PROLOGUE

The summons came in the hour before the dawn.

Jez was ass up, her face pressed deep into Lord Harryn's pillows. A warm wetness spread beneath her breasts. Her milk was leaking again, the thin white liquid seeping into the fine northern wolfskin pelts that covered Lord Harryn's bed. The warmth of it clung to her skin, making her shift uncomfortably as it cooled in the frigid morning air creating dark patches that would dry stiff and crusted.

Time was she'd gone red as a beet, scrambling for rags and begging pardons. Now? She hardly cared. What was once a burden had given her value beyond just another kitchen girl with worn hands and an aching back, securing her a place in the great castle of Winterfell.

"A blessing from the gods," Maester Luwin had told her years back, his wrinkled fingers pressing gentle-like around her swollen teats as milk beaded at her nipples. His touch had been cold and uncaring, nothing at all like the rough, hungry pawing of Lord Harryn. "Uncommon, but not unnatural."

SLAP!

Jez bit her lip as her lord's palm cracked against her backside. Her skin went hot, a rosy handprint blooming across her pale flesh. She looked to look back at him, startled but not afraid.

Harryn loomed behind her, a wolfish grin on his face. He looked like he did as a boy when he'd stolen sweets. But he wasn't a boy anymore, and he had a man's hunger now. His hand still pressed against her stinging flesh, rubbing circles where he'd struck. "Gods, I love this ass," he growled, squeezing her right cheek.

Jez buried her face in the pillows. The sting of the slap had sent a rush of wetness between her legs. At eight-and-thirty, she knew well what she was. Her tits hung heavy from feeding three babes of her own and all of Lady Stark's. Her hips had widened with each birth, and her arse had grown so large that the younger kitchen girls whispered "fat cow" when they thought she couldn't hear. Yet here she was, warming a handsome young lord's bed while they spread their legs for stableboys and cooks.

Behind her, Harryn kept on. His fingers gripped the soft flesh of her hips as he rutted into her. His cock stretched her cunt in ways that made her bite the pillow to keep from crying out and waking the whole bloody castle. The wet slapping sounds of their fucking echoed obscenely in the quiet chamber. Louder than the soft crackle of the dying fire and more frequent than her lord's low grunts of pleasure. The sound made Jez think of her father's brothel back in the Riverlands, with its peeling red paint like bloody scratches against weathered planks. How many times had he threatened to put her to work there, lying on her back like her sister Lissa? Her only escape had been marrying a bakers boy, Mathis, with his big stomach but kind smile. She'd thought herself so lucky then, to have escaped spreading her legs for copper.

Now here she was, a boy young enough to be her son rutting into her like a prized mare, and the strange thing was she didn't mind it one bit. Better his lordship's bed than her father's whorehouse.

Jez felt his thrust change, coming quicker now. Then his cock slipped from inside her, leaving her empty and wanting. Before she could even think to move, his strong hands gripped her waist. In one quick motion, he flipped her onto her back like she weighed no more than a sack of flour.

"Oh!" The surprised squeal escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her heavy tits flopping to the sides, her milk-swollen nipples pointing this way and that. The furs beneath her were soaked with her juices and his, the wet spot cold against her back as she settled.

Harryn kneeled between her legs now, his young face flushed, his chest rising and falling like he'd run from the Wall itself. Gods be good, he was so handsome. Sweat glistened on his skin, making him shine like he'd been oiled. Dark coarse hair sat above a cock that would make her father's best whores nervous, standing proud and ready and slick with her juices.

Jez felt her cheeks burn hot as his eyes roamed over her naked body. Her cunt clenched with wanting as Harryn spread her thighs, pushing them wider apart with his strong hands until she felt the stretch in her muscles. Even after all their nights together, there was something about the way he looked at her down there that made her want to cover herself. He always wanted to see her, to look at her cunt like it was something worth seeing. She felt exposed, bare, especially down there, where he'd had her shave herself. Only a small strip of hair, shaped like a lightning bolt above her cunt was left. "For luck," he'd said with a grin, the first time he'd seen it after he'd told her to shave. Though she couldn't figure what kind of luck a lightning-shaped cunny hair would bring. Still, she kept it that way for him, though the other kitchen women gave her odd looks in the bathhouse.

Harryn's eyes raked over her body, taking in every inch of her naked flesh. She wasn't much to look at, she knew. The years hadn't been kind. Her belly was soft and lined with silver stretch marks from her babes. Her tits hung low and heavy, not firm and perky like the young girls in the kitchen, and her thighs were thicker than they'd ever been. She still didn't understand why a handsome young lord like Lord Harryn wanted her when he could have anyone.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough with wanting.

