Okay, so I didn't expect to be able to write another chapter so fast...buuuut I felt bad leaving that last one with a bit of a cliffhanger :) I'm trying to be more diligent about working on this fic, I promise! As always, thank you for the reviews and I hope you enjoy...

She'd played him well and good, played him like she would a high harp, and Sandor felt the heat of both anger and lust burning in his veins as he tightened his arms around Sansa Stark and kissed her as he never had before...yet somehow also as he'd done a hundred times. She was nearly naked already...how much more would it take...

No. Not now. Not now, and likely not ever.

Sandor forced himself to break their embrace. "That's enough, little bird."

But Sansa shook her head emphatically. "No it's not. It's never enough, Sandor. Don't you see?" Before he knew it she had practically thrown herself into his arms again, her fingers working furiously at his jerkin, trying to undress him. Sandor reached up to brush her hands away, but she fought against him - and after a moment he gave in and let her proceed, sighing as she shoved his clothing away from his chest and down his arms, tangling her fingers in his chest hair and brushing her soft lips over his collarbone. When he wrapped one hand in her hair and pulled her head back to kiss her again, he told himself that he could - would - stop this. Soon enough...

Only soon enough, he was lost in her as he'd been so many times before. He forgot where they were and what they were doing as he yanked her shift over her head and allowed his hands to roam her deliciously beautiful - and naked - body. He felt her trembling, but her skin was hot under his hands - and when he tucked one of them between her thighs and found her cunt with his fingers, it was wet for him and Sansa Stark moaned her desire.

That sound tore him from this dream, thrusting him back into the reality of their situation. "Shit," Sandor growled. It took every bit of self-control that he possessed to pull his hand away from that welcoming place between Sansa's legs, but when he did so she only moved toward him again, clearly wanting his hand...back where it belongs, was the first thought to cross Sandor's mind. He couldn't help but chuckle, and it was this sound that seemed to bring Sansa back to their reality as well.

"What about this is so humorous?" she asked him, smiling languidly, her fingers continuing to trace over his chest and stomach.

Sandor lost himself again as he gazed down into her eyes. "When you think about it, everything."

"Some may think so," Sansa admitted. "But not I."

"No. Nor me, either. Which is exactly why we need to stop this." Now. Now...and forever. But he couldn't bring himself to say all that.

"Stop what?" she teased, and before Sandor knew it she had cupped her hand over his cock, which was already straining the laces of his breeches.

"Little bird," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment before pushing her hand away and repeating, "no."

"Yes," Sansa insisted, but this time when she reached for him he caught her hand and held it tightly.

"What in the seven hells has gotten into you?" he growled.

"Wine, I suppose," she shrugged, as she reluctantly backed away from him. "But I think that I am the one who should be asking you that question. Do you not desire me any longer?"

Her eyes revealed that she knew better, and Sandor couldn't help but snort. "I think it's damn obvious that isn't the case."

"I suppose." The corner of Sansa's mouth twitched up into half a smile. She was standing before him naked as her name day and clearly not ashamed to be so; the sight of her made his cock ache. "And you say you aren't scared. The door is latched, we are alone, and no one will bother us...not for quite some time, at least. What is the problem here? Surely you can tell that I want you as well."

"I can. Though I'll never understand why."

"I'm not sure the why of it really matters, but if you'd ask me, I'd tell you. Again."

"Again?" Sandor was confused.

"You know that I care for you. You've protected me. You helped me to escape from King's Landing and the Lannisters. You've never forced yourself on me, though I've surely thrown myself at you a dozen times. Do I have to beg you, Sandor? That wouldn't be ladylike of me, you know." Sansa grimaced at her own sarcasm.

"Aye...but you do know how to act the lady when you need to," Sandor pointed out. "So why not with me?"

"I thought you hated when I 'acted the lady'? I thought my courtesies were nothing more than lies, in your mind? After all that you've said to me, after all we've been through together, you dare ask me why I do not 'act the lady' with you?" Sansa's face had gone red with anger, but to his relief she bent to pick up her shift, and then pulled it over her head, turning her back to him and reaching for the flagon of wine that someone had left for her.

"I think you've had enough of that, little bird," Sandor cautioned, his voice softer than he meant it to be.

Sansa rounded on him again. "I don't think I have. There is something I must tell you, but I'm not quite sure I've drunk enough yet. Surely you understand that."

"I'd rather you tell me these things to me when you haven't been drinking," Sandor heard himself say. And gods be good, he meant it. Anything she said to him when she was drunk on wine...it may be true, but whether it meant the same if she could only say it with wine courage...

"I don't think I could," Sansa whispered, avoiding his gaze. "I've...I've thought about this for some time now, but...I've never been able to admit it"

What in seven hells could she be talking about? "Little bird, I - "

"No. Please...don't ask me not to tell you what I want to tell you. What I need to tell you. I'm...I'm not sure I could bare it, if you refused to hear me out."

Sandor fixed his eyes on the floor. "Say it, then. Say it now, if you need to." He tried to prepare himself for Sansa Stark to tell him that she no longer needed him, that she meant to disembark this ship in Sunspear without him...but he never could have prepared himself for the words that she actually spoke.

"Sandor...I...what you said, earlier...about what may happen to us...to you, with the Martells...I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear it because...for some time now...I've loved you. I love you. I know you may think me silly, you may believe that I don't know what I'm saying...but I do. I love you, more than I could ever possibly - "

"Little bird – Sansa - "

"No. Don't. I don't want to hear you say that you don't think I mean it. You're right - anything could happen when we arrive in Sunspear. Anything. I - I'm not prepared for what could happen. I know that. But it...it doesn't change how I feel. How I've felt. I love you, Sandor. I do. Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't believe me."

But Sandor couldn't bring himself to obey her, couldn't bring himself to 'look her in the eye' and tell her whether or not he was convinced that she loved him. He knew that Sansa at least believed that she loved him, so what was the point? And what in the hell am I supposed to say in response, anyway? As close as he'd let her come to him – to knowing him - he'd still, in a way, kept her at arm's length, knowing that at the worst they would be torn apart; at best, eventually she would wed some great Lord, relegating Sandor to the sidelines of her life. For all her previous talk of marriage and these new declarations of what she thought was love, he simply did not see this ending in their favor - and he didn't understand how that wasn't obvious to Sansa as well.

"Sandor?" Sansa's tone was pleading, now, but still Sandor refused to meet her gaze. Instead he turned and faced the door.

"This was a mistake," he announced.

"A mistake? What was a mistake?" He heard the panic in her voice, and it both disgusted Sandor and made him loathe himself for what he knew he had to say.

"Coming here, to your quarters. Agreeing to follow you all the way to Dorne, when you certainly don't need me to protect you any longer. Not controlling myself...physically...when I'm around you. All of it. Everything."

His declaration was met with a long silence, until Sansa finally whispered, "Get out." Though she spoke quietly, her words somehow seemed more forceful than they ever had before, and this time Sandor knew that he had no choice but to obey. He unlatched the door, but paused before actually leaving her. Tell her you're sorry, dog. Tell her you didn't mean any of it. Take her in your arms and take her, take her, take her...

But therein lay the problem. No matter how much he wanted her, she could never be his, and it was past time that she learned that.

"Sleep off that wine," was all that he said - before exiting her quarters to go find more drink for himself.

At this point, wine was probably the only thing that could possibly keep him sane.