So here it is; part nine. I'm sorry that I've been holding on to it for so long but I haven't started writing part ten yet and I thought that I should spread the parts out a bit for you so that the gaps in between won't be too big.

Um… yeah, about this chapter; It's rated R because of sex and language etc. ect. If you aren't comfortable with these kinds of things, please await the next chapter. It won't be as smutty, I think.

Oh, and a few of you have been telling me that Sandor's been behaving childishly and that they argue too much. I do understand what you mean but you also have to keep in mind that both Sandor and Sansa are heavily scared by things that have happened in their earlier life, none of them are good with relationships, least of all Sandor.

And one more thing, I think that I've said it before. Sandor is not a nice person. I won't say that he's using Sansa per say but everything he's done so far is acts of selfishness because he considers her his possession. I know I wouldn't want my daughter to hook up with a person like Sandor even though he probably would die protecting her.

As always I'd like to thank my beta reader MaryAnne, this wouldn't have been possible without you.

Long rant is long, now on with the story!

Part nine

The young man's name was Eadred Hunt, Sansa learned. He had walked from Tumbleton with nothing but a few coins and the clothes on his back. He was a storyteller, he said, and claimed that his walk through the war-torn riverlands served as inspiration for an epos he was going to write. Sansa found his company pleasant enough but the whole experience was ruined by Sandor. He lurked in the corner, shrouded in shadows. Sansa could feel the rage radiating from his eyes. Every so often, she'd glance over her shoulder at him, and pointedly turn back to Eadred. She knew it was only making him angrier, but at the same time she didn't care.

"Your escort is very, protective of you my lady." Eadred said and glanced nervously over at Sandor. "You don't think he'd actually do what he said he would do?"

"His bark is worse than his bite." she answered with what she hoped was a carefree tone even though she knew the truth. His bite was every bit as bad as his bark, if not worse. She'd seen it herself.

"Well, that's reassuring." the young man said. "If you don't mind me asking my lady, where are you headed in these dangerous times and with only one guard?"

"I'm traveling to Lord Harroway's town from the Gates of the Moon." She answered. It felt easier to tell a lie that was almost true if she couldn't be completely honest. She couldn't trust the young man even though he didn't look like much of a threat. She may be mad at Sandor, but she wasn't stupid. Telling this boy their plan would almost certainly lead to disaster.

"I just came from Harroway's town." Eadred said. "They've managed to get the flooding under control but it's not really a nice town. I suppose that it's better than this village. At least theyknow how to make a fine brew."

Sansa smiled a little and allowed Eadred to lead the conversation. He told her about the stories he had collected so far about brave knights, bold thieves, hungry wolves and walking corpses. "I might include a beautiful maid with eyes as blue as the sky and auburn hair." he said with eyes that twinkled merrily. "I would name her the mysterious maid with the blue eyes since you haven't told me your name yet, my lady."

"The best stories always has some mystery to them." She said, returning his smile shyly. From the corner of her eye she noted that Sandor had left the tap-room.

"That is true." Eadred agreed merrily. "Tell me my lady, do you mayhap sing? You look like you have a lovely singing voice."

"I sing from time to time," She answered, "but I'm terribly out of practice."

"Nonsense, I'll trade you a story for a song." he said and smiled.

In the end he convinced her to sing Jenny of Oldstones for him, and he told her a sad story about two lovers whose families had been fighting over a piece of land for centuries. Despite their deep love for each other, they had been forced to marry according to their families' wishes. In the end the young man had been killed by his beloved's own brother and she had drowned herself in the Red Fork from grief. The hour had grown very late when Eadred excused himself, saying he had to set out early the next morning.

"I would have walked you to your door my lady but I fear that your ferocious escort would end my sad life in a premature manner." He gave a wink and a playful bow and left the room whistling a merry tune.

Sansa, on the other hand, did not feel merry. She still had to face Sandor and his wrath. The look he had given her when she left him at the table held no promise of forgiveness. She knew it had hurt him when she had chosen Eadred over him. She knewhe would be angry and that was partly why she had done it. She wanted him to feel as rejected as she did.

