Yeah! A new chapter! It's quite longer than I originally intended and I hope that you'll all appreciate it, in all its length. :)
Sansa
The idea was beyond outrageous and Sansa was utterly shocked by her own boldness but her mind had been made up from the moment the notion had slipped through it. Sandor would be the man to take her maiden gift and her resolution was as immovable as a boulder standing in the middle of a road. Nothing would make her waver from her decision.
At first, her heart had skipped a beat anytime she had pondered the risk that her actions might be uncovered years from now on her wedding night but then she had reminded herself of all the travelling she had done throughout the past years. No one would raise an eyebrow if she didn't lose blood during her bedding after all these weeks of horseback riding, she had reasoned. For now however, Sansa had yet other dangers and difficulties to keep her shivering like a leaf. For one, how she would get to the Hound's chamber unnoticed was still a mystery to her even as she walked through the dark alleys of the castle. At least Riverrun's population was well asleep by now. She didn't have to worry about stumbling into a handmaiden or man-at-arms at this time of the night, Sansa kept repeating to herself. It was no use however; her fear of being uncovered was too strong to be soothed. The mere prospect of needing to explain her midnight walk to her mother made Sansa's stomach twist into a painful mass of knots but she nevertheless kept going.
Sansa's hair, face and nightgown were almost completely covered with a long and dark woollen cloak and her feet were in the tiniest slippers she could find. On her tiptoes, she advanced along the walls, treading as carefully as she could, while praying to the Mother that the sound of her soft footsteps didn't echo across the stone corridor. Sansa couldn't tell herself; the pounding of her heart resounded so loudly that it seemed as if it competed against her uneven breathing. Both were ringing in her ears with such force that she might as well have been completely deaf and it would not have made any significant difference. But it didn't matter; she had to keep going.
She knew the place well enough by now not to get lost in the mazes of the castle and had seen Sandor enter his chamber so often while she spent time in the yard that she could have found his den blindfolded if needed. Well, that was not far from how she felt right now, progressing into the darkness with no senses left to guide her apart from her instinct. That was enough however.
She was almost there, Sansa could see it now. Right there in front of her, at the end of the long corridor, the moonlight was glowing. She had reached the yard and its great balcony where the Hound's room was, she realised with a mix of excitement and dread. How will I ever manage to get to Sandor's door without his guards stopping me? she wondered with building nervousness. Her anxiety hadn't allowed her to create a proper plan as she had waited in her chamber earlier that evening but she had nevertheless decided to jump into action, convinced that she would come up with something while on her way. She had once again been wrong, evidently. It was getting tiresome to always misjudge everything so terribly. The only hope Sansa had was that the guards would be distracted. Night shifts could be extremely dull and it would only be natural if one of them had fallen asleep… yet, one less guard still means three men awake. The improbability that she could succeed was getting increasingly more obvious to Sansa but she nonetheless kept on walking toward the moonlight – more stubborn than ever - until she faced the yard. As if the cold stone of the corridor's wall could somehow protect her, the girl pressed her body against it, willing herself to merge with it. She was only a single step away from being visible to the guards that most likely stood only a dozen yards from around the corner. It was nerve-racking! Shutting her eyes, Sansa struggled for an instant to steady her breathing but then she gathered her courage, opened her eyes and slowly moved her head forward until her right eye was just barely out, allowing her to spy over the balcony.
Thank the Seven! Sansa barely managed not to breathe aloud as she discerned the shapes of the guards. Instead of four as she had presumed, there were only two men in front of the door, both of them sitting on the floor, playing dice. The sight put a grin on her face and triggered a wave of hope to rush through her but Sansa's joy quickly soured. Two men might be better than four but she was still clueless as to how by the Maiden she could possibly get past them unnoticed. She sighed in despair. Perhaps if I wait long enough, something will attract their attention and they'll leave their post - even for the shortest of instants – offering me the chance to sneak in, she reflected, not truly believing in her own train of thought. Still, it was that or returning to her room as much a maiden as she had left, she mused, blushing as she remembered the intent of her outing.
For long and interminable minutes, Sansa waited there, silent and trembling, her nervousness getting more overwhelming with each passing second. Her feet were aching from having to stand in place for so long, her mouth and throat were dry as paper and her hands were so sweaty that they were slippery against the stone wall. In one word, she felt terrible. The guards were seemingly not as miserable as she was; Sansa could hear them laughing and cursing both and anytime she let her eye slip out from the corner of the wall, she couldn't note even a single sign that might indicate they intended to move from their place on the floor. It's hopeless, Sansa finally decided after what appeared to her as at least an hour of standing still in the darkness. Carefully, she let her back slide against the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She was frozen to the bone – only wearing a thin nightgown and a cloak in the cold autumn night - and so very tired but still, it was the failure she was faced with that caused the tears to pool in her eyes. I should have given myself to him while it was possible. Mayhap at the Hornvale castle, or even when we were at that river where he saved me… At the memory, the tears in Sansa's eyes went rolling down her cheeks. Blaming herself for her past actions wouldn't change the present though. She had been so scared back then and still clinging to the belief that she had the power to sway Robb and Mother; it was only natural that she'd preferred not to go too far. Her current situation was more surprising to be honest. A young girl was supposed to treasure her maidenhead, not sneak out of her room at night, desperately willing to be rid of it. Acting so was almost treason when you thought about it; what if-
"They're back. Finally!" a voice suddenly exclaimed, halting Sansa's reflection as abruptly.
