Author's Notes: Thanks for all the lovely feedback! Sorry for the massive word count bump. I hadn't planned this chapter to be so long, but I tend to suck at fem-centered scenes and try to make up for it by being wordy. Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint! Working on chapter 3 as we speak. Enjoy!

Sansa stood with her body still halfway hidden by the door frame but as Sandor leaned against it for support, wavering slightly in his stance, she knew there was no point in hiding anymore. He had seen her. She had certainly seen him. And despite him not addressing any of it in the least, she knew she hadn't imagined it all in her head. 'No…it was real.' As if to second guess herself, she glanced downwards between them and noticed immediately that the laces of his trousers were still hanging loose, carelessly untied. In his drunken state, he had avoided the frustrating task of retying them all together. The Hound let out a low laugh as he watched her eyes fall down below his waist. 'The poor girl is still in stock!' His chuckling brought her attention back up to his face and he shook his head, still smiling at her wide eyes and slack jaw. As if reading his thoughts, Sansa closed her mouth, pressing her lips tightly together and turned defensive in her stance. The oversized man in front of her pushed himself up off the door frame and reached behind him to pull the door closed. It clicked shut and he stared down at her. "Come on, little bird. I'll take you back to your cage."

Remembering how he had nearly collapsed into his room earlier, and having watched him sway slightly as he approached the door before speaking to her, Sansa thought it unwise for him to be going anywhere for a while. At least not until the effects of the wine had lessened. "Are you able to walk, Ser?" The concern seemed to ooze out of every word and Sandor frowned at her tone.

Mockingly, he straightened up, dropped his brows heavily over his eyes and snarled down at her. "Aye, girl. I'm able to walk." The long, echoing hallways of the castle were empty and Sansa was thankful for it. Though they didn't speak the whole walk back to her bed chamber, she could just imagine the sort of gossip that would have circulated by dawn if anyone had spotted the Hound and her alone so late at night. A proper lady didn't spend her evenings wandering around in the company of men, let alone the King's dog. As they rounded the final corner and the image of her door came into view, she felt his hand grip her arm just above the elbow. She came to a halt and lifted her arm at the shoulder, but he didn't release her from his grasp. "If you value your life, girl, you'll not be so careless again." Sansa made to pull her arm away again and this time he let her go. "The King won't be pleased if his little prize is soiled before he can have his fun."

The meaning of his warning came through harsher than she was sure he had intended. He should have known better than anyone, having saved her from those vile men when they were attacked by the mob, that she knew the risks. She knew what some men wanted to do to women, willing or not, and yet there he was, scolding her as if she were still a child. The Stark girl took a step back, closer to her bedroom door, and tried to regain her composure. "Thank you for escorting me back to my room, Ser."

Sandor shook his head. 'Always with her courtesies…they've trained the little bird well.' His jaw grated slightly to the side as he watched her back away. "I'm no Ser." Sansa glanced back at him, pausing at her doorway. The Hound urged her on further. "Go back to your cage, little bird, where you can be kept safe for your beloved King." The wine was letting his tongue loose, half warning and half mocking her as she quietly slipped behind the thick door at last.

The following morning was spent in a typical fashion. She broke her fast in her room while her handmaidens prepared her attire for the day. She was to spend the majority of it with the Queen, most likely working on their needlepoint, something which Sansa prided herself in. It seemed the only time that she could confidently be with Cersei without a constant fear of ridicule. That would come later of course, as they walked through the gardens, down the long castle's corridors, and no doubt when they met with Joffrey later on in the day to feast on their midday meal. Where Joffrey seemed to become increasingly angry with her, his mother kept pulling her closer and closer into her web. She seemed to fear losing Sansa, not so much as her future daughter-in-law, but as her captive. The young Stark girl of Winterfell was nothing more than a pawn in getting her precious twin brother Jaime back.

They sat at the table quietly, Cersei sipping at her wine while Sansa tried to avoid hers. She wasn't much of a drinker but the more time she seemed to spend with the queen, the more she noticed how much the high-born woman drank. Silently, she hoped that wasn't somehow a requirement once she became Joffrey's queen, though it would make her time with him slightly less unbearable. Before long, the wide doors to the dining hall slid open and the blonde young king himself strode straight towards them. "Mother." He greeted Cersei briskly before turning his eyes to his betrothed. His mouth twitched into a cocky smirk. "Lady Sansa." Trailing closely behind him was his guards, the most prominent one being his loyal hound. They took up their posts against the adjacent wall and fixed their eyes forward. Sandor stood with his hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword, sheathed securely to his waist belt. The other two guards, Ser Meryn and Ser Boros watched out of the corner of their eyes as Joffrey reached for Sansa's hand and kissed the back of it softly, before turning their sights away.