Jez almost laughed. Beautiful? Her? Beautiful was Lady Stark with her flame-red hair and smooth skin. Beautiful was the highborn ladies who visited Winterfell, smelling of roses and honey. Not her. Never her. Yet he said it every time, like he truly believed it. Another kindness from her lord. Lies to make the rutting sweeter.

Harryn lowered himself onto her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His skin was hot against hers, burning like fire where they touched. His face hovered above hers, so close she could see herself in his eyes. Jez was no blushing maid—seven hells, she'd grown up watching her father's whores fuck every man in the Riverlands, but the way Harryn looked at her, like she was something rare and special instead of an old wet nurse past her prime, made her feel things she'd never thought to feel. Her cunt ached and pulsed, wanting him back inside. Her nipples stood hard as pebbles, milk beading at the tips and running down the sides of her heavy tits.

His eyes never left her face as he reached down between her legs. She could feel his cock pressing against her entrance, hard as castle-forged steel. He didn't push in right away. Instead, he slid his length along her slit, coating himself in her wetness, the head of him nudging that little nub at the top that made her legs shake worse than a winter fever.

Sweet Seven, Jez thought, biting her lip. The girls in her father's brothel used to talk about that spot, laugh about how most men didn't even know it existed. But Harryn knew. Gods help her, he knew exactly where to touch. His cock continued to press against her entrance, teasing but not entering. Jez ached for him to push inside, her cunt clenching around nothing, hungry and empty. She was panting like a bitch in heat, her body more alive than it had any right to be at her age. Her slick folds glistened, her nub swollen and peeking from its hood.

Harryn grinned and ran his cock through her slit again, making her shiver. She felt her face heat up again and turned her head away. Strong fingers gripped her chin, turning her head back. Harry caught her lips with his, something the whores in her father's brothel said men never did with women they paid for. Kissing was for wives and lovers, not for whores.

Lords didn't kiss servants. Not properly. They might fuck them, might use their mouths or cunts or asses, but they didn't kiss them. Not like this. Not like they were lovers in a song. Yet here was Lord Harryn, the second son of the great Lord Eddard Stark, kissing her like she mattered. His lips were firm against hers, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth. Jez opened for him, unable to deny him anything. His tongue tangled with hers, tasting of the sweet wine he'd had with supper the night before. No one had ever kissed her like this.

His cock continued to press against her entrance, teasing but not entering. Jez ached for him to push inside, her cunt clenching around nothing, hungry and empty. She was panting like a bitch in heat, her body more alive than it had any right to be at her age until he slid back inside her with one smooth thrust, stretching her walls, filling her completely his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside her that sent lightning racing up her spine.

No man had ever fit her so perfectly. Her toes curled and her back arched off the bed. The shock of it made her whimper against his mouth, a small needy sound that seemed to please him as he smiled against her lips. It was as if his cock was made just for her. The key to unlocking all the pleasure of her cunt. She'd heard the whores in her father's house talking about the perfect cock that could hit the sweet spot inside that made a woman see stars. It had sounded so ridiculous then.

Harryn deepened their kiss, his hand finding her hair, tangling in the long strands that had come loose from her braid. Their eyes met again, and Jez saw something in his gaze that made her cunt clench around him. He looked at her like she was beautiful. like she wasn't just a used-up wet nurse with saggy tits.

Jez wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as they kissed again. Her body arched up to meet his. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, her stiff nipples dragging against the hard plane of his chest. More milk began to leak from her tits, the warm liquid smearing between their bodies. She should have been mortified, a reminder of how base and animal she was, but Harryn didn't seem to mind. If anything, it made him drive into her harder, his hips snapping against hers with each thrust.

One hand slipped behind her knee to bend her leg back toward her chest. His other hand reached up to grip the ironwood headboard behind her, bracing himself. The heavy wood slammed against the stone wall with every powerful thrust, the sound echoing through the chamber. Jez found herself glancing toward the door, as if someone might burst in at any moment. The thought was foolish—the whole castle already knew Harryn had taken her to his bed.

Harryn broke the kiss to move his mouth to her neck. His teeth grazed the spot where neck met shoulder, nipping gently at the sensitive skin there, his cock still hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl. Something wild and needy built in her belly, a pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

Jez giggled–a high, girlish sound that made her cringe as soon as it left her mouth. What did she think she was? Some maid of six-and-ten with her maidenhead intact? A highborn lady being courted with sweet words and kisses?