Eyes wide and heart jumping in her throat, the young girl turned around to spy around the corner of the wall again. Noises were coming from the other end of the balcony. From where she was Sansa could distinguish four persons, both men and women judging by the sound of their voices and laughter. What is that all about? she wondered for a heartbeat, until she saw the two guards putting their dice game aside and rising to join the other group. In the blink of an eye, Sansa got to her feet again. There was no time to think as she would never get such a chance again and therefore, she took a deep breath, whispered a short prayer and flew from her hiding place, running to the Hound's chamber door. Less than two seconds later, she was there, hiding in the hollow of the doorway, hoping against all odds that no one had seen her but as she heard no yell or footsteps, Sansa was shortly thanking the gods, old and new, for the luck they had granted her. Hastily, she reached for the door handle only to realise that the place might very well be locked. Would she need to knock then? she wondered, her anxiety reaching a whole new height. Thankfully, just as her heart was about to explode in her ribcage, the door opened with not an ounce of resistance. With haste and most of all, an immeasurable amount of relief, she stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind her. And reality became dark as a grave.
Long moments passed during which Sansa didn't make a single move, too disoriented by the gloom to react. The room was warm - especially after the coldness of the yard's corridor - and also very silent with only the sound of Sandor's soft snoring to be heard. Nervously, Sansa took a step further into the space, blinking as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. The remnants of a small fire were dying in the fireplace but there was still enough light emanating from it for Sansa to begin discerning the shapes of the things that surrounded her.
The room wasn't very large; in fact it was rather small. There was a simple wooden table in one corner, a single chair to go with it and a pallet in the other corner… and on the pallet was Sandor. He was on his back, sleeping peacefully, chest bared. At the sight, Sansa gasped softly and took a step back from him. The impression she had to trespass on his privacy made her instantly ill-at-ease but then she remembered, blushing, why she had come to him in the first place. Swallowing, she resumed her slow walk toward him.
She could smell the wine now; he had been drinking and there was no question about it. Sweeping her eyes over the room, Sansa almost immediately spotted the empty bottles and skins settled over the small table. So Beckie - her handmaiden - had indeed delivered the wine Sansa had prepared for him, she realised with a smile. The thought that Sandor had received her present warmed her heart and thus for a short instant, Sansa almost completely forgot how nervous she was but then an abrupt movement caught her off guard.
"WHO'S THERE?!" the Hound barked so threateningly that Sansa jerked backward in fright, barely managing not to scream. In the blink of an eye, the man had crouched over his bed, ready to jump at the throat of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Convinced that the door would open at any moment, filling the room with guards, Sansa looked behind her for a second but was quickly reassured when she didn't hear a single sound coming from outside. The guards were probably still away.
"It's me, Sansa," she managed to whisper, her gaze back on him. Her whole body was shivering in an unpleasant mix of anticipation and fear. What if the Hound wasn't pleased to see her after all?
"Sansa?" he repeated, looking bemused as he stared straight ahead, eyes lost in the darkness. His voice was rougher than ever; sharp as a blade but with something gravelly, almost dirty to its edge. As if he didn't believe his ears, Sandor jumped from his pallet and blindly reached for her.
Strong, calloused fingers quickly covered Sansa's cheek as another hand grabbed her by the waist and dragged her closer. Sansa breathed in the man's scent, letting her own hands fall over his bare chest. It was so strange to feel his skin directly under her fingers and the hair was rougher than she'd imagined. Still, touching him like this was a thousand times better than it had ever been through a tunic. Nestling her head against his chest, Sansa shut her eyes in contentment, peaceful for the first time that night.
"What are you doing here?" the Hound asked suddenly, his voice so harsh that she felt as if its sharpness had just cut open her heart. He doesn't want me to be here, she surmised, shocked and dejected.
Eyes wide in the gloom, Sansa made to take a step back but Sandor only tightened his grip on her. His fingers were digging almost painfully into her waist and shoulder and she could hear and feel his ragged breath against her face. Was he gazing at her? She didn't dare to look up. One of her worst fears had come true; the Hound wasn't pleased to see her…
"What are you doing here?" the man asked once again, his tone even rougher than before although he kept his voice low enough not to be heard from outside.
For an instant, Sansa was catapulted back to a time when the Hound still terrified her. She trembled in fright, totally intimidated by everything he was but then she shook herself. Hadn't she learned through their journey to look beyond the façade… to tame him? She couldn't cower from him like a child now. "Sandor…" she heard herself say with far more confidence than she felt after a long moment of silence. "I... I wanted to see you," she murmured, gazing upward, trying to make out his features. "To see you one last time before you go."
Snorting, the man gently pushed her from him and moved toward the fireplace. "It's a rare thing that a woman wants to see my bloody face," he rasped while stirring the embers back to life with a poker. Once a fire was burning again, the room grew noticeably lighter - although it was still quite dim – however, this was enough for Sansa to behold the whole space with far more detail than she had previously. Sitting on the edge of his pallet, Sandor was blankly staring at her, looking fairly drunk. "Go on, little bird. Take your last buggering look," he growled, eyes narrowed at her while he craned his neck in a mocking offer.
