"Come with me," Sansa said, rising from the reading bench, and reaching for Tyrion's hand. The scorching heat inside her felt so right, that it overcame the fear of what she wished to do. She hadn't felt that kind of pleasure before, and sex had only been linked to terror, pain and trauma since the moment she opened her eyes to the fact that Joffrey was a monster and she would have to endure his repeated invasion of her body. Her relief at being discarded in favor of Margaery Tyrell had been crushing, though Littlefinger had been there of course to dampen her moment of reprieve, hinting that Joffrey might still use her as his sex toy. Not that Petyr wasn't right at warning her, and Sansa supposed that he partly did it to keep her on guard, to remind her not to let her guard down. As if she could, in the implacable prison of the Red Keep, surrounded by vermins. That was the small part of her which would always be grateful to Littlefinger for his teachings. But the rest of her simmered in hatred for the creepy and sadistic short man, who'd proved to be as much a monster as others had been to her family and herself. He'd betrayed her father, aided Tywin in his ruthless plans, killed her aunt Lysa (Sansa hadn't feel love or respect for the insane woman, but she'd been her mother's sister and they'd grown up together) and, as Bran had revealed in the end, Littlefinger had triggered chaos in Westeros when he planned Jon Arryn's poisoning. If it hadn't been for that despicable bastard, Robert and the Lannisters wouldn't have traveled North, her father wouldn't have been appointed Hand, the war wouldn't have started, her family wouldn't have been torn apart and the kingdoms would have kept their fragile peace.

And, in addition to all the atrocities Littlefinger had committed, he'd handed Sansa to another monster, Ramsay Bolton, who'd raped and brutalized her.

After all that horror, she'd truly believed that there couldn't be pleasure in a man's touch, that it could only entail pain and shame.

Until Tyrion.

Sansa had outlived all the monsters, she was still very young and life had to be more than an endless wasteland. She'd survived everything and a good man she loved and who loved her in return remained by her side.

She was determined to explore what pleasure was, not to let her past traumas drown her.

Tyrion stared at her stretched hand with a look of wonder. "Are you sure of this, Sansa?," he asked, and the fact that he was offering her a way out in case she realized that she was making a mistake or came to regret her impulses, moved her.

That wasn't a mistake. It coudln't be, not with him.

"Do you want to do this or not?," she asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.

He chuckled, taking her hand at last and standing up. "After you, my lady. I'm absolutely at your command."

It was Sansa's turn to chuckle, and nerves settled in the pit of her stomach. She led him through the corridors, never letting go if his hand, aware that her palm was sweating in spite of the chilly air.

They entered her chambers and after closing the door behind them, she turned around to look at him. She was surprised to see that he was nervous too, as if he was a green boy instead of a grown man with years and years of experience with women.

"Sansa," he said softly, making her heart jump at the sound of his deep voice. "We don't have to rush into anything. To me it's very important that you enjoy yourself, and if it's still soon for you or you're not completely sure of this..."

She knelt in front of him and grabbed his face, over his beard. "Tyrion, I have no doubts about this. Margaery said that most women turn old and grey without having experienced true passion. I don't want to miss that, and I know I can have it with you."

"I feel like the most honored man in the world, Sansa. How have I come to be this lucky?," he asked with a smile.

"Don't press your luck and kiss me," she urged, also smiling.

He complied, and again the taste of him was intoxicating. He teased her lips tentatively with his tongue, and she encouraged his exploration, opening her mouth and welcoming him inside.

She'd always believed that kissing that way couldn't be enjoyable. Of course she'd heard that tongue kisses were very erotic, but she'd wondered how people could consider them anything beyond disgusting.

Now she understood their meaning. Kissing the right person made all the difference.

And Tyrion was such a great kisser. He made even the traces of Ramsay's brutality fade, and her desire won over her fear.

For the whole duration of their kiss, he caressed her cheeks with his hands and buried his fingers in her hair, and she did the same, as if they couldn't have enough of each other.

