Chapter Ten | Petyr

Petyr stood in the darkened alcove, his back pressed against the cold stone, watching the door down the hall. He could still feel her on his lips, chafed and raw from the long worshipful hours they'd spent roaming her body. His muscles sang with sweet exhaustion from their love making. He'd taken her twice more that morning, possessed with the need to claim her, to hear her gasping his name as she clung to him, quaking.

He hadn't fucked like that in years. And yet already he was hungry for her again, half-hard under his robes even as he eyed the door, the sickness of jealousy rising in him. He ached for her, and she was with Jon.

Jon had done well. He was barely more than a boy, but he bore an uncanny self-possession for one so young. Petyr couldn't help but bear him a grudging respect. He was sharp and humble, kind and strong. He was the kind of leader who would easily inspire devotion and love in his people.

But what about Sansa? What did he inspire in her?

Jon touched her too often. His eyes strayed to her too frequently. He moved when she moved, betraying a deep and constant awareness of her. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that she pulled him, helplessly, like the tide. Before long people would start to talk, and what they would say could be the undoing of everything he was seeking to build.

Sansa was less readable, her ice blue eyes betraying little. That she felt great affection for Jon was clear, but Petyr couldn't read the depth of her devotion. She had become a blind spot for him. He thought again of the way that she had sighed in his arms, turning into him, nuzzling into his chest — the way that her eyes had sparkled up at him as he kissed her. Could he trust the warmth he saw there?

Petyr should have been thinking about how to wrest the North from Jon, but instead he was watching a door. He needed to see her face when she emerged. He needed to know what had passed between them. He had no idea where he stood, and the unfamiliar feeling left him unbalanced.

He didn't have to wait long. Sansa emerged after only a few moments, her face placid and serene. She smiled sweetly at the guards placed outside — his men, of course — sliding an envelope out of her long, draping sleeve.

"Good Ser," she said to one of them. "Will you make sure that this is given to Lord Baelish at once. It's from the King."

"Of course, my lady," he said with a bow. "Shall I wait for a reply?"

"No, there is no need. Lord Baelish will know what it is in regards to," she replied. With a nod of her head, she turned and disappeared down the passageway.

Oh, will I?

When she was gone, Petyr pushed himself off the wall with one foot and strode to where his men were standing. He motioned for the envelope and it was handed to him with a bow. Wordlessly he continued back to his chambers.

Once he had closed the door behind him, he examined the letter. It was sealed with the Stark seal, as a new seal for the new king had yet to be made. Sansa had left Jon quickly and seemingly unperturbed, so what could Jon have to say to him that he couldn't have said during the council meeting? Something wasn't adding up.

He ran his fingers over the seal, and his apprehension left him as he realized that it was cool to the touch. This had been sealed hours before, which meant that —

A smile playing on his lips, he grabbed a letter opener from the desk and broke the seal, one small white card sliding out into his hand. It was written in Sansa's elegant script.

My chambers. Tonight.

The only signature was a scrawled heart. He ran his fingers over it, unable to contain his grin. It was such a girlish thing to find in a message that was so craftily delivered, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Oh Sansa…" he mused aloud. He sat down at his desk and stared at the card. There hadn't been much time between the late morning hour when she had finally stolen out of his chambers and when he had joined them in the council meeting. She'd barely been gone from him an hour and already had been scheming to see him again. He pressed the card to his lips.

Night could not come fast enough.

It was dark when he stole to her chambers. The faint clamber of drinking and revelry still floated up from the great hall below, but the passageways were quiet enough to hear the crackle of the torches that lined the walls. Petyr's footsteps were silent as he approached. With one last sweep of his eyes down the corridor to ensure that he was alone he knocked.

Sansa opened the door swiftly. She had been waiting. Though he'd thought of nothing else all day he wasn't prepared for the sight of her. She was more radiant than he'd ever seen her, her eyes flashing coquettishly, an alluring shade of crimson rising in her cheeks.

"Lord Baelish," she said, with a small curtsy, her tongue caressing the words in a way that made his cock stir.

"My lady," he said with a courtly bow, his eyes not leaving hers.

"What brings you here at this hour?" she asked. Her tone was playful, teasing. She sparkled at him, her smile refracting the light in all directions. He'd never seen her this way before. She was dazzling.

"You," he said darkly, stalking through the door. He banded one arm around her waist, grabbing her to him, kicking the door shut behind him as his mouth claimed hers.