It was very like him to take her words so literally but instead of smiling as she would normally have, Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. She strode toward him. "Sandor," she said, trying to keep her voice poised. "I… I tried tonight to convince my brother and mother to let you stay with me – I swear I did! - but they-"
"Bugger that, little bird. Don't tell me you truly believed they would let me stay by your side and be your fucking dog?" Sandor barked a rough and bitter laugh at that. "That was a stupid notion. I told you, didn't I?" Without warning, the man dug his fingers into Sansa's hair until it circled over her head in a not so pleasant manner. "I thought you'd grown a brain in that pretty head of yours," he then grunted almost meanly.
"Please! Don't mock me, Sandor!" Sansa cried out while shaking his hand from her. "You were the one who found a way to follow me to Riverrun. The Blackfish didn't want you to but you nonetheless forced it on him." Hesitating for a few seconds, Sansa took a deep breath and continued. "Wasn't it because you wanted me to try swaying my family? Why come otherwise?"
His jaw clenched, Sandor's mouth twitched a few times. Narrowed and stormy, his eyes were boring into Sansa's, glaring at her so intently that it sent a shudder down her spine but then he turned his head sideways and gazed away from her. "Well, mayhap I'm as stupid as you after all, little bird," he hissed between gritted teeth.
Against her own will, Sansa's lips curled into a small smile. This was his way of admitting he had hoped too. Sandor still had feelings for her, only he was too bitter to show it or admit it. The knowledge gave Sansa courage. She had to be the one to open her heart, for the Hound would never do it. "I can't believe you'll be going tomorrow," she began, throat tightening at the thought. "Chances are we'll never see each other again afterward… I wish we could have stayed together."
Glaring at her from his place on the bed, Sandor rolled his eyes and threw his head back, uttering a short, dry laugh. "Your words don't mean a thing, girl. They're fucking empty!" Seizing her by the upper arms, he pulled her closer, causing Sansa to nearly lose her balance in the process. "If you wanted to be with me so damned much, you should've followed me when the time was right. Now, don't you pretend to be fucking heartbroken and all. I don't buy your bloody shit, Sansa," he snarled as lowly and menacingly as a dog about to attack, shaking her before he pushed her away with more force than he had ever used on her.
Falling to the floor, Sansa yelped in shock. She wasn't truly hurt but the Hound, notwithstanding his harsh talk, had never been anything but gentle and protective toward her before. The contrast was so strong, brutal even, that Sansa couldn't stop the tears from forming in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Finding solace in the cool contrast of the floor against her burning face, she curled into herself and tried to keep her sobs silent.
"You all right, girl?" Sandor muttered from his seat on the pallet.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa stayed silent. She needed to calm herself, to breathe a few times and stop sobbing before she talked.
The pallet creaked and Sansa heard footsteps coming toward her. Opening her eyes slightly, she spied Sandor but only had time to see him staggering as he approached before she quickly closed them again. Crouching above her, the Hound settled his hands on her with far more delicacy this time.
"I didn't kill you, did I?" he asked wearily.
Sansa shook her head but kept her eyes shut.
Sighing, with something like relief, Sandor began feeling her arms and thighs. "Anything broken?"
"No, I'm fine… Just shaken," Sansa replied in a whisper before turning on her back and opening her eyes to gaze at him. The Hound was watching her with a brooding expression, apparently lost in his thoughts.
Leaning closer, he began brushing Sansa's cheek with his knuckles. "A brute like me shouldn't have a fragile little bird like you in his care. See how I treat you? I wouldn't know how to handle you without breaking your wings," the man rasped, mouth set in a tight half-smile. "You've made the right choice, Sansa. You'd lose too much coming with me and I'd only end up hurting you for real."
Vigorously shaking her head, Sansa circled her arms around Sandor's neck. He was mistaken! He was far better than he believed he was! If she hadn't been so highborn… Oh! I'd have married him in a heartbeat and never feared for my safety! For the first time in her life, Sansa regretted being a Stark. Pushing the thought aside and willing the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes for the hundredth time that night to stay in place, she pressed her lips against his. Despite what she had feared, Sandor didn't shove her away; on the contrary, he leaned his body over hers, pinning her against the floor and opened his lips to meet her tongue with his. Sansa moaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by his warmth and the feel of his hard muscles against her.
"Sandor," she breathed, leaving his mouth. "I came tonight because… because I still owe you something."
"You owe me nothing, little bird," the man replied, slightly puzzled.
"No, I assure you I do," Sansa replied, blushing. "I… I promised you a song, long ago but never gave it to you."
Snorting softly, the Hound rolled on his side. "You don't have to sing for me, Sansa. You know by now that was only meant as a bawdy… jape," the man began, losing his assurance as he finished his sentence and realised by the smile she was giving him that she knew exactly - this time at least - what she was referring to. For a moment, he seemed lost and therefore Sansa turned on her side to face him and laid her hands over his torso.