"Yer cock feels so good, m'lord," she whispered and cringed again, knowing a lord deserved better words, prettier words from the woman beneath him. But growing up in a brothel hadn't taught her pretty words, only honest ones.

Harryn didn't seem to mind. If anything, his thrusts grew harder, more urgent. Each thrust sent her tits bouncing, milk spraying from her nipples like a cow being milked too roughly. Her teats spattered droplets across his chest and onto the furs. For a moment, Jez felt her cheeks burn with shame at the mess she was making.

Then she saw the way Harryn was staring at her chest, his eyes wide and hungry. Without thinking, she cupped her heavy breasts, lifting them up toward him like an offering to the gods. Milk leaked through her fingers, running down her wrists in warm rivulets.

"Would you like a taste, m'lord?" she whispered, the words spilling from her mouth before she could stop them. Gods, where had that boldness come from? She was about to stammer an apology when Harryn leaned down, his mouth closing around one teat.

The feeling of his hot mouth on her nipple, his tongue lapping at the milk that flowed freely now, sent a jolt straight through her belly to her cunt. She gasped, her back arching as his teeth grazed her sensitive flesh. He suckled like he did as a babe, but there was nothing innocent about the way his eyes watched her face as he drank, or how his cock twitched inside her with each swallow.

Milk ran from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto her skin. When he switched to her other breast, she almost sobbed from the pleasure of it, his cock never stopping its relentless pace inside her. The pleasure built higher, a dam about to break. Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him close as if he'd try to escape before finishing. As if Harryn would ever leave her unsatisfied.

He released her nipple with a wet pop, milk trickling down his chin. "You close?" he asked, his voice strained with effort.

"Aye, m'lord," Jez managed to gasp, her voice desperate and needy to her own ears. "So close."

He shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts so that his cock rubbed against that special place inside her with each stroke making her cry out.

"Ah!"

"That's it," Harryn kissed her again. "Let me hear you." He whispered against her lips.

No other man had ever cared about such things to her. Men fucked; they didn't care if a woman found pleasure in it. The girls in her father's house used to laugh about men who couldn't find that secret spot that made a woman's toes curl. They'd fake their pleasure, crying out and arching their backs while their eyes stayed dead as winter. "Just moan and squeeze your cunt when he's about to finish, and tell him it's the biggest you've ever had," her sister Lissa had told her once. "That's all it takes to make 'em happy."

Jez felt a new familiar tightening deep in her belly, that coiling heat that meant she was close to peaking. It was a rare thing, to peak with a man inside her. Most men finished too quick, cared too little about a woman's pleasure to bring her to that point. But Harryn seemed to know her body better than she did, knew just how to move, where to touch, to send her over that edge.

Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving. Sweat covered every inch of her skin, her hair clinging to her face and neck in damp strands. Between her legs, she was wetter than she'd ever been, her juices coating his manhood, running down to soak the furs beneath them. The smell of rutting hung heavy in the air, thick enough to cut with a kitchen knife.

A sharp knock sounded at the chamber door. Harryn grunted but didn't slow his pace or look away from her face.

"Enter," he called out as if he wasn't cock deep inside a servant old enough to be his mother.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Maise stepped into the room. The girl froze, her mouth hanging open like a caught fish. Jez felt herself smile as she watched the girl's freckled face turn red as a beet, the color spreading down her neck and under her plain wool dress.

"M-m-my lord, I..." Maise stammered, her small hands fidgeting with her apron as her eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at what was happening before her. The poor girl looked ready to soil herself right there on the fine carpet.

Jez looked at her while Harryn continued taking his pleasure. Maise couldn't have seen more than nine-and-ten namedays, with a slim waist and small breasts barely showing beneath her servant's dress. Her brown hair was neatly braided, not a strand loose despite the early hour, and her skin still held the softness of youth.

Pretty enough, but with no tits to speak of, just two little mounds that wouldn't fill a man's palm. Nothing like Jez's milk-heavy breasts that had saved her when everything else was lost—husband dead, farm taken by his brother, a lost babe leaving her with nothing but leaking teats that, by some miracle, had caught Lady Stark's eye when her own wet nurse had taken ill.

"What is it?" Harryn finally asked, his voice tight as he continued to thrust, his eyes still locked on Jez's face. A drop of sweat fell from his brow onto her cheek.

Maise stared at he floor, her knuckles white where she gripped her apron like it was keeping her from running away. "Lord Stark requests your presence, m'lord," she managed to say, the words tumbling out quickly.

Harryn made a sound like an annoyed growl. Jez smiled and spread her legs wider, offering more of herself to him. What woman didn't want to be wanted? Even a lowborn like her who'd been one step from whoring before Lady Stark's mercy had brought her to Winterfell.