Joffrey sat and Sansa's eyes smoothly shifted to the Hound. Lingering just long enough on his face to realize he wasn't going to look at her, she let her glance drop down past his chest plate and stopped at the top of his trousers. Though his tunic concealed the majority of her view, she could tell his laces were neatly assembled and tied, unlike the night before. Remembering the way his eyes burned through her, the thickness of his shaft, and the low moans that escaped him as he unraveled in front of her, she swallowed hard. She had been so distracted that she hadn't heard Joffrey speaking to her. It wasn't until he brought his clenched fist down on the table beside his plate that she snapped back to attention. He held her in his stare, his mouth split open just enough to where she could see his irritated expression, before glancing over at his guards. The Hound didn't move, didn't shift to acknowledge the young King burning a hole through him. Joffrey closed his mouth tightly and pressed his back against the support of his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked Sansa, "Does the Hound still scare you?" Joffrey let out a quick burst of laughter and muttered, "The ugly brute… Wait outside, dog! You're scaring my lady."

Sandor finally broke his stance against the wall and turned towards them. Carefully, he bent slightly, dropping his head stiffly to the King. Joffrey waved his hand, pardoning the Hound to take his leave, but when his head rose back up, his eyes weren't on his King. Cersei was too busy drinking down her wine to notice, but as Sansa stared across the table at him, Sandor locked on to her. She knew it only lasted a few seconds but it felt like too long. The look in his eyes was the same lustful expression she had seen the night before and she suddenly felt overly exposed. Surely someone would look up, glance over at their exchange and understand the hidden message in his stare. She swallowed hard again and tried to control her breathing which had somehow quickened without her meaning it to. Straightening back up to his full height, the King's dog did as he was told and left the room to wait outside.

It was difficult to pay complete attention to what was being said, with Sandor still on her mind, but nevertheless, the end of their meal came and went. Joffrey bid his ladies farewell as he marched through the doors, calling loudly for his dog to rejoin his group of guards once again. Sansa kept her eyes fixed on a knot in the wood of the table as they passed the open door, avoiding the temptation to glance over and catch another glimpse of the giant man who had exposed so much of himself to her.

Sansa watched silently as Sandor Clegane accompanied the King to dinner that evening. He took up his stance against the wall and avoided her eyes once more. He held his jaw tight and remained that way for the duration of the night. When their feast had finally come to an end and Joffrey got up to leave, she tried to catch the eye of his guard dog. As if on cue, in the final moments before they left the room, Sandor shot her a look. This time she was ready for it. She straightened her back and rested her hands calmly in her lap. She would show him that she was a proper lady. She was a daughter of Winterfell and soon, she would be queen. Unlike the woman who had offered her services to him the previous night, Sansa was not some common whore for him to toy with as he pleased.

But as strong as she willed herself to remain, his eyes nearly caused her to unravel. She felt her heart beat a little harder in her chest, rising and falling quicker as she watched his grey eyes lingering over her. He dropped his gaze and stalked out of the room after his King. Sansa finally felt herself begin to relax.

On the third night, the tough little bird was determined to maintain her composure no matter how the towering man chose look at her. He could stare at her the entire night for all she cared and she wouldn't let it get inside her as it had done the past two nights. She was stronger than that. 'Let him try to stir me.' She told herself firmly. 'Let's see him try.' This night lasted longer than the others. There was more wine, more laughing and stories being told. As the hours turned the sky from blue to black, the room had become filled with drunken Lords and their giggles, blushing Ladies. A few people had already bid their leave and exited the overcrowded dining area, leaving the seats nearest to Sansa empty. She saw her chance and stood, pushing her chair back and brushed past the empty ones beside her. It had caught Sandor off guard. He hadn't expected her to leave so early. Normally she waited until either Joffrey or Cersei left before pardoning herself for the evening. His eyes flashed across the room, frowning as she politely dipped her head down out of respect for her King. "Your Grace." She chirped softly and bowed just as sweetly when he allowed her to leave.