"Sandor," she said, gathering all her courage, barely believing she had it in her to be so bold – wanton even. "Tonight… I… I want to be yours… take me."
The Hound's whole body shook as he heard her demand. His eyes grew wide and he gazed at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You don't realise what you're doing here, girl. Careful! You don't say things like this unless you fucking mean them," he warned her, although his tone made it sound more like a threat.
"But I do," Sansa stated in a murmur so soft she wasn't even certain he had heard her.
He had though.
Groaning lowly, Sandor gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the ground faster than it took for Sansa to even realise what was happening. A heartbeat later, she was bouncing over the pallet, the dark shape of the Hound looming beside her. Gaping in surprise at her sudden change of environment, Sansa propped herself on her elbow and glanced up at the man. His gaze was so intent; from the gleam that shone in his eyes, she might have believed he had gone completely mad and was about to kill her had she not known better. A part of her was frightened to be desired with such ferocity while another was flattered and thrilled at being the object of a passion as strong and undeniable as his. He really wants me, Sansa reflected, butterflies filling her stomach.
Her cloak was wide open around her, revealing the thin white nightgown she was wearing underneath. From where he stood beside the pallet, the Hound was biting at his bottom lip, head slightly tilted while fixing her with narrowed eyes. His body was tight as a bow and completely still apart from his gaze that kept roving all over Sansa's body. It's the calm before the storm, she realised, heart hammering.
And indeed it was for just as she was reflecting upon it, Sandor exhaled and jumped on the pallet beside her, sliding an arm under her shoulder blades while breathing in the scent of her neck and hair. For the briefest instant, the closeness of his presence was almost enough to allow Sansa to forget the knot of nervousness that had taken root in her long hours ago. Shutting her eyes, she snuggled herself against him, willing some of his strength to infuse itself into her.
Calloused fingers were pushing down her collar and Sandor began nibbling and biting at her shoulder and neck while his hands stroked her firmly everywhere withthe same urgency, as if he feared she might disappear at any moment. Her hair, her waist, her thighs and buttocks… every part of her body seemed to be a magnet for his touch. Each of his movements was so rapid that Sansa was growing dizzy but the sensation wasn't an unpleasant one, far from it. When his lips finally met hers, she felt like her heart would burst out of her chest from the deep bliss it induced in her; Sandor's mouth was so perfect against hers! No matter the burns that covered one half and the dirty words it so often uttered, for now it was soft and comforting. How would she ever live without those hot kisses? Don't think about it. Not now, Sansa repeated to herself while raising her hands to his broad shoulders. His skin was far rougher and thicker than her own and the muscles underneath were so solid and taut… She couldn't stop herself from exploring every detail of their shape and tracing the lines of his chest and arms with her fingers, totally absorbed by the feeling.
For a split-second, Sansa tensed when she grew aware of the Hound's hard manhood rubbing against her thigh. A deep blush crept all over her body but she relaxed nonetheless and didn't try to stop him, even when he pushed it further against her. It seems so big! she thought to herself, at once curious and fearful. The fabric of her nightgown was so thin and his woollen breeches weren't truly thick either; she could almost feel everything… Would he mind if she touched it? She didn't dare ask. How by the Maiden was one supposed to demand such a thing?
"I've been dying for a taste of those sweet teats of yours for longer than you can imagine, Sansa," Sandor murmured as he lowered his head over her cleavage.
Sansa's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat when his fingers began fumbling with the laces of her dress, pushing the cloth out of the way a second later, down to her navel. Her arms stayed stuck in the gown's sleeves and she had to fight to free herself from the fabric but once it was done and she saw how the Hound was eating her up with his gaze, she believed her core would melt. His warm mouth was over her breasts almost instantly, licking and biting hungrily at the nipples and Sansa whimpered at the sensation. She had never suspected that such pleasure could be induced by that part of her body. Shutting her eyes, she dug her fingers into his hair, letting the intense heat that leaked from each inch of skin the Hound's mouth lingered upon spread through her whole body.
"Tasty," the man rasped, leaving Sansa's wet nipples. The girl groaned in dissatisfaction, raising her hands over her breasts to warm them. The nipples were stiff under her touch.
Backing slightly away from her, Sandor rolled onto his side and took hold of the hem of Sansa's skirt, bringing it up while brushing his palm all along her calf and thigh, until the cloth was gathered around her waist. A second later, he had left Sansa's side and got to the end of the pallet, between her legs. Making a bundle out of the dress, the Hound nodded impatiently at Sansa.
"Take that off," he said.
Obediently, Sansa sat up only to realise that her cloak was still draped over her shoulders. She undid its clasp before sliding her nightgown over her head and throwing both pieces of clothing onto the floor. At the contact with the fresh air, goose bumps sprouted all over Sansa's naked skin, an unneeded reminder of the almost complete state of nudity she was in. Never in her life had she been so exposed to a man's eyes and while a rush of shame flooded through her at the thought, the idea also made her centre ache as it never had before.
The Hound took a second to admire her, chest heaving and mouth slightly open. He was crouched over the pallet, eyeing her with the same lust and hunger of a savage beast staring at its prey as it got ready to attack. Sansa bit her lip in anticipation. She was his for the night, she reminded herself and was prepared to let him do whatever he pleased with her.