His movements grew more urgent, his breathing coming in short bursts like a winded horse. She could feel him swell inside her as he neared his end, his manhood growing even harder, filling her so completely she thought she might split in two. With a final thrust that made her back arch off the bed, he spilled his seed inside her, coating her walls with his hot wetness.

Jez's body responded to his release with a fury of its own. Her cunt clenched around him rhythmically, gripping his shaft like a vise, drawing every last drop from him. The muscles inside her rippled and fluttered, pulling his seed deeper, as if her body still thought it might quicken with child despite her age. Her cunt bore down on his manhood, squeezing him from base to tip with each pulse of pleasure that tore through her. Her thighs trembled against his hips, her heels digging into the small of his back to keep him lodged deep inside. Each contraction of her inner walls sent a fresh wave of his seed dribbling down the crack of her arse, warm and sticky against her skin. Her body milked him dry, claiming every last drop of his seed like it was precious as gold.

As her peak subsided, she felt his seed running down her thigh, warm as fresh bread from the oven and sticky as honey. They stayed like that for a moment, both breathing hard and Maise shifting uncomfortably by the door, her worn shoes scraping against the stone floor. Then Harryn sighed and pulled away, his softening manhood slipping from her with a wet sound like a boot being pulled from deep mud. The noise made Maise's eyes grow even wider, if such a thing were possible.

Jez lay still, feeling spent but pleased. A pleasant ache spread between her legs as she watched him, breathing in the smell of their coupling that hung in the air like fog. Her body felt heavy, limp as a rag doll, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Between her legs, she could feel his seed leaking out.

Who'd have thought a brothel-keeper's daughter would end up in a lord's bed instead of a whorehouse? Sometimes she still couldn't believe her fortune, though she'd earned it with years of service, with milk that had fed the future Lord of Winterfell and all his brothers and sisters.

Harryn climbed out of bed naked, without shame. Jez's eyes dropped to his manhood hanging between his legs. Even at rest, it hung long as his father's destrier and thick as her wrist—a fact that had her hiding a smile as she glanced at Maise. The poor girl was red as a Dornish pepper.

Perhaps that was why Harryn chose her bed over the younger serving girls, Jez thought, feeling the wetness between her legs. Maybe he had no patience for their blushing and stammering, their lack of knowing and their silly giggling.

Though her legs still trembled like a newborn foal's, Jez pushed herself up and hurried to help Harryn dress for the day. Her body felt hot and loose, her cunt still throbbing from his attentions. She was unworthy of the pleasure he'd given her – a common woman should be grateful just to have a warm place to sleep, not expect to find joy in a lord's bed.

Her fingers worked quickly, pulling his tunic over his head and fastening his cloak with the direwolf pin of House Stark. She could feel his seed trickling down her thigh as she moved, marking her as surely as if he'd branded her with hot iron. The thought sent a shameful thrill through her tired body. She was his in a way, at least until he tired of her or found a prettier, younger hole to fuck.

She fetched his sword belt, holding it out with her head bowed like a proper servant should. She knew her place – knew she was nothing more than a convenient cunt and a pair of milk-filled teats to him. Any kindness he showed was just that – kindness from a lord to a loyal servant, nothing more.

As he strapped on his sword belt, Jez adjusted his cloak one last time, her hands smoothing the fabric over his shoulders before stepping back, eyes lowered as a proper servant should.

"Thank you, Jez," he said, his voice already sounding more lordly as he prepared to join his father.

She expected him to leave then, to follow Maise to where Lord Stark waited. Instead, something strange happened. Harryn stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. Before she could understand what was happening, his lips were on hers, soft and gentle – not the hungry, demanding kisses of their coupling, but something else entirely.

Confusion flooded through her. This wasn't right. Lords didn't kiss serving women goodbye like they were leaving a wife or lover. It wasn't done. She was unworthy of such a gesture – a lowborn woman with nothing to offer but her body and her milk.

Stil his lips pressed against hers, warm and sweet. And gods help her, she kissed him back, her hands coming up to rest lightly on his chest. She felt young again for a moment, like a maid sneaking her first kiss with a boy.

When he finally pulled away, a thin strand of spit connected their lips for a moment before he wiped it away with his thumb, his touch gentle against her mouth. He gave her arse a playful pat, grinning that boyish grin that made her heart beat faster despite herself.

"I'll see you later," he said, the promise in his voice clear as day. He was going to want her again.

And with that, he was gone, following Maise to where Lord Stark waited, leaving Jez alone with her thoughts and the cooling wetness between her thighs.