Briskly turning to make her way through the sea of chairs, tables, and drunken idiots, Sansa made a beeline for the exit when a thought came to her. She slowed her steps and curved around the end of a long table, walking parallel with one of the side walls instead. The King's guards were staggered along its stoned surface, though Sandor was the only one standing the furthest away from the other guards. She would prove once and for all that she was the one in control. No matter what he thought, she wasn't just some silly chirping little bird. The Hound watched as she walked up to him, expecting her to keep walking straight past him, but to his surprise, she stopped when she meet up with him. "Keep walking, girl. I've got nothing for you."

'What is that supposed to mean?' Sansa frowned but pushed his statement aside, ignoring it as if he hadn't spoken to her at all. Instead, she stared straight through him and asked flatly, "Do the Lannister's have you all night?"

His teeth ground together as he pressed his jaw tighter behind his lips. Her wording was cause enough for offense. No one 'had' him. He had sworn no oaths, unlike the foolish Knights that so gallantly pranced around the castle, swearing their swords, their lives, and their honor to the boy King. But not him. Though he may be loyal to the Lannisters and act as a Joffrey's guard, no one could say they owned him. He let out an irritated grunt and nodded towards Joffrey, still sitting at the head table. "As soon as your Grace up there has drank his fill and decides to end his night, my shift will be over." He leaned his face in closer to her and rasped slightly quieter, to avoid any eavesdroppers the opportunity to overhear, "Why? Planning another midnight stroll, girl?"

His eyes, the way his lips curled slightly as he spoke, and the feeling of his face bending down to meet her closer was all making it so much harder to keep her strength. Her knees began to feel weak and a twisting feeling had started in her stomach. But what was happening deeper, located down below her stomach was what threatened her most. As he leaned in closer, she caught a brief whiff of his earthy smell. The woods, the stables, left over wine that seemed to hang on him everywhere he went, and then an underlying scent that she could only guess was simply him. His skin, his hair, the manly aroma that made her want to lean in fully and close the gap between them once and for all. If it weren't for the room full of people surrounding them, as drunk as they all were, she was certain she would have done it. That would have shocked him, would have shut him up for a while with his suggestive warnings and his intimate stares. She breathed in deep, taking his scent in one last time before taking a single step back to distance herself. That's all he would get from her, the last ounce of leverage he would hold over her. It was her turn to take the reigns. "If you're willing and able, I'd ask for you to stand guard outside my chambers tonight, after your duties to the King have been fulfilled for the evening of course."

This time it was Sandor who pulled back, straightening up as he dragged his face away from her. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what she was playing at. He thought for a moment longer before lowering his voice. "You expect me to stand outside your door all night, with you supposedly already inside?" Sansa nodded gently. The Hound examined her again, his glance flickering between her eyes and her lips. It didn't seem right and he voiced his concern clearly. "Do you take me as a fool? You would have me guard an empty room all night just to spite me, girl. How am I to know you're truly inside?"

"You won't." Sansa answered sharply. The Hound wasn't happy. He inhaled deep through his nose and glanced around the room. A few faces darted down towards their plates when he caught them staring, but besides that, no one was watching their exchange. His eyes finally landed back on her, causing his face to harden as he debated within himself on whether or not to blindly follow the little bird's chirping. Sansa wasted no time. "I'll have my handmaiden dismiss you in the morning when she comes to ready me for the day." He hadn't agreed and yet she was speaking to him as though he had already sworn himself to her. It reminded him of Cersei Lannister and the thought irked him. Sansa was to become a queen soon and despite his secret hopes, she was bound to forget him. The days of her politely calling him Ser and sprinkling her courtesies on him were nearing a close and soon, he would be nothing more than a dog to her, just like the rest of them.

The girl with striking red hair and bright blue Tully eyes walked gracefully back to her bed chambers. Judging by how much Joffrey had been drinking before she left, Sansa knew that it wouldn't be more than an hour or two before he dragged himself to collapse on his feather bed and Sandor would be making his way down the corridors to stand guard outside her door. Uncertain of when exactly he would show up, assuming he would actually bring himself to come at all, Sansa dragged a chair closer to the door so she could try to hear when he arrived. With her sewing needle in one hand and the thin fabric that she had been working on in the other, she waited.