"You won't be needing those," Sandor muttered as he began relieving her of the long stockings she wore. Once they had joined the cloak and nightgown on the floor, the man grunted and gazed at Sansa's smallclothes. Teeth bared in a wicked grin, he slid his forefinger under a layer of lace, toying with it. "Nor these," he added, unlacing the ribbons that held the garment in place.
Sansa squeaked as he pulled the last of her clothing down and fell back onto the mattress. She closed her legs more by reflex than anything else, feeling moisture seeping at their juncture.
"You said you'd open your pretty white legs for me tonight, little bird," the Hound reproached in jest, while grabbing her thighs and gently spreading them.
Sansa didn't resist; he was doing exactly what she had demanded of him, after all. Would he enter her now?
"Mmm," Sandor groaned, sounding delighted. "Everything about you is perfect, girl. Even your cunt. Pretty red hair, just like your head…" He paused to utter a soft snort and smirked. "And pink, like your lips… I'll kiss it too, if you'd like."
Without even waiting for a reply, he lowered his head and pressed his lips over Sansa's most secret part. The sensation was so strange; very similar to the one she had experienced while touching herself in the woods while at the same time utterly different. The knowledge that a man's head was cradled in such an intimate place, nuzzling her with neither restraint nor shame, both stupefied and entranced her. She could hear him breathing heavily as he licked and sucked at her folds, his big hands running all over her thighs. A moan escaped her lips when his tongue began teasing her entrance but he then bit at her inner thigh and rose suddenly from the bed. Why is he stopping? Sansa wondered, flushed and flustered.
"I can stand it no more, little bird. I need to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, now," the man rasped, mouth gleaming with moisture. Frantically, he reached for the laces of his breeches, untying them with haste as if they had caught fire.
Sansa rose on her elbows and watched him, spellbound. He was quickly freed from his breeches and standing in front of her, as naked as on his name day. Sansa gulped. Sandor's manhood was even bigger than she had imagined. Was it supposed to fit entirely into her lady's part? Surely not.
Thick and slick, the Hound's stiff member was a shade or two darker than the rest of his body and standing so straight that it seemed to defy any logic. All around its base, dark, curly hair grew, covering the two balls of flesh that hung below while going all the way to his navel in a thin line. A curious pearl of moisture was shining at the tip of its head in the most intriguing fashion. Never before had Sansa seen a grown man's member. She was astounded by the sight and only resuming breathing normally when Sandor's fist went circling around its length and began moving up and down in slow, constant movements. Why was he doing that? Oh… could he really be…?
Sansa's stupefied expression seemed to both amuse and arouse him. "I've done this pretty damned often thinking of you, Sansa. Did you know that?" the man admitted, taking his place between her thighs and parting them. Using his hand at first, he stroked her folds, uttering a satisfied grunt.
"You're all wet and ready. I never dreamed your cunt to be so eager to welcome my cock," he breathed, rubbing the length of his manhood against her.
Gasping, Sansa threw her head back at the pleasure the contact brought her. "Oh, Sandor," she cried, not thinking. "I want…" she whispered, trailing off when she realised she didn't even know how to finish the sentence.
"What? Tell me, little bird?" the Hound inquired with obvious interest. When she didn't reply, he smirked and asked, "My cock? Is that what you want?"
Sansa could feel her skin growing redder with every beat of her heart but lowered her gaze to him nonetheless, fixing it on him for a few seconds before she nodded her agreement.
At her reply, the Hound's eyes seemed to darken even more and his mouth twitched. He lowered his body over Sansa's and met her lips with his in a soft kiss while aiming the end of his manhood at her entrance. Slowly, he began sliding the head into her. It felt so strange but didn't hurt at first until he pushed into her again, further this time. Her body tensing, Sansa let out a cry but immediately tried to relax and circled her arms around the Hound's broad neck.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked as softly as his hoarse voice allowed.
"No," Sansa lied, shaking her head while looking up at him. He seemed concerned but smirked and kissed her when he heard her reply.
In one thrust, Sandor sheathed the rest of his manhood into her, his brow falling onto the pillow when he was done. "Seven hells, little bird, but you're tight."
Sansa didn't have a hard time believing him for she felt stretched to an extent she hadn't expected. Still, the pain wasn't so bad that she couldn't bear it and that was more than she had hoped for. That's it! I'm not a maiden anymore, was the thought that hit her at that moment. Her veil was without a doubt history now that the Hound's hard member filled her so completely. The idea was both frightening and exciting; while Sansa knew very well that her actions tonight could never be reversed, the notion that she had decided for herself to whom she'd gift her maidenhead was also extremely satisfying. The knowledge that it was Sandor whom she had allowed to invade her body for the first time would be with her for the rest of her life and no one could ever take it from her.
With a deep groan, the Hound began to move his hips back and forth between Sansa's thighs, slowly at first but then faster and faster. Although her lady's parts were still sensitive, something in the way his shaft rubbed against their walls induced a pleasant throbbing which was increasingly more intense and intoxicating as he kept going. Sweat was pearling all over the Hound's torso and back but Sansa couldn't have cared less and kept her arms tightly locked around his shoulders. Pressing her deeply into the scratchy straw mattress, Sandor's muscular body was heavy over hers, weighing on her but that was also something she enjoyed.