He bit her bottom lip slightly and a moan escaped her throat. Tyrion seemed delighted by the sound.

She stood and pulled him with her to the bed. She sat down on the edge and he placed himself between her legs, panting as if he'd run a race. He cautiously rested his hands on her thighs, covered by her nightgown and robe.

Without a word, she encouraged him to undress her slowly, guiding his hands. He pushed the robe aside until it slipped down her shoulders, and then grabbed the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up, uncovering her thighs. She wasn't wearing smallclothes, she never slept with them on, except for the days she had her moon blood. Tyrion gasped at the sight of her pubic hair, as red as the rest of her hair. She blushed.

He searched her gaze for approval, and went on pulling the garment off her. She lifted her arms and the nightgown was entirely removed from her.

Sansa blushed even more at the blatant admiration in his eyes. She was completely naked now and he seemed to be drinking in the sight she offered.

Ramsay hadn't left any visible marks on her skin. He'd said that he was saving himself for when she gave him a boy, and that after that event happened, nothing would stop him from cutting her in pieces slowly, once she was useless to him.

She'd later obtained her revenge from his monstrosity, and at present she was with the most gentle and caring man, succeeding in erasing Ramsay's cruel feel from herself.

"Sansa, you're so beautiful. You've always been, and always will be, to me. I want you to know that," he asserted, as if he'd sensed her insecurities. "And we'll never do anything you don't want to."

She smiled, remembering him saying that same sentence, years earlier, in their terribly awkward wedding night. "I know." She bent down to kiss him once more and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Sansa pushed him tighter against her and felt him pressing his clothed lower regions onto her most intimate parts. She shuddered.

It was his turn to undress, and she helped him. She sensed his own insecurities about his own body but she discarded them. He was a true man to her, masculine, brave, smart, sensitive and gentle, and that was enough to feed her desire.

They were skin to skin at last, and Tyrion started to kiss down from her mouth and neck, delicately at first, and then progressively deeper, hotter, lavishing her breasts, stroking, sucking and licking. Sansa soon was in a frenzy of lust, moaning and pushing him even closer against her. His hands, lips and tongue were everywhere, until he made eye contact again before caustiously reaching for her pubic area with his fingers. Her firm nod was all the encouragement he needed.

He learned quickly how to caress her, how to elicit her loudest moans. His fingers worked their magic until he suddenly knelt in front of her and brought her most intimate area to his lips and tongue.

She cried out in delighted surprise. Nothing had ever felt like this. His tongue on her flesh wasn't like anything she could have pictured. He slid it up and down determinedly all over her most yearning places in a pace that had her delirious with a kind of fever she didn't want to end.

"Yes!," she moaned repeatedly, rocking her hips against his mouth. They locked eyes and she grasped one of his wandering hands, intertwining their fingers. His other hand reached for her breast, enhancing and multiplying her sensations.

The fever climbed up, higher and higher.

"Tyrion!," she cried out loud, reaching her peak, with her whole body spasming wildly. She felt as if she was flying out of her own flesh, with his tongue burning her to her inner depths.

He stopped licking and sucking once her waves subsided, and it was indeed as if she'd been swept by a wild wave of pleasure, leaving her breathless and languid.

"I take it you liked it?," he asked with a smug smile, kissing her navel playfully.

She giggled in utter and lazy satisfaction. "Oh, Tyrion. That's the understatement of the century." That made him laugh quietly.

She then moved to the center of the mattress and dragged him with her. He chuckled and lied down next to her, resting on his side and staring into her eyes. There was a vulnerability in his pupils that touched her to her very core. "I'd stopped altogether dreaming that one day I would feel like this. And now here I am, with you," she confessed, because she wasn't afraid of telling him what was in her heart.

"I had also stopped dreaming, Sansa, or believed that I had. You've given that back to me. Making you happy is everything I might have dreamed of," he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Make love to me, Tyrion."