'I hope he's asleep when I get back,' she thought as the fire burnt down in the hearth. Only when it was completely dark did she creep up the stairs to their room. Her heart hammered as she quietly opened the door. Her legs were starting to feel hollow as her breathing quickened, and she realized how terrified she was. Sansa took a few tentative steps into the room and stopped, listening for the sound of his loud breathing or him tossing around in his sleep but the room was deadly silent. She felt the taste of fear in her mouth, bitter and harsh. Sansa tried to keep her body from trembling. Suddenly she heard movement behind her and whirled around. Sandor seemed to coalesce out of the night, so quickly and silently did he appear. He closed the door behind her and left them both standing in almost complete darkness.

"You sang him a song," he rasped quietly, "and smiled at his silly stories. Did it make you feel good? To have him drooling all over you?" He put a heavy hand on her shoulder and ran it slowly down hear arm, not ungently. At his touch, Sansa thought her heart would leap out of her chest. "You're not a child anymore, when you sing and smile to men these days they start expecting things."

His voice was hoarse and shook with barley restrained anger. She felt his hot breath on the skin below the ear when he leaned forward and buried his nose in her hair. For some reason her fear started to mix with another feeling; excitement. She wanted to reach out and touch him but didn't dare to even move a muscle. His other hand came down around her waist and he drew her toward him, pressing her back into the hard muscle of his chest. Her eyes drifted shut in the dark. His scent rose around her, a strong wave of leather and sweat and something that was just inherently…him.

"Do you think he could protect you against danger for even a second, little bird?" he growled and bit into her neck just below the earlobe. A shiver passed through her body and Sansa couldn't stop a small moan escaping between her lips. "That foolish boy cannot even protect himself."

"You haven't hurt him, have you?" she whispered. That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Sandor growled furiously and lifted her of her feet like she weighed nothing and threw her on the nearby bed. She barely had the time to catch her breath before he had her pinned to the mattress, using only the weight of his own body and one hand to pin her hands above her head.

"I've tried to do the honorable thing." he rasped tightening the grip on her arms a fraction. Sansa felt the bones in her wrists grinding together and realized with a sudden jolt that he could snap them without a second thought. Her breath hitched in her throat and she whimpered. "All this time I've restrained myself even though my hand's been itching to run down your body. Every night when you laid down beside me I've longed to tear of your clothes and devour you. How does that make you feel, little bird? Tell me, does that make me any better than your pretend father Littlefinger or that silly little boy you talked to all night?"

The fear started to drain out of Sansa, leaving her somewhat wearied. She felt like she finally understood why he had been so distant, so angry with her. He was afraid, afraid that she would reject him and afraid that she would leave him. Behind all that anger and resentment he was just as insecure as she was.

"You're nothing like Petyr." she whispered. She shifted her wrists in his grasp so could stroke a patch of skin on his wrist. She wished it was his face. She wished she could bring him comfort. She saw him for a moment when the pale moonlight fell in through the small window. His eyes shone like a wild animals and she saw the sullen anger behind his stormy irises. His mouth was set in a sneer that turned into a mocking smile. The light faded as a cloud passed the moon and he was only a hulking darkness above her once more. "But I am." He sneered. "If you won't give me what I want I'm going to take it by force and you know that you cannot stop me. Do you hear me girl? That little show you gave me earlier was a good one but I won't stop at watching you undress. Is that clear enough for you little bird?"

She smiled then even though she knew that she ought to be afraid. "You won't hurt me." she said softly. "And you can't force me to do something I would have done anyway."

She could hear how he inhaled sharply, the iron grip around her arms loosened somewhat. "I understand now." she said gently.

"Understand what?" His voice was still suspicious.

"I thought you didn't want me. That you regretted what happened." She said. "I've tried to get you to kiss me again for several days. Haven't you noticed?"

"Seven hells girl." he growled. "Of course I've noticed but this isn't about that. I want to fuck you, that's how depraved I am. Don't you understand that I've been trying to protect you from myself?"