She had never seen him bear such an expression as the one he had now. His eyes were deprived of the usual cool edge and assurance they always had; they were passionate, lost and contented all at once instead. Sansa couldn't believe she could be the cause of such exhilaration in the man. Sandor was so out of breath; he barely seemed to be able to contain himself, as if he was on the verge of something. I love him like that, Sansa decided, wishing the moment might last eternally. Growing bold, she arched her back and ground her hips against his, mirroring his own constant movements while letting out a whimper as she felt his manhood - although she would have sworn it was impossible! - slide even deeper inside her.
Panting, the Hound's eyes grew wide. "You squirming little bird! If you don't stop that, I won't last very long."
Puzzled by his meaning, Sansa stopped nonetheless but it apparently didn't matter as Sandor was already rolling onto his back and abandoning her.
"Too late," he breathed, stroking his manhood in the same fashion he had moments ago. A white, transparent liquid spilled from the tip of its head, landing over Sandor's upper belly in sticky looking drops while the man groaned and shook, head thrown back.
Sansa stared at the whole process in fascination. That probably meant the end of it, she gathered, slightly disappointed although mostly content with the outcome.
"I had too much bloody wine," the Hound rasped under his breath. "I was drunk asleep when you arrived. It's a buggering wonder I got hard at all… Although with you, I wager I'd manage even after drowning myself in all the bloody wine in the Red Keep's storeroom," he continued, eyes shut as if he was about to fall asleep.
Rolling onto her side, Sansa nestled against him, purring when she felt his thick arm snake around her. A second later, she squeezed her eyes shut as the realisation that these were her last moments with Sandor hit her again, willing the gesture to chase the knowledge from her mind. Now was not the time to weep and regret. Later. I'll think on that later. Forcing a smile on her face, she opened her eyes and laid a hand over the Hound's chest, caressing its hair while glancing curiously down. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his manhood, still as hard as it had been before he entered her. Was it meant to stay like this even after? A man's member still held so much mystery in her eyes. She yearned to understand how it worked, what every detail she had witnessed tonight meant… and to touch it. Heat invaded her face at the idea but Sansa would never get another chance, apart from years from now with her husband. Thinking of that faceless man almost brought bile to the back of her throat; she'd rather never give herself to any man at all than be touched by someone else. Her resentment giving her courage, Sansa slowly moved her hand toward Sandor's manhood. The man's breath was coming more evenly now, the soft, soothing sound of someone dozing off and for a very short instant, Sansa was persuaded that he would not even notice as she lightly laid the tips of her fingers over his manhood but she had been wrong again.
Obviously still awake, the Hound turned prying eyes on her even before she had a chance to really get a touch. "What are you doing, Sansa?" he grunted, staggered.
Abashed that she'd been caught, the girl nervously gazed at him but was quickly reassured when she didn't read any annoyance in his expression. On the contrary, his eyes were alive with lust as if their lovemaking had never taken place.
Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Sansa nevertheless decided to explain herself. "I… I wanted to feel your… your…"
"My cock," Sandor answered for her, smirking. "Go on. Touch it all you like; I'm not about to stop you."
Blushing at the smugness of his approval, Sansa once again approached his manhood with her hand and caressed its length with her fingers. The skin feels so soft and silky, she mused, amazed that a warrior such as the Hound would have even a single part of his anatomy that was not rough or calloused. Her head was propped over his chest, face turned down so that she could see what she did but Sansa needed a better view. She sat up, shy and bold all at once while the powerful arm that held her let her go, stroking her back and hair instead. The white fluid she had seen coming out of Sandor's shaft was still there over his upper belly and Sansa laid the tip of a finger over it, moving it around. It was stickier than she'd imagined, she noted, wrinkling her nose.
"The seed's still there, isn't it? I'd almost forgotten," the Hound muttered while stretching his long body to seize some random piece of cloth from the small table beside the pallet. Without much care, he rubbed it over the seed and threw it away.
Sansa watched, fearful that the soiled fabric had fallen over her nightgown and stained it with the seed, giving proof of her misbehaviour to whomever was curious enough to look but thankfully the Hound had aimed further away. Sansa sighed in relief and returned to her exploration.
Sandor's erect member was lying over his lower belly, going all the way to his navel and Sansa was confounded at the thought that it had fitted completely. It was so long! And not only that, it was also exceedingly large. Could she cover all its width with her fist as Sandor had done? Surely not but the urge to try was getting to her. Delicately, Sansa pressed her palm against it and jumped in surprise when the thing squirmed under her touch.
"It wants you to stroke it, that's all," the Hound muttered, a wolfish grin curving his lips.
Heeding his suggestion, Sansa gripped his shaft and lifted it using one hand first but then adding another if only to evaluate its dimensions more easily. Astounded by the way the skin slid over the hardness it covered, she shyly attempted to mimic the slow up and down movements the Hound had done previously. It wasn't as simple as it looked; the skin kept slipping out of her hands and Sandor was starting to tense as if something was annoying him.
