It was nearly mid-day when Sandor awoke with the red-haired girl, so sweet and delicate, sleeping in his arms. As he lay on his side, looking down at Sansa's porcelain face, admiring her flawless skin and features, he couldn't resist running a finger along the soft line of her jaw. His eyes followed the curved lines of her body, and now that he had finally seen all of her, he pictured the details of her body under her dress. He wanted desperately to have her, and as he felt his lust rising, she stirred in her sleep.

He didn't want her to wake to the evidence of his arousal pressing against her thigh as it was, so he shifted away from her. In her half-sleep, she sensed his movement, and seeking his warmth, pushed her body closer to him. Unintentionally, she brought her hip pressing against his hardness, and as he grunted, her eyes opened, slowly. She rolled her hip against him, again, purposely, and caught his gaze. Her hands grabbed at the front of his tunic, silently pulling him toward her. Just a few kisses. We'll be wedded soon enough.

Her kisses stirred his passion. He sipped her intoxicating lips, a wine which only he had ever tasted. Her open mouth was a provocative invitation inside of her, to know her deeper than her courteous exterior. Her tongue danced with his, a dance of silky seduction that only he had partnered. Her fingers sought to know him, appreciate him, in ways she'd known no other man. Years after giving up his hopes of ever feeling normal, she made him feel special, desired, loved.

She reached for the hem of his tunic, pulling it off, her whimper signifying her satisfaction with the powerful, muscled animal underneath. She discarded it, as he brought his mouth back down to hers. Her fingernails traced tickling patterns at his sides, his chest, and then his stomach. He felt her fingers at the waist of his breeches, gradually sneaking deeper into his smallclothes, his arousal increasing as her fingers crept closer to the base of his aching bulge. By the time he finally felt her fingers close gently around his fullness, he was straining for control. She pulled her tiny hand along the entire length of his shaft, toward the tip, and slipped her hand out of his breeches, reaching for his laces.

"May I?" Her courtesy drew out the torture and thrill of his anticipation, and he ached for the return of her touch.

"Gods, yes!" His answer was hoarse, gravelly, and desperate.

She unlaced him and slid his pants and smallclothes off his narrow waist, down his lean hips, and past his muscled thighs, and he stepped off the bed to kick them off. His unbound sex was throbbing, reaching, straining for her. She stopped and took in the sight of his tumescence. She licked her lips, and his swollen flesh twitched, craving the feeling that he knew those lips could bring. But she would never. Her eyes were on fire, and she stepped off the bed, doing the unthinkable: she got down on her knees in front of him, and she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock, tasting him. He sucked in a startled breath.

She teased him, slowly swiping the underside with her tongue, back and forth, end to end and he was shuddering as he rolled his head back, moaning from his urgency. His breathing was harsh and choppy, and he was growing dizzy with yearning, when she finally brought her lips together and drew him into carefully into the ecstasy of her warm mouth. Her tongue was ruthless in pleasuring him, despite her youth and inexperience, and the sight of her parted, swollen lips enveloping his manhood was more than he could take. He grew unsteady on his feet and pulled her to standing.

She stepped playfully, just out of his reach, and her eyes taunted him as she leisurely removed her dress. Then she lay back on the bed, spreading her thighs slightly, in a mock surrender.

He lowered himself onto the bed above her, and as he nudged her thighs wider with his knees, she granted him access. He rubbed his firmness against the folds of her womanhood, feeling the slickness of her excitement. He wanted to acquaint her with the sensation of his flesh against hers, to assure her that it would be pleasurable, to demonstrate there was nothing to fear when their wedding night came. His lips reclaimed hers, as he smoothly ran his rigid member from her swollen nub to her hot, moist entrance, rocking his hips slowly as he teased himself with her tender flesh. On the third pass, she arched her hips, and he was eased shallowly into her. She gasped.

He was jolted by the unexpected gesture and ready to apologize when he realized it was no accident, as she pushed down on the bunching muscles of his stony shoulders, coaxing him to continue. He hovered there for a moment, frozen, staring at her, his heart racing. Then, slowly he began pushing himself in painstaking degrees into her tight walls, until he could go no further, and withdrew. Trying desperately to be gentle, he was unsure how to guide himself into her again.

"It's all right." Her words were permission, but her look was more of a plea.

Determined, he returned with a sharp, driving, thrust. He felt her squirm underneath him, hiding her face in his shoulder and crying out as most of his length slid into her. The barrier was gone, and he sheathed himself in her tight center. Her body stretched to accommodate him, to accept him. He bit his lip, as he rocked slowly against her. She sighed each time he sank himself into her, again and again. He plunged deeper, exploring her, wanting to fill her completely, losing himself in the place she saved only for him. She was wildfire, burning him, melting him, consuming him. He felt the grip of her tight depths a few more times until his surges of pleasure brought him to a jarring, shuddering peak, and he burst inside her.

He unlocked his elbows, settling his weight onto his forearms, as he remained protectively posed above her, in the aftermath of his ecstasy. He noticed his perspiration first, then his ragged breath, then the wetness he saw on her eyelashes.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Don't lie." He remembered the girl's strength when she was beaten and her grace in covering her pain.

"It's a bit sensitive, sort of raw. I'm certain it will get better, maybe with a bath. The Septa said that the middle of my moon cycle is the best time for relations, and that's today and tomorrow. So, I'm sure I'll be fine."

He rolled onto his side next to her, and she moved to sitting against the bed pillows. She was teasing at his hair with her fingers, when he looked down and discovered the bloody mess they'd made of the bed coverings. "I meant to wait." He looked like a guilty puppy.

"I know you did. So did I."

"You're sister is stupid." His statement had no context, and she was truly bewildered.

"Really, you think so?"

"She thinks that I love you, and that I've loved you since King's Landing."

"Why does she say such ridiculous things?" It was all a jape to her, as she always assumed that he loved her, though he'd never actually said it.

"Aye." He agreed. "She should know better."

"Truly?"

"Aye. I've loved you since the Kingsroad." He rested his head on her belly.