An hour and a half later, she heard heavy footsteps outside. There had been a few false alarms, people walking down the halls but the sound of their feet always came and went, passing her door without a moment's hesitation. This pair of feet was different. Her needle and thread stilled, her hand stopping mid-pull as she silenced herself completely to try to listen to hear if it was him. She heard the footsteps approach, but didn't hear them retreat. They shuffled for a moment, as if he were unsure of whether or not he should be there, before she heard them finally stop completely. Quietly, carefully, she got off her chair and put her needlepoint down. Tugging a hand over her mouth to mute her suddenly excited breathing, Sansa pressed an ear against the door's sturdy surface. Either it was too hard to hear him or he wasn't making any noises, so she did the next best thing she could think of. She lowered herself onto her knees and pressed her palms against the floor. Her head followed, bending at her middle and bringing herself as close to the floor as she could. She peaked under the opening of the door. 'Feet!' He had come.

She got up in a hurry and tried to think of what she had planned to do next. She had debated using the chair or her bed, the chair being closer, therefore she wouldn't have to be as loud, but the bed was much softer and it would make it easier for her to relax. After a split second decision, she moved over to the bed and laid down. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, thumping against her ribcage like a tiny little hummingbird. She had already rid herself of her smallclothes while waiting for him to come, but now that she was lying on the bed, she found herself uncertain of where to begin. No doubt boys had always been experienced by the time they were her age since they were bound to have had a go at themselves on occasion, but it was a very different experience for a Lady, more importantly, an unwed Lady. Thinking of what she had seen the Hound doing when she discovered him in his bed chamber, she started with the obvious. Slowly, Sansa drew her hand down her stomach and found her sex. She kept her eyes on the ceiling and let her fingers explore. It felt different from just touching her arm or her legs. It wasn't entirely overwhelming, but she could see the potential. As she traced her fingertips up and down, running them along her now moistening folds, she squirmed and readjusted her hand. The more she touched, the more sensitive her flesh seemed to become. A feeling began to build up inside of her, centering somewhere deeper than she was used to. Her core was aching, urging for her to continue, to explore more and more until she found the sweet spot she was searching for. It felt so good. 'You're not making any noise…' She remembered the task at hand. Though finding her own release was an extra bonus, her goal was standing outside her door.

Throwing her head back against her pillows and trying to sound as natural as possible, Sansa let out what she had hoped to be a sexy, sultry, womanly moan. Instead, her meek little voice gave her a soft whimper. Her cheeks flushed as she heard her own failed attempt. She took a deep breath and tried again. It was louder, but still not the sound she was looking for. 'Come on…you need to mean it!' She was growing frustrated. He had made it look so easy, sitting there with his eyes glazed over and his mouth barely parted. He had already been aroused by the time she saw him, but he was enjoying himself with such little effort. She was making it too complicated. Sansa took in another breath and slipped a finger into her delicate opening. She hissed out a breath. It felt so wet, so tight, but as her gentle finger grazed softly against her inner walls, it made her legs quiver. She closed her eyes and tried it again, moving slowly in and out, getting used to the sensation. Her thoughts fell back to the other night in his bed chamber. He had seen her. He had watched her as he stroked himself and when he finally exploded in front of her, he had been thinking of her. Now, she was thinking of him. She tried to remember the way that he smelled tonight in the dining hall. His voice had sent chills through her and as she recalled the sound of his nickname for her coming from his lips, she let out a soft cry. 'Little Bird,' he had called her. She pushed her finger in deeper.

What had he been thinking of, as he stared at her and pleasured himself? She tried to think of the possibilities. Had he thought she would step forward and join him? She felt her muscles tighten around her finger. She was getting used to the size and feel of it. Hesitantly, she slipped it out and added a second finger to the first. They filled her, and yet they were still so much smaller than she could remember him being. His cock had become so heavy, so thick that it made her doubt whether he could really fit it all inside a woman or not. Her fingers kept working small circles against her core as she let out another noise, this one louder than the last. She still wasn't sure if he could hear her and continued. She had guessed what he had fantasized about- taking her, having her all for himself and tasting every inch of her soft, delectable skin. But his time was over. It was her turn now. He had already reached his peak, she had seen it first hand. Every day, he had looked at her with those lustful eyes, no doubt imagining his fantasies with her all over again, remembering the way her eyes couldn't look away as he stroked himself for her.