"Harder, Sansa. Close your little fists as firmly as you can. And move faster too," he rasped. A jolt passed though his body when she did as he asked, shortly followed by a string of soft curses.
The strength of his reaction made Sansa smile. It did go far better that way, she had to admit. The skin was moving smoothly under her palms and judging by the response she was getting, the Hound enjoyed the caresses she offered very much. He was not the only one though; Sansa relished the feeling of power the gesture gave her. Simply by stroking his shaft, it was as if she had gained all control over him, no matter how impressive and intimidating he usually was.
"Yes, that's it, little bird," Sandor murmured approvingly. "Now straddle me. Put your lovely cunt around my cock."
Sansa's eyes grew wide. She wasn't exactly certain of how she was supposed to proceed.
Seeing her hesitation, the Hound grunted and grabbed Sansa by the waist, raising her over his hips while eliciting a squeak of surprise from her. She landed over him, knees far apart and folds resting over his manhood. Blushing madly, Sansa shifted her position and groaned at the sharp sensation the friction created.
"Put it in, Sansa," Sandor told her, eyes narrowed in lust.
She obeyed and rose on her knees. Circling a hand around his shaft, she pressed its head against her entrance and began - so very slowly – to slide it inside of her. She could feel her insides stretching again while some of her previous soreness was instantly revived by the action but Sansa was most of all exhilarated by the overwhelming feeling. Sandor's stiff manhood was halfway in - both filling her hand and gradually creating an opening in her - when some of the wetness of her folds trickled along its length and reached her fingers. A part of Sansa was scandalised by all the fluids that went with the act of lovemaking; it seemed so dirty, so bestial… Still, another part of her was intensely aroused by those same details and yearned to let go of all propriety. Arching her back and throwing her head backward, Sansa removed her hand from the Hound's member and pushed the remaining length as deeply as she could between her thighs. For a heartbeat, she was almost blinded by the impact of his full manhood in her – pain fusing into ecstasy in the most confusing fashion. Dazed, she almost fell over Sandor but robust hands held her in place.
Grunting softly, the man trailed his palms from Sansa's hips up to her breasts and then all along her back down to her buttocks, cupping the cheeks firmly. "Such a beautiful bird, dancing over my cock," he rasped when Sansa began rocking herself against him. Enraptured by her eagerness, Sandor caught her by the hips and began thrusting his shaft inside of her, attuning himself to the cadence she had established.
At the tight contact of his shaft inside her, the delightful throbbing Sansa had experienced earlier was quickly being revived, however, another point of pleasure was also being awoken by that particular position. Just above her entrance where the Hound's manhood kept coming and going, the same nub of flesh that she had caressed on that night in the woods was being pressed and rubbed in such a way that the exquisite burning was slowly starting to build in her core again. She continued to push and slide against it – revelling in the delicious friction while desperately searching for the best way to trigger the bliss she remembered. Once she hit the right angle, Sansa let out a lament so unladylike and loud that she surely would have cringed if it had not felt so utterly perfect. Dizzied and somewhat shocked at her own wanton reaction, Sansa lost her balance and landed over Sandor's brawny chest.
"Hush, little bird. Do you want my guards to find you here? The Lady Sansa fucking the Hound and enjoying it?" he rasped, smirking at his jape. Softly, he brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen over Sansa's face with his fingers but abruptly threw his head back and groaned when she resumed the movement of her hips. "Gods, Sansa," he panted. "Believe me, you move like a bloody goddess."
Smiling coyly at the indecent praise, Sansa kissed him languorously, musing on how she loved him regardless of his crude ways. Palms flat on his chest, she propped herself upward, leaving his mouth while the Hound tightened his grip on her hips, increasing the rapidity of his thrusts. The stabbing of his taut manhood into the softness of her insides was swiftly and inexorably bringing Sansa nearer to climax and she arched her back until she was almost as curved as a bow, rolling her hips over her responsive little nub and pressing her entire weight over it. Her whole body was about to explode, or so she believed. Ripples of liquid fire were invading each of her limbs with increasing force until a final wave, more violent than she would ever have imagined possible, drifted over her – dominating her senses. Crying out in elation, Sansa fell over Sandor again, writhing and moaning in the most licentious and shameless fashion she could conjure.
Holding her tight, the Hound muffled her cry with his mouth, kissing her passionately until she was silent and calm again. Wholly astounded by what she had just experienced, Sansa gazed into his eyes, finding everything she desired right there.
"I love you," she whispered softly.
The Hound didn't react at first but then his eyes narrowed at her.
"I love you, Sandor," she repeated as much to herself as for him before meeting his lips with hers again.
Against anything Sansa might have believed, the kiss they shared at that moment was even more passionate than any other they had ever had. With strong, tender hands, the Hound pushed her onto her back without leaving her mouth and resumed thrusting between her thighs more frantically than ever. His manhood met no resistance in the wetness of her folds, the way a sword slid perfectly into the sheath custom-made to shelter its blade. They were nibbling at each other's lips and sliding their tongues together as if there was no tomorrow – and indeed there wasn't! – until Sandor's body tensed and jerked. Letting out a deep and long moan, the man rolled onto his side barely in time to avoid spilling himself in Sansa's belly. Seed splattered over the insides of her thighs, the fluid warm and sticky against her skin. Completely out of breath, Sansa reached for him, drowsily letting him wrap his long and muscular arms around her, pushing her head into the solid cushion of his chest.
