Jon's eyes opened but he saw nothing, the room was dark but for the glow of the banked fire, its rough stone walls and smoke grimed beams invisible. The body between the fork of his thighs was hot as flame, as soft as butter. He cautiously reached out and caught a sheaf of hair that slipped through his hand like a bolt of fine silk.

He heard a soft, throaty laugh, teeth nipping at him teasingly, right at the crease of his groin. His cock was standing proud, not fussy at all about the woman in his bed, some sorceress come to disturb his rest, sink her claws and drain the life out of him like a tale from the seven hells. He struggled beneath her weight, then groaned as her tongue licked a trail from groin to hip, red hair slipping down to tickle his balls, hands curling around his length to squeeze lightly. The tongue trailed back down, flicking at the head of him in a lazy circle. He'd never had a woman touch him like that before, with such delicate skill, and suddenly didn't care if it was a visitation from hell, he wanted to see where his mind would take him.

"You have the most beautiful cock," Sansa purred. "It fits me so well, it's no wonder I never want to leave your bed."

"I love you," he mumbled, his hand still carding through her copper hair. "I think the gods every day I met you again," he breathed, squirming as she cupped him and rolled his balls in her hot palm, lips descending to suck at his tip, then more of him, nearly all of him. Gods, he was so aroused it was affecting his senses. He let go her hair and tried to flip back the covers to see her, but his hands were weak, his eyes still hazy. He could only feel her and hear her, moaning helplessly as she popped him free from her warm, deep throat.

"I am yours, and you are mine," she whispered into his belly, her palms holding his hips, holding him trapped. He caught a waft of scent, sweet, flowery perfume and the tang of her cunt. Suddenly he wanted to bury his face in her folds and sip from her like a bee in a pink, open bloom. She would taste good, so good, his mouth filled with saliva at the need for it. "We said the words, you bound yourself to me, it will happen sooner than you think. You belong to me, you need me and I need you."

He was torn in two, between mindless pleasure and knowledge, his hands fluttering in indecision, but animal instinct took over, the need to grab and take and taste. Strength returned to him in a rush of blood even as she unmanned him by taking his cock in her throat again, reaching under the covers and hooking her lithe body up and around, a sense of pale supple curves, pink nipples, a veil of red hair and then oh, her bottom filling his palms, her bare cunt split like a peach, her thighs quivering as he let go all thought, prized her open and lapped at her hungrily.

She had let him slide free of her mouth so her cry of shock was wild and loud, her back arching, the covers gone and her lovely body on full display should he care to look, but he was too focused on the nectar that dripped into his mouth, the blushing, gleaming folds of her luring him into devour, making her twitch and protest like a maiden. She silenced herself by taking him down, her lips stretched around his girth, kissing the base of his cock as she expertly swallowed him whole. Oh Gods, the taste of her, what she was doing to him, the merging of his pale flesh with her snowy, perfect skin.

He lost all sense of reality, there was only pure pleasure, his hips driving off the bed to fuck her attentive mouth, his bristly lips closing around her nub to apply suction, his rough fingers exploring the taut depths of her cunt. He still wasn't used to this version of himself, this practiced lover that gave and took, his mind swirling with the possibilities of how best to end it, on her knees with her arse in the air, on her back with her feet flat against the headboard, completely open to his harsh thrusts, astride his hips riding him like a fierce queen. He wanted to see her face and know her as she broke into pieces.

As if Sansa had caught his stream of thought, she slithered out of his hands like quicksilver, her back to him, distant and unknowable, squatting with her tempting arse in his view. He could only grab her hips and guide her down onto his jutting cock, his body drained of strength, no words in him to beg to see her and hold her, to make her his.

As she took him in her body, keening as he pulled her apart and settled against her womb, her cunt squeezing him tight and making his balls feel painfully full and heavy, he knew he would lose all control as soon as that heaviness erupted into her too soon. Her bright hair he reached for like a lifeline, imprisoning it in his fist to hold onto her, groaning and grunting like a beast as she lifted and fell, lifted and fell, bent forward so he could see everything he was allowed to, her splayed petals around his slippery cock, her bottom jiggling sweetly, her noises savage and untamed, her grip on his thighs like iron.

She threw her head back and howled at the moon floating high above the bed, the castle, the wall of ice, her cunt rippling around him in tune with his thudding heart, and she drew it out of him like a succubus draining him of all his power, his body lifting off the bed as his cock emptied into her in fluid pulses, so blissful it was unlike anything he'd ever felt, every nerve firing within and without, the kind of pleasure that men would fight and kill for, and live for.