"And what if I wanted you to f-fuck me, what then?" The word came out haltingly, but once it did Sansa felt a secret thrill warm her belly.

He hissed and then he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her so roughly she feared he would leave bruises. "It's not right little bird." He murmured, suddenly sad. "You deserve a gentle lover, candlelight, sweet wine and someone who can make love to you. I'm no good at that. I've fucked plenty of women," he laughed harshly, "but I've never made love to anyone before."

"Then it's the first time for both of us." She said.

Slowly he released her hands and Sansa could finally reach up and touch his face. She felt something wet trail down his cheeks and she realized that he was crying. His tears brought back memories of another time in another life when she had felt his tears, mixed with blood on the palm of her hand. Unlike that last time she now had the means to soothe his pain. She got up on her elbows and kissed away his tears. Her lips lingered a fraction longer on the scared side of his face and she could feel how he tensed up. She hesitantly pressed her lips to his throat. She felt a shudder run through him.

"I'm not afraid of your scars anymore." she whispered. "I was just a stupid, silly little girl back then. I did not understand."

"You were frightened with good reason."

"Perhaps, but not because of your scars." she answered. "Everyone has scars; some are just more visible than others. I've got a scar; do you want to see it?"

'I've got a scar.' She whispered against his skin, her breath was soft as silk against his neck. 'Do you want to see it?'

Sandor felt Sansa shift under him and his mind went blank for a moment. Her weight shifted on the bed as she wiggled out from under him. He could hear how her dress rustled and she grabbed hold of his hands, guiding it to a spot just above her knee. He felt nothing but smooth, warm flesh underneath his fingertips. "When I was five I stumbled and fell in the godswood at Winterfell", she said. "And when I was eight Arya hit me with a stick when we quarreled, it tore my pretties blue dress and left a bleeding mark. I've still got a scar here..." she guided his hand to her collarbone. She laughed softly. "My father beat her for that."

His vision swam before him. This couldn't be true. Things like this didn't happen to him. Beautiful young women like Sansa didn't offer themselves to him and tell him that they wanted him to fuck them. It did not happen.

But, miraculously, it had. She was right there, holding his hand against her naked skin, only a fraction of an inch away from her breast. She kissed him again, more insistently this time, and he felt her tongue brush against his lips. Haltingly, he parted his lips and brushed the tip of her tongue with his own. Her small hands traveled up his arms, found his chest and the strings to his tunic and then she started to unlace them.

"Damn it girl", he growled. "Is this really what you want? There is still time to-"

"Sansa." she said.

"What?"

"My name is Sansa."

"Sansa…" He repeated, her name rolling of his tongue like a sweet caress.

She had managed to get her hands inside his tunic and they were now slowly trailing the outline of his chest muscles. 'Damn it all to hell.' he thought. If he did what was right and stopped her from taking things further he would probably go insane. 'She wants this. She wants you.' He stilled her hands gently and took off his tunic, exposing his heavily scared torso to her touch. She ran her hands down his chest and along his arms, leaving a burning trail on his skin.

'I hope she won't regret this', was the last sane thought that crossed his mind before he reached out and started to unlace her bodice.

He took his time undressing her, slowly pulling the laces from her bodice. He slipped the rough fabric of her dress over her shoulders, her delicate collarbone. It was as if he had walked into one of his own dreams and convinced himself that it was the reality. Her body was just as perfect as he had imagined it to be with, round and firm breasts, flat belly, long legs and slender hips. As he trailed his large hands down her body he reflected over the fact that they never trembled this way before a fight or a battle but the perfect, smooth skin underneath his calloused fingertips made him shake like a scared little boy facing the wrath of his father. He wanted to be gentle with her, and he wanted her to enjoy this as much as he did but he had no idea how to pleasure a woman. He usually took them from behind so that he did not have to see the disgust or the fear on their faces and when he was done he left them, with or without money. That was not how he wanted it to go this time but gentleness didn't come naturally to him. His hands were made for killing, not pleasuring women.

"Sandor," she whispered and pressed her lips to his. "Don't be afraid."

