of hot water.
"Can I get you anything else Mr. and Mrs. Baker?"
"That'll be all. Thank you for the trouble." Petyr responded, handing the girl and boy some silver each. Sansa remained statuesque, glued to the spot, contemplating her next move.
Sansa didn't know what to do. Her inner child wanted to run away, to hide from Petyr. But there was another part of her, some new part she didn't quite recognize, that appreciated the circumstance they found themselves in and recognized fully her desire for him. Petyr had been her only friend in King's Landing, but she would be a fool to think that those friendly feelings had not grown in their time together. He was manipulative, and would do anything to get what he wanted, sure. But then again, who had she met in her lifetime that wasn't? Petyr was just better at it than all the rest of them. And that awakened something in her. The power he wielded, secretly that only she could catch glimpses of here and there. But it wasn't just the power he wielded. It was his slight accent, spoken in a gravelly voice. The twitch at the corner of his mouth that indicated she had done something right or impressive - even. It was someone who was rooted to her family, but most definitely not family.
It was with those thoughts that she started to undress. While she refused to look at the ground, she looked anywhere but at him. She was a woman now, but she was still inexperienced. She new looking at him would make her lose all her nerve. When she had removed her travelling gown, she turned her back to him. "Could you help me with my corset?" She asked, doing her best to look innocently yet sensually over her shoulder. The bobbing of his Adam's apple signaled to her that she was definitely having an effect on him. He brought his hands to the top of the corset, brushing her long locks over her shoulders, his fingers lingering at her neck. Goosepimples spread across her neck and down her back until she could swear she felt something twinge down there. Slowly, but with purpose, Lord Baelish unlaced her corset. She knew he had finished when she could almost feel his hands about to rest on the part of her body that was neither back nor bottom.
Without turning towards him, she removed the corset, along with her small clothes. She stood completely bare, her back still at him. She walked to the tub where the maid had poured fresh, steaming water. She sat and relaxed against the metal of the tub. Finally, finally, she looked him in the eyes. Now it was her turn to gulp. He was unbuttoning his tunic, his eyes boring into hers until she thought she would explode. The longing, the desire, the exasperation was all written in the grey storm of his eyes. As Lord Baelish continued to undress down to his small clothes, Sansa began rubbing lavendar soap up and down her arms, across her stomach, and payed especially close attention to her breasts. When she heard a slight intake of breath from across the room, she lifted one leg onto the metal and started washing her long, porcelain legs. After scrubbing the other leg clean, she reached the soap out to Lord Baelish. To Petyr. and asked, "would you mind . . . ?" Leaving the question hanging in the air.
"Of course, m'lady." He said, though his voice was a few registers lower than usual, just a little huskier and oh GODS did it make her feel something for the first time in so long. Instead of rubbing the bar across her back as expected - how could she ever be so foolish as to predict what he would do - he lathered the soap in his hands and used them to wash her back. But he didn't just clean, he massaged. Her tight shoulders were putty in his hands, she let out moans, not caring anymore about how unladylike this all was. Not caring what her septa would think. Only caring about feeling something good for the first time in maybe forever.
She felt his hot breath - smelling of mint and exotic spices - on her neck. She turned her head and captured his lips with hers. She tried to move her lips as he did, never really knowing how to do this in the first place. Kisses from Joffrey were never out of love or need. Need to survive, maybe but never desire or passion. Who would ever have guessed that young Sansa, who dreamed of marrying a young prince, would ever be seducing a notorious older man? Certainly not her, And yet that's all she wanted. All that gave her hope anymore. Just as the thought breached her mind, he broke away from their kiss and walked away.
Instantly hurt, she looked down, willing the dam keeping her tears at bay not to break.
"Sansa" he said. She looked up to find him standing in front of the tub, holding a towel out for her to step into. Another reminder that she was still naive, she stepped into the towel and his arms.
Unable to wait until she could dry herself, Petyr kept the towel wrapped around her and pulled her body flush against his. He caught her lips with his, running his hands all up and down her body - feeling, stimulating, and drying her all at once. His tongue begged for passage to her mouth; her lips blessedly allowed him entry. Too soon she was breaking away from him. But instead of the worst he feared, she let the towel drop to the floor and gripped the bottom of my shirt, lifting it over his head. Upon seeing the scar that ran down the length of his torso, Sansa's finger whispered from the top of the scar to the bottom, stopping when she reached the lace of his breaches.
As Petyr prayed for her to free him from the bonds of the fabric, he looked her in the eyes.
"I've never - " before she could finish her sentence, Petyr interrupted, gently framing her face in his hands "It doesn't matter, Sansa, what you have or haven't done. What you should or shouldn't do. Nothing matters except for what you want. What do you want, Sansa?" He asked against her lips.
Without hesitation or fear, Sansa whispered, "You" and he brought his lips to hers in a devastating kiss. All the pain she endured was erased by the single brush of his lips against hers. She let go of the game she had to play around the Lannisters, of the commoner she had to be in the inn. She was just Sansa - whoever she really was. She let herself go in the arms of the man she didn't trust, but the man who made her feel safe for the first time since she'd left home.