Sansa melted into him, her lips soft and eager against his as he spun her around, pressing her back against the wall, pinning her. His lips trailed from her mouth down to her neck, seeking out the delicate flesh that made her shiver in his arms, then down further still to the soft swell of her breasts. Her skin there was impossibly soft as he licked and nibbled, tracing along the top of her bodice, then dipping down into the deep crevice of cleavage. Her hands fisted in his hair.

"Petyr," she sighed, his name a lush incantation on her lips, igniting his blood.

He'd meant to go slow, to feel things out, but his desire for her was a gathering storm. It crackled in the air. He pulled back, trying to catch his breath. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he smoothed back her hair, willing his pulse to stop raging.

He needed to regain some semblance of control. This was all so sudden. He needed to be sure of her intentions. He needed to know that he could win her, truly, body and soul — that no trace of Jon remained in her.

He drew a deep breath. If there was anything that he knew how to do it was how to seduce. She was already soft and trembling in his arms, but he knew that he needed to drag her into much deeper waters if he was truly going to possess her heart. He needed to touch her in ways and in places that no man had ever reached her before.

Or ever will again.

She angled her parted lips up toward his, seeking his kiss, but he caught the hair at the nape of neck, holding her in place.

"Are you wet, Sansa?" he asked, his nose gently nuzzling hers, his voice dark and husky. Eyes still closed, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded, her breath a heated pant.

"Good," he said, stepping back from her. She gazed up at him with hooded eyes, looking almost wounded by his withdrawal. With a dark swell of triumph, he kissed the back of her hand.

"Come sit with me?" he asked, arching one eyebrow at her, a smile playing on his lips. She nodded, following him a bit unsteadily.

He sat on the chaise near the fire, leaning up again the arm and cocking up one knee to rest his leg against its deeply cushion back. Still holding her hand, he pulled her down to sit in the space between his legs. Her hand settled high on his thigh, thickening his already aching cock. He willed himself to retain his composure.

"I was glad to see that your brother granted you a seat on the small council," he said twisting the end of a long tendril of hair on her back around his finger. "It was time that he recognized your contribution."

Sansa cocked one eyebrow at him.

"I'm glad he gave you one," she said wryly. "It's you he doesn't trust."

He chuckled, a genuine sound that rolled deep in chest. She had grown so strong and willful in the months since he'd left her with the Bolton's. To think of the horrors that had caused that change in her — it was almost more than he could bear. It followed him every second of the day.

But to see the woman who now bloomed before him. Fierce and defiant, yet still so deeply vulnerable — it was intoxicating. The shadow of what he had seen in her all those years ago was now made flesh. He was in awe.

"Yes, your brother doesn't like me much, does he," he replied, lacing his fingers through hers.

"No," she said, a wicked smile playing on the corner of her mouth, "In fact he told me to stay away from you. That's why he wanted me to stay after the council meeting."

Petyr was surprised that she offered the information so readily. If they could truly learn to trust each other —

"And what did you tell him?" he asked, smirking.

He could feel the heat of her body as she leaned further into him, subtly seeking out greater contact. Petyr longed to flip her onto her back and take her roughly right then and there, but instead he raised her hand to his lips, giving it a slow, lush kiss, letting her feel the wet heat of his slightly parted mouth.

"I told him that I could handle you," she purred, turning into him, running one hand up his chest.

"And do you think you can? Handle me?"

Sansa's eyes flashed with desire, her eyes hooded as she leaned into him, her lips seeking his.

"Yes," she murmered.

In one swift movement he spun her in his arms so that she lay between his legs with her back pressed up against him. Brushing the hair away from her neck, he pressed his lips to her ear.

"Shhh," he soothed her, "Don't worry, my love. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to spend hours inside you tonight. But not yet. You have to be patient. I say when."

A small pleading sound escaped her, but otherwise she was quiet, her body melting into his.

"Good," he whispered against the soft skin behind her ear, his hands gentling her.

"Tell me, Sansa, why did you tell Jon not to take Riverrun?" he asked her, his lips ghosting down her neck. "He could have taken it for you. I would have given him the men."

"It wouldn't have been for me," she said, her voice soft and dreamy as she shivered at his touch. "It would have been Jon's even if he meant it to be for me."

He smiled, his suspicions confirmed. She did understand, and she played the game well.

"And if it's Jon's then it can't be ours," she continued. "You had to offer him the Knights of the Vale because you need him to trust you, and I stopped him from accepting, because it wasn't what's best for us."

Ours. Us.

Those words on her lips made him feel like he was surfacing after a long time under water, his lungs filling with air that he wasn't sure he'd ever find again. But just as swiftly the darkness of his doubt settled onto him again. Could he trust her?