To hear her telling him not to be frightened almost made him laugh out loud. "I'm not the maiden here, Sansa." He muttered as she started to fumble with his breeches. Even though he did not want to appease her eagerness he felt obliged to warn her nonetheless. "It…I've heard it will hurt."

"I know." She did not sound frightened but rather stubborn. She looked up at him with surprising frankness in her blue eyes, and he knew she wasn't afraid.

He helped her to release him from the last garment that separated them. Her hands traveled boldly down the length of his manhood trembling only slightly. He allowed her curious fingers to study him for a while even though he ached to be inside her. After a while he guided her hands to his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her once more. He planted kisses on her throat and collarbone before finally taking one of her nipples in his mouth. He flicked it with his tongue, biting lightly. He slid one hand up her slim hips, over her narrow waist, and cupped the other breast. It fit the palm of his hand perfectly, and he took his time, cupping and reshaping it. Sansa's back arched off the bed, and she couldn't stop her pleasured sigh from leaving her lips. Sandor abandoned her breasts and kissed a trail down her stomach, lingering over the perfect cup of her navel. He paused when he reached her sex, not quite sure what to do now. He parted her lower lips with two fingers and found her slightly damp. She sighed again, breathed his name and dug her fingernails into his arms. He felt that he must've done something right so he brushed it against her inner folds and the little nub he found above her entrance. She shuddered again, wrapping her fingers in his hair.

"Sandor…" she whispered desperately.

He captured her lips with his own but without removing his fingers from the obviously sensitive spot he had discovered. He rubbed it tentatively and she gasped against his lips. She felt wetter now, almost as he had imagined her to be in his dreams when he took her. She moaned against their kiss, her fingers tightening. He let his fingers explore her, circling her entrance but not passing it, flicking the delicate nub just above it. She felt like molten silk under his touch. Her breath caught in her chest suddenly, and he felt her entire body begin to tense up. "Please," she whispered, "please don't stop."

His fingers continued to spider over her womanhood, bringing forth small, mewling cries from her red lips. She seized his wrist suddenly, her long, white fingers surprisingly strong. "There." She gasped. "Right there." He caught the now-slippery nub between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently. Sansa bit back a cry, her body beginning to writhe under his touch. He covered her lips with his own, drinking the sounds of her passion and letting her ride out wave after wave of pleasure. Finally, she was spent and limp in his arms. The moon was bright outside, and he could see her as she gazed up at him, smiling and slightly dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a gleam in her eye that hadn't been there before.

"I- I want you inside me." She said softly. "I don't care if it hurts."

'If I'm going to hell I might as well do it for this.' He thought as he positioned himself between her legs. 'It would be worth it.' After the initial resistance, sliding into her was like being enveloped in exquisite oil. He felt her body stretch to accommodate him. Sandor slid his hand around to the small of her back to hold her hips still as he continued to push inside her.

'So fucking tight...'

She whimpered underneath him and he knew it probably hurt.

"I'm sorry my little bird..." He whispered against her ear. Her breath was hot against the side of his neck as she replied.

"Do not be."

With a low growl he pushed himself all the way, as far as he could. Sansa cried out, either in pain or pleasure. She was so bloody tight around him that he thought for a moment that he might faint from pleasure. He tried to move slowly but the ecstasy of the moment almost had him blinded. He slid a hand down her thigh, cupping around the back of it and drawing it up, hooking the slender calf over his hip.

'Seven hells,' he felt the orgasm building and tried to ignore it. He did not want to spend himself so soon.

"Sandor," she whimpered, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Bloody hell." he growled. "Sansa..."

He shuddered with raw pleasure and spent himself deep inside her. He slumped forward, only managing to catch himself on his elbows to prevent himself from crushing her. He could hear her uneven breathing and wondered if he had hurt her much. In the quiet that followed, he touched her cheek and found it wet. "I hurt you."

She shook her head, her auburn hair rustling against the pillow. "No." Sansa wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, drawing him close and kissing him. "You didn't hurt me."

He could only kiss her with wonderment. For once his life had taken a considerable turn for the better.