In the storm that broke in his mind with the release, his eyes closed and he sunk into blackness, a void of nothing, like being dead, but it was the kind of death that was warm and comforting, like floating in the embrace of a hot spring in a womb of the earth, waiting to be reborn into the world outside. He drifted for an age, not fearing it, not hearing the whispers of the Gods that left him in limbo, not feeling the seven blows into his chest and belly that had sent him into nothing, only the tingle in his belly and bones of a man well served and sated.

He awoke again. Under the mussed blankets his cock was at full attention, so full of want it was like to burst, and three or four thrusts and he would be spilling and shaming himself. He wanted to impress her, he wanted to own her, to make her his entirely so she would take him into her bed every night before more war and death and duty tore them asunder.

She was making little, hungered moans as he kissed her, her hands roaming all over him greedily, one slipping down his belly dangerously close to his length. When her hot palm closed around him and she made a happy noise at her discovery he half laughed, half groaned in distress. "I'm afraid I am not going to last if you touch me," he breathed into her, her eyes opening to meet his, a spark of amusement in the dark pupils. "Lie back, Sansa, and let me touch you."

When she was naked and laid out on the stripped back bed in all her glory, her hands entwined in the bars of the headboard to stop herself from fondling him, her face pink and her lips full and rosy, he could not proceed with care and reverence, treat her like the queen she was. He mapped and mouthed, grasped and pinched, growled into the soft rise of her stomach, nipped at the inside of her thighs as he parted them, dragged his bearded face and curls across every inch of her perfect skin.

Her cunt was like a pink intricate seashell washed up on the strand, gleaming and bare in the candlelight, a strip of fine red hair leading him south to her nub, fat as a pearl. He whimpered at the taste of her, so familiar, so delicious, his tongue exploring the shape of her once, enjoying the shuddering gasps that rose and fell from her chest, then he became a greedy savage, sucking her into his mouth, her hairless flesh pulled and plundered and savored like the rarest of morsels.

He studiously ignored the cramp in his balls, the chafe of the mattress against his ready cock not giving him any relief. He wanted to make her break before he entered her, the reward of her coming in his mouth before he took what was always his. He looked up at her writhing under every flick and suckle, her beautiful body, her heavy-lidded gaze and parted lips, the way she grasped the bed and held on, her hair matted ropes of copper and red in the lamplight. He was so hard he was in agony now, his cock needing her, the dream of her welcoming depths, the kiss of her womb against his tip.

He would make it up to her, tonight and every night if she would permit it, he would learn self-control, the language of her body would speak to him like it had when he had most needed to hear it, a walking dead man with no home, no family, only the enemy to keep him going. His fingers eased into her to sharpen her pleasure, and she cried out his name and bowed upwards, the surge felt around his hand, under his lapping tongue. She was like honey and spruce and lemon, so wet he slurped at her obscenely, so abandoned she was cursing, weeping, keening as she came for him, sucking his fingers deeper, rippling in his mouth, her hands snatching at his hair to bring him closer, riding his face.

At the grind of her against his lips and tongue, her spiraling cries, he couldn't hold it, rising in a rush, arranging her shaking legs where he wanted them and sheathing himself, her cunt a tight, resistant fit to his blade as he impaled her with great force. She bucked under him, eyes bulging then leaking tears, her shock muffled by his kiss of apology, then he knew nothing but the molten heat of her burning through every vein. His hips snapped, grinding and groaning like a soul in torment as she fluttered around him, stretched for him, yielded to absorb all he had to give. And he would give her all.

Her heels digging into his spine, her flaming hair twined around him like a net, hands clinging to his shoulders and her rolling, rearing, inviting it, the violence, the selfish male need to hold her down and fuck her and leave his mark. She was snarling, biting down on his throat as he spilled and collapsed all too soon, her tresses against his face, each gasp of air and jerk of his cock hollowing him out, nothing left but a husk with a mind as blank as fresh parchment.

When he kissed her blindly, he tasted tears on her cheeks, her hand cupping the back of his head to bring him down to her breast. Her thighs squeezed him closer in, making sure he was utterly spent before her legs lowered and she rested, her hammering heart under his ear slowing down to a peaceful thud, her hands toying with his hair, curling it around idle fingers. She made a purring sound of pure contentment, answered by his own sleepy rumble. Nothing needed to be said, the silence was enough. Kingdoms, alliances, enemies and subjects, plots and threats, none of it mattered. He was hers, and she was his.