Just two nights ago she had writhed under Jon's touch. Just two nights ago it was Jon making her moan, making her tremble, making her come. It was Jon's name on her lips.

He was glad that she couldn't see his face, because he knew that it would reveal the tumult inside of him. He felt like he was bordering on madness. He felt overcome with the need to take her roughly, claiming her. To demonstrate to her body that she belonged to him and to no other.

But he knew that he couldn't push her too far — not after Ramsay and not with all of the distrust lingering between them. He couldn't afford to lose control with her. It would mean losing everything.

"Ours," he whispered in her ear, his arms wrapping tightly around her. His hands found the fullness of her breasts and lifted them gently testing their weight in hands. He kneaded the soft flesh through the rich blue fabric of her gown, as Sansa's head rolled back against his shoulder.

"Ours," she echoed, her words a sigh.

As he held her he could see the deep valley between her breasts, her skin like silk. He brought his hands up to the top of her gown and then slid them underneath, sliding over the impossibly soft skin, seeking out her nipples.

She gasped as he found them, capturing them between his fingertips. Gently he rolled them, plucked them, teased them as Sansa began to writhe against him.

He loved how responsive she was. In his brothels, it could take months to teach one of his girls to respond to a man's touch this way — and some never learned. Her breath was shallow as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her hips undulating subtly. She was the picture of pure and naked desire, his every caress stoking a fire within her.

But this wasn't a girl in a brothel. This was Sansa, beautiful and perfect and utterly inexperienced in the ways of love. This was Sansa melting into his touch, soft moans beginning to rise in her throat, the movement of her body a silent plea for more.

She took to pleasure so readily. She was built for it. And Petyr intended to spend the rest of his life being the one to give it to her.

Petyr pressed his lips to the side of her face as his fingers continued their gentle ministrations. His cock was hard and pulsing against her back as she writhed in his arms, but he ignored his own need. There was something that he needed more.

Sansa fisted her hands in her skirts, moaning softly, one of her knees hitching up revealing her smooth white thigh underneath.

"Petyr," she sighed his name, "Please. I need you."

"Not yet," he said against her ear. "I'll tell you when."

"Please," she repeated her plea.

"First I want you to touch yourself. I want you to pull up your skirts and let me watch you touch yourself while I play with your perfect little nipples."

He could feel her hesitation, her sudden shyness, but he didn't relent, his fingers teasing, his lips devouring the soft flesh of her neck and shoulder.

"Do it, my love," he breathed against her skin.

Slowly her hands lifted her skirts, one hand searching below them to find her sex.

"Higher, Sansa," he said giving her nipples a soft pinch, his voice full of dark warning, "I need to see that beautiful little cunt."

She was gasping now in his arms, her desire overtaking her. In one motion she lifted her skirt to her waist, her thighs splayed wantonly as her fingers parted the lips of her cleft, revealing her soft, petal pink center.

"Let me taste you, my love," he ground out the command, and she didn't hesitate this time, lifting two wet fingers to his lips. He growled as he sucked them between his lips. She tasted rich like rose water and honey. He wanted to devour her whole.

He let her fingers fall wetly from his lips and she returned them to her sex, his saliva mixing with her own wetness as she rubbed frenzied circles over the tight bundle of her clit.

"Don't come," he said, trapping her ear between his teeth, her breasts hot and heaving in his hands.

"Please, Petyr. I can't stop. I need —"

Sensing her climax coming he stood in once graceful motion, carrying her in his arms to the bed. He put her down gently standing her beside it, her legs unsteady, clinging to him. Petyr held her up easily. With an arm banded around her waist he lifted her lips to his and kissed her deeply, letting her feel the full heat of his desire.

His deft hands found the laces in the back of her dress. He made quick work of them without breaking their kiss. Undressing a beautiful woman, he'd always found, was one of the great pleasures in life. He liked to linger over each step, revealing her slowly.

But the madness of his need for her had taken him and he stripped her quickly and methodically until she was naked in his arms.

"Lie down on the bed, Sansa." His voice was a rough command. She didn't resist him, sinking back on the bed, still propped up on one elbow watching him hungrily, her skin flushed and radiant.

With the same quick, sharp movements that he'd used to undress her he stripped off his own garments, letting them fall to the floor without breaking her gaze. His cock sprung free as he pushed his doe skin britches to the floor, and he smiled a darkly masculine smile at Sansa's sharp intake of breath.