Sansa thought more boldly. She had intended on teasing him, letting him hear her, knowing he couldn't do a thing about it. She was already promised to the Lannisters, meant to wed Joffrey, and as Joffrey's dog, Sandor had no claim to her. No matter how much she whimpered and moaned, cried out and called out in pleasure, he would be the one standing by the doorway this time. Surely he'd want her. He'd feel himself getting hard at the sound of her behind her bedroom door and at the first chance he gets, he'd hurry back to his own bed chambers and take himself in hand once more for her. The thought made her smile greedily. But she wanted more. She dug her heels into the feather bed and tried to mimic how she imagined she might feel. His hands would be rougher, calloused and scarred. He'd grab her roughly and pull her close to him. She remembered his musky scent again and imagined it all over her, covering her bed sheets and pillows. She'd smell him for days afterwards and remember how his body felt against hers. Maybe he'd even be bold enough to lean down and bring his lips to hers. The scarred, burnt side of his face would feel rougher, she imagined, ragged against her smooth, even, pink lips.

A sudden, enticing thought found her as she found the bud of nerves at the top of her slit, just above the opening. She nearly jerked in surprise as a jolt of pleasure ran through her. She had been thinking of his lips and couldn't help but wonder how they would feel…down against her northern lips. The stubble of his beard would tickle her thighs as his lips ran over her dripping folds. She'd squirm and moan, gripping the bed sheets to keep herself steady, but he'd pin her down. The weight of him on her would keep her as still as she could manage. But with his tongue reaching out and slowly dragging over her opening, tracing over that bundle of nerves, it would throw her over the edge. Would he give her the release she'd be surely begging him for at that point, or would be continue to tease her?

His lips would draw her into his mouth as a hand reaches up and finds a breast. Sansa cupped her own breast and quickly realized how sensitive these hardening red buds were as well. She let out a throaty moan and plunged her fingers inside her again. She went back to her fantasy, needing to reach her satisfaction so badly now that she'd gone thus far. Her eyes tightened as she thought of him slipping a finger inside her. His hands were so large, one finger would stretch her, let alone two or even three. He'd have her on her back, legs spread wide as he expertly played her like an instrument. He'd bring his head down to her shoulder, kissing and gently biting his way over her collarbone, up her neck, and under her earlobe. "More…" Her thoughts became vocalized as she moaned out the word. Surely he heard it. She must have been driving him wild right outside her door. Would he leave his post early and go relieve himself or would he want to stay longer, hoping to hear her reach her climax? She was so close…

Sandor.

Sandor Clegane grumbled under his breath as he left the corridor leading to Joffrey's bedchambers. Just as expected, the boy King had drank too much and passed out before even reaching his room. The Hound had to lift him in his arms and carry him the rest of the way before plopping him down—perhaps a little rougher than necessary—onto his bed, and leaving the room. He cursed the King in his silent thoughts. The boy was cruel and hateful. Taking such a pretty little thing like the Stark girl and practically ruining her just for the fun of it. She was sweet and polite, her head filled with songs of knights and flowers. Why couldn't he let her be? 'The little prick…' Sandor had tried to talk himself out of it but his feet seemed to carry him down the stretch of hallways that lead to her sleeping quarters. She had warned him that she would already be inside when he got there, but he had a nagging urge to just crack open the door a hair and peak inside, just to make sure she was safely inside. 'You've already gone too far, toying with her the other night. Do you want them to string you up on a rope come morning? Foolish old dog…' He paced impatiently in front of her door, unable to decide whether she was really worth the risk.

He settled in front of the door, still silently cursing himself for stupidly landing himself there tonight. He slouched down against the surface of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. It was going to be a very long night and if he found out that the room behind him was in fact empty after all, he would need far more wine than the Red Keep's kitchens could even hold. The minutes passed by slowly but as the King's guard, he was used to standing around for hours doing nothing in particular. It was how he had first really gotten the chance to get a good look at Sansa. With nothing better to do and her so close to his proximity, it only made sense for him to watch her smile and say sweet things to everyone she came in contact with. He looked at her hair and wondered how it would smell if he could get close enough to bring a lock up to his nose. She probably smelled like lemon cakes, she ate enough of the damned things. 'Fuck…stop thinking about her, dog. She's not for you.' He cursed himself again.

