After lighting his fire and wiping himself down with a warm wet rag to get the sweat and grime from his used body, Jon climbed into his bed. "By the old Gods, I'm tired Ghost," he muttered as he ran his hand over the wolf's thick coat. The wolf looked back at him and curled up beside his body, Ghost's monstrous frame taking up a large portion of the bed.
His frolic with temptation had started roughly, unable to get his mind off of Sam. His fat friend kept invading his thoughts, making him feel guilty and ashamed. That all fell away as he dipped deeper into the pools of malfeasance and let his worries go with the flood of lust. He drowned in his pretty little whore. He pounded into her and made her beg him for more. He took her in every way possible and still did not relent. It was liberating to forget his worries in the throws of the euphoria her malleable body brought him. He was still riding on the blissful wake of his night, but the reality of what he did loomed in the shadows, and he knew it was coming. Everyone would know what he did soon.
Grenn and Pyp were waiting for him with wide eyes when he exited the room and went to mount his horse. They wanted to talk to him, he could feel it. They wanted to share in a masculine banter with their brother, but his stern, frown, and quick pace back to the wall kept chatter down, and he didn't accept their offer to break his fast with them and quickly went to his chambers. Everyone would know soon, and he would hate himself for it he thought, as he drifted off to a fitful sleep.