He might not have been blessed with lands and titles, but there was one area where he had been blessed more than most men, and it bobbed now, thickly veined between his legs.

"Turn over onto your stomach," he said stalking toward the bed. Sansa did as she was told.

He lowered himself over his slowly, taking in the site of her. Her red hair pooled around her head, her lips were crimson from his kiss and wetly parted, the arch of her back was a study in regal elegance, and the full roundness of her ass was the embodiment of carnal sin.

Petyr straddled her thighs letting his cock settle in the seam of her buttocks, his hands reach up to rub her neck and shoulders. She sighed under his touch.

Petyr meant to take his time with her, rubbing every part of her until she had been worked into a frenzy, but as soon as began to touch her he could tell that they were both already there. They moved together as he worked his way down her back, her soft flesh yielding under his hands as her hips moved of their own volition beneath him.

He drew back on his knees to the edge of the bed rubbing down her thighs, massaging her calves, capturing her feet in his hands. He lifted her toes to his mouth, licking across them before sucking them gently between his lips. Sansa writhed, crying out, her thighs spreading so he could see the slickness of her sex peeking out.

He dove at her like a man possessed. He surged forward capturing her buttocks in both of his hands, kneading deep into the muscle. Growling he mounded the soft flesh in one hand as he raked his teeth against the swell of her ass. Sansa gasped. Rearing up he spread her wide so that he could see her.

"Petyr," she panted.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he said to her as his eyes drank her in, "So perfect."

He thrust his fingers between her legs, running his fingers through the folds of her drenched sex. Easily he slid in two fingers, churning them inside of her, loving the feeling of her rippling and contracting against them. Sansa lifted her hips to meet him, opening herself to him further. He rewarded her by twisting his fingers to rub the sensitive front wall of her sex, seeking out the place that made her quake beneath his touch.

"Petyr!" He loved the sound of his name on her lips. He couldn't get enough of it.

"You're so tight, Sansa," he purred as his fingers thrust in her. "I'm going to fuck this beautiful little cunt for hours."

"Please," she begged him, her breath ragged, her hips undulating wildly.

This time he couldn't deny her. With one hand he dragged her hips to meet his, and in one fluid motion replaced his fingers with the thick surge of his cock. The second he was inside her, she cried out coming around him, milking him as her pleasure took her. A primal sound erupted from Petyr as he pumped into her, riding her through her climax, one orgasm rolling into the next as he took her roughly.

As it subsided, he rolled her beneath him, settling between her thighs. He cradled her head in his hands and found tears on her cheeks. His heart leapt into his throat. Had he hurt her? Had he gone too far? A feeling of sick dread filled him.

"Sansa, my love, what's wrong?" he asked seeking out her eyes.

"I've just never felt anything like—" her voice broke as she spoke. Petyr thought that his heart would break, but then her lips found his, her hands in his hair holding his to her, her legs wrapping around his waist. His chest swelled with emotion.

"I'm just getting started, my love," he said, his hand lifting her into a deft roll of his hips that claimed her once more.

Author's Note: Before you write me a bunch of mean, anonymous reviews let me remind you of a few things that should be obvious to an adult person, but apparently are lost on you trolls:

1.) These are not real people. I'm not doing anything to anyone. This is a fiction based on a fiction. Relax.

2.) I am a real person. And I've put a lot of work and thought into this. I'm not at all a fanfiction writer. I am a writer who makes her living off of writing who had a story that she wanted to write about these characters. I'm not interested in creating nice neat story lines, and I told you from word one that this wasn't fluff. Try to not be a jerk about it.

3.) You're ten chapters deep into something that you apparently hate. It might be time to get a life.

4.) Slut shaming isn't cool, even if it is directed at a fictional character. Sansa is deeply wounded. Her body, her femininity, her humanity, her sexuality are all things that have been both denied her and used against her in horrific and even sometimes violent ways. Give the girl a break.

And give yourselves a break, too. There are a lot of women in my reviews tearing apart another (fictional) woman for being a "whore". That sort of internalized misogyny is toxic and it's tearing you down (and causing you to lash out at strangers on the Internet over some shit that isn't even real). It's probably time to reevaluate and dismantle some of that.

5.) I'm not going to spell things out for you. I'm not going to tell you what the endgame is. I'm not promising you anything. Stop being so ridiculous and entitled, and for your own sake, stop being so unadventurous. I've had so many people writing me saying that they "don't want to read this anymore if it's not going to end up X way." If you have a way that you need the story to end then go write it yourself. I'm not your monkey. And when you do write it please let me know so that I can leave you a constructive, kind review.