As his hands slid down her luscious body, he stopped at her bum, molding it in his hands. Sansa moaned into his mouth but then gave a yelp when he unexpectedly lifted her up, her legs rising to encircle his lower body. He walked her the few paces to the bed, and they fell together onto the mattress. Her legs remained crossed around his bottom half while he bucked his hips against hers. She could feel him there. And it felt devilish and sinful and so right. She rarely knew the proper course of action anymore, but this, she knew, was right.
Petyr unlinked her legs enough to break free - but only long enough to finally remove his breeches. As he stood at attention, Sansa's eyes widened in curiosity and fear. How was he ever going to fit? Petyr threw her his signature smirk, obviously reading her thoughts. "Don't worry, my sweet. It won't hurt long"
Reassured, she righted herself on the bed so that her head lay on the pillows. Petyr, in his naked glory, climbed atop her, bringing his body flush against hers once more. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower belly. He popped one breast into his mouth, suckling on it like a dying man, then he gave her other breast the same attention as Sansa ran her fingers through his hair - using just enough of her nails to drive him crazy. Then he began his descent lower and lower until Sansa was worried she knew where his destination was. Her fears were confirmed as his tongue grazed her lower lips. Breathing in heavily, she relaxed her body of tension. Fear would not play a role tonight.
Almost painfully slowly, he caressed her lower lips with his tongue, occasionally taking a break and twirling his tongue around her clit. He thought he could spend forever there between her legs, but Sansa had other ideas - Thank the Gods.
With the ferocity of a dire wolf, she flipped them so that she was now straddling him around his thighs. She grasped his cock firmly and started pumping it. Petyr's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a garbled groan. He closed his eyes, but they were startled open when he felt her mouth encompass him. She was looking straight at him and he couldn't help but worship her with his eyes. He tangled his fingers into her hair, guiding her head ever so gently until he couldn't take it anymore. He flipped them once more so that he was on top. He stopped to really look at her, their faces centimeters apart, their lips almost touching.
"Are you sure?" Petyr asked, dreading what her answer could be.
"I've never been more sure about anything." She said, clear and proud. And he could tell by the fierce look in her eyes it was the truth.
He recaptured her plump lips with his with fervor and need. When they both were gasping for air, Petyr whispered in her ear, "This is going to hurt a lot at first, but it will get better. I promise you that." He added his signature smirk at the end, which fortified her spirit enough to relax as he slowly pressed himself inside of her. It was too full and the pain was worse than she imagined. But she controlled her breathing, tried to keep the damn of her eyes from breaking, but tears flowed down her cheeks unbidden. Petyr wiped them away with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue tasting the salty tears. He did not move inside her for several moments until she was finally used to the pain and her hips started moving subconsciously. That was the cue Petyr needed to start thrusting slowly and gently. His eyes never left her face, never stopped reading her to make sure she was okay and not in too much pain.
Eventually, the pain was fighting with something else - pleasure. It felt good. The fullness was not quite so unbearable anymore, now it was pleasant. It reminded her that she and Petyr were no longer separate people, but one entity. This notion empowered her, made her feel like she was just as important to him as to his game of thrones. Which made her a player too. "Petyr, yes, harder," she all but whispered, no longer embarrassed of her desires.
Petyr smirked and started pumping harder and faster. He took one of her legs and lifted it over his shoulder. They both let out identical moans of pleasure at the change in position. Sansa was no longer thinking about the pain, rather the consistent entrance and exit of Petyr inside of her, how it made her feel. She couldn't stop her hips from meeting his if she wanted to and Gods knew she never wanted him to stop. He ran his hands up and down her stomach, stopping to mold her breasts in each hand. He twisted each nipple gently, sending jolts right down to her core. She was close, she didn't know it, but he did.
He released her leg from over his shoulder so that he could kiss her. He kissed everywhere he could reach while still keeping the consistent thrusts that drove her wild. He nibbled her ear, he left love bites at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He stroked her jaw with his tongue and teeth. "Sansa." He whispered, and it was enough to send her flying over the edge. Her orgasm wracked her whole body as she cried out in pleasure, "Petyr"
Petyr kept pumping, not willing to find release until she had found it at least one more time. He could tell by the pinch of pain in her eyes as she looked up at him that his thrusting was almost getting to be too much. But she didn't know that meant her next orgasm was about to blow her mind. With three more thrusts she screamed his name this time, which effected him more than he could have ever imagined. He came inside her hard and fast, trying to pump out the last of her aftershocks, trying to ride his orgasm just a few moments longer.
As they both caught their breath, Sansa felt him growing soft inside her. It was a satisfying feeling, she thought. To know that she caused a man to harden and soften at will. Yes, she was more sure of this than anything else. Lord Baelish rolled off of her, presumably not to crush her as all the strength in him had gone. She brought the blankets up around them and cuddled into his chest. He closed his eyes in pure contentment and began stroking her locks with love. He almost told her right then and there how he truly felt. How much he truly loved her. And he knew she wouldn't run at the knowledge. But he also knew she didn't quite understand the feelings she had for him. After all, he was old enough to be her father. But you are not my daughter. He thought as she looked down at her content face. She looked up to meet his gaze and smiled a genuine smile. Something he didn't think he had ever seen from her before. It was the most breathtaking thing he had seen in his entire life. Never again would he think about his desire for Catelyn Tully. Sansa Stark was his heart and soul. How could he ever think about another in his entire life? It was not long before sleep overtook them both.