He was just trying to think of a better topic to mull over when he heard her first true cry. The others were too soft to hear, but this one rang straight through the door and he froze. His face twisted as he tried to decipher what the noise meant. 'Is someone in the room with her?' was his first thought. Jealousy raged through him and he shifted in his stance. So the little bird had found herself a nest mate. 'Good for her,' he growled angrily. The way she stared at him the other night as he took himself in hand, Gods know the girl needed someone to satisfy her. 'Joffrey sure isn't going to be able to do it.' He nearly chuckled at his own strike at the King when another sound came from the room. He stiffened. This one definitely sounded… intimate. His bottom jaw shifted tighter and he pressed his crossed arms closer to his chest. 'Is it that prancing knight of flowers?' Sandor wondered curiously. 'Is that why she's asked me here tonight? To hear what I can't have?' His face grew cold as the bitterness spread through him. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was getting hard. The front of his trousers tightened and strained at the heavy weight of his manhood and he adjusted his stance again, the ache beginning to become a bother as he stood out in the hallway.

'Let him bloody have her then. It'll be his head up there on the spikes next, not mine.' The Hound snorted as he glanced back at the door behind him. She'd see how gallant her knights are then when her bloody lover-boy is begging the King for mercy for touching the little bird. Another lusty moan exited the room and drifted to his ears just as he realized he hadn't actually heard the damned knight at all. She was the only one he had been overhearing. He let out a low chuckle at his false assumptions and shook his head in disbelief. She must have asked him to guard her door so that no one would walk in and catch her toying with herself. 'What a coy little bird…' But the more he thought about it, the harder he got. Just beyond that door, Sansa was pleasuring herself. She could have been nude even, her perky tits bouncing as she fucked her tight little cunt. Sandor shifted again, the thoughts of what exactly she was doing behind that door was beginning to take its toll on him. He nearly growled with desire when her next whimper and cry reached him out in the hallway.

"Fuck." He rasped when she got louder. 'What in the seven hells is she trying to do to me?' A dark thought approached him but he forced it aside. He ought to teach her a lesson, not to go around moaning with a man standing right outside her door. 'I'm not my brother…I can't do that.' He began to feel ashamed for even thinking of forcing himself on her, but then another passionate groan filled the corridor surrounding him and he cursed under his breath one last time and turned to the door. 'Surely she wouldn't be foolish enough to leave her door unbarred…' His hand rested on the handle for a moment before slowly giving it a twist. It turned and he swore again. He wanted to stop, wanted to be the good dog that he knew he was capable of being, but she was leading him there herself, drawing him in, and with the door unbarred, that was the last sign he needed. He entered the room quietly and nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw her writhing form on the bed. Her cheeks were flushed and her hand was buried between her legs. The room smelled of arousal and he smiled when he realized she smelled as sweet as he had imagined.

He nearly tripped over the chair she had left beside the door. As quietly as he could, he sat down and watched. There were small beads of sweat resting on her brow and though her eyes were closed tightly, he could tell she was concentrating on something in particular. He thought for a moment he saw her nose twitch and sniff at the air for a second but why would she do that? He leaned back in the chair and began to undo the laces of his trousers. If she was having her pleasure, he might as well as his and tiptoe out of the room before she could even notice he had been there. It would be a little keepsake for him to think back upon when he was left alone in his bed chamber late at night. 'If that's how you need to justify sneaking into the poor girl's room during an intimate moment…' His guilt began to roar its ugly head but she let out another soft whimper as he watched her move her hips with the thrusts of her fingers and he knew he couldn't go anywhere, not until he could see her unwind and release. Then, he'll slink back out the door and pretend he hadn't stumbled across anything out of the ordinary. It would be their little secret.

Sandor couldn't take his eyes off her and as he watched, he took himself in hand and tried to match her movements, as if joined for that single simple moment of ecstasy. Then, he heard her. Up until then, she had only made noises, groans, grunts, and sweet little moans, but just as he was nearing his edge, she breathed out weakly, 'More.' His hand stilled for a moment to watch her. She was so beautiful, her face scrunched as she tried so hard to reach her climax but kept coming up short. He wanted to help her, wanted to show her all of his tricks and let her see how a real man is meant to feel around her, inside her. 'She's not your's, dog. Keep your hands to yourself if you plan on keeping them.' Growing frustrated, he needed to get rid of this damned hard-on. He was busy stroking, trying to keep his eyes open so as to match her pace again, when she breathed out her second word, softer and more lucid than the first. "Sandor." He stopped.

AN: Review so I know whether or not it was a flop :) I'm excited for chapter 3.

xoxo WildBubblesRoam