The room she was in was warm and dark. An agreeable, musky scent was swirling in the air, suffusing Sansa's nostrils and enveloping her whole body. Her skin was almost completely pressed against something that radiated heat and covered by big and heavy limbs… Sandor! I'm still in his room! Sansa realised with a start. She had fallen asleep in his bed after the intense and perfect night they had shared...
What time is it? she wondered, terrified. Untangling herself from his grasp, Sansa searched for her nightgown on the floor. She found it easily but putting it on in the gloom was another matter. Once the struggle was done and her cloak was draped over her shoulders, she gave a sleeping Sandor one last kiss, tears pearling in her eyes and headed for the door. The guards! she remembered, horror-struck. Whispering a short prayer, she opened the door and peeked outside. She didn't see anyone from where she was. Perhaps the guards were on the other side, hidden behind the door but she neither had the time nor a way to find out. Taking a deep breath and trying to master her panic, she ran out as silently and hastily as she could, not even bothering to shut the door behind. Never looking back, she continued her flight through the long corridors until she had reached her room. Catching her breath, she finally took a look back, waiting for the worst but saw no one. The alley was as silent as a grave apart from a few birds that had started their morning songs outside the great window. It was dawn already. Thankfully, judging by the light, Sansa still had about an hour before her handmaiden came. She had time to wash… and cry.
"Gold?" the Hound asked, baffled, staring at the pouch that Robb held before him.
"Yes," the younger man answered, trying to hide his unease. "It's to thank you for having taken good care of my sister. You've protected her, brought her safe and whole to us and for that, the North is grateful."
Scowling, Sandor narrowed distrustful eyes at Robb and grunted something unintelligible before seizing the pouch. The man glanced in Sansa's direction, grey eyes as cold as steel but shortly returned his gaze to the king.
"I'll find use for that," he rasped, putting the pouch away in Stranger's saddlebag.
The early morning sun didn't reflect on the Hound's dark grey armour although the sunbeam was almost strong enough to forget the coldness of the autumn air. He and his stallion were the darkest things in the yard, seemingly coming straight from the gloom of the night. The thought produced shivers all over Sansa's body as images from their stolen night of passion flashed in her mind.
Two hours at the most had passed since she had left the warmth of Sandor's pallet. For fear that Beckie, her handmaiden, might detect the Hound's scent on her, Sansa's first actions after arriving in her room had been to slip her nightgown over her head and rub a wet towel all over her body. In other conditions, she wouldn't have been so eager to rid herself of his mark but the present situation required that she act swiftly. Once she was clean enough for her taste, she had laid her tired limbs over her featherbed and pulled the thick sheets over her frail body. It was a strange thing to regret rough, cotton linens and the hardness of a thin straw mattress when settled over a featherbed…
The rest of Sansa's dawning hours had been split between mad fits of giggles and swoons followed by long and heartbreaking sobs. Beckie had eyed her strangely when she had entered the chamber and seen her puffy, red eyes but the woman had thankfully not uttered any comment. The handmaiden had helped her dress and brushed her long hair, swearing under her breath in annoyance at how exceptionally tangled it was this morning. Once her appearance was acceptable, Sansa had left her room and rushed to the yard, fearing all the way that she had missed the Hound's departure, however, the day had only just begun and thus the man had still been there, surrounded by his guards while squires fixed the last plates of his armour over his back and chest. For a few minutes, Sansa had stayed in the shadows of the doorway, at a loss as to how to address him in front of all those people after what they had shared and certain that anyone who watched her would see right through her demure attitude and formal phrases. Tears had pooled in her eyes, forcing her to sponge them away with her sleeve – against Septa Mordane's every teaching – while gulping hard to keep the sobs at bay. She hadn't noticed Robb's footsteps behind her as he approached and had jumped at feeling his hand squeezing her shoulder.
"Come. Let's go give our farewells," he had gently told her while leading her outside.
She had followed him without a word and now, here she was, gazing at the man she loved for the last time in her life. The idea that she would never see him again was extremely hard to grasp for Sansa. A lifetime without him was an abstract concept. Tears were threatening to fill her eyes every time she blinked but she had promised herself she would show a brave face and she intended to keep her word.
Buckled at his hips, Sandor's sword belt hung empty. His weapons were still in his guards' possession and the men were instructed to escort him a half day's ride away from Riverrun before they gave them back for reasons Sansa didn't quite understand. Did Robb truly fear that he would come back and attack the castle by himself?
"Well, I reckon I should be on my way now," the Hound announced with a total lack of enthusiasm, while jumping into Stanger's saddle. "Good luck with the war, Your Grace," he muttered in Robb's direction, barely masking the contempt in his voice when speaking the title. Turning his gaze on Sansa, he stared at her for an instant, something like resentment gleaming in his eyes. "Farewell, Lady Sansa," he rasped flatly, his mouth twitching a single time at that.
A moment later, the Hound was heading toward the drawbridge, followed by the group of mounted guards who would escort him out of Sansa's life. Forever.