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King Robb
“You are cruel to tease me so, Your Grace.” The words came out in a harsh, breathy whisper. Roslin was pressed up against a stone wall in some remote corridor of her father's keep, with her King at her feet.
Robb grinned, and she felt his beard scratch against the tender skin of her inner thigh, and his hands clenched into the soft flesh of her bottom. One leg was thrown over her King's broad shoulder, while the other foot barely brushed the floor. Her balance was precarious, and it added just another dimension to her desperation. She was too dizzy with want to remember exactly where they were in the castle, but she knew at least a dozen of her family members were around nearly every corner. And he chose this moment to tease her!
“My lovely, beautiful Queen, I would never tease you...I would give you absolutely anything...all you need to do is ask.”
His lips were soft against her thigh, and he dragged his tongue over the skin there in long, hot trails...but not quite close enough to where she wanted it...it was a tease, no matter what he said.
“What do you want, my Queen? Say the word and it is yours.” Hot breath parted the curls at her center, and Roslin wanted to scream with want and frustration, wanting to feel his tongue inside her, his lips on that spot that made her peak in mere moments.
She whined high in her throat, and tried to thrust her hips towards his mouth, desperate to direct his lips and tongue where she wanted them, but he was too strong, and held her hips fast against the wall.
“Say it, Roslin...tell me what you want.” This time a lick was followed by sharp little bite, and Roslin remembered her King was also a wolf. The sting of the bite made her forget herself and cry out, and refusing to beg no longer seemed a reasonable course of action.
“Please, Robb, please! Lick me, suck me, fuck me with your mouth!” Roslin felt her face flush in shame at her wanton words, but nearly cried in relief when Robb immediately complied, pressing his mouth against her mound, licking and and sucking at her like a starving man at a feast.
***
Lord Brandon
“Do you like that, sweetling? Does that feel good?” Brandon's voice was low and teasing, and Barbrey wanted to slap him for being so smug; he knew very well she could barely speak with how good it felt.
Every time, Barbrey told herself that she would not let Brandon Stark ruin her. She knew he was destined for a match with the daughter of a great house...Lord Stark apparently thought his firstborn too good for the daughters of his loyal bannermen, and had much grander plans.
But it was getting harder and harder to remember that, each time he used that beautiful mouth for something other than boasting or grinning roguishly. She lay on the mossy ground in the godswood, with Brandon's strong hands holding her thighs apart and his wicked mouth buried in her cunt. Brandon aould brush her cheek with a fingertip, and it made her feel faint...he would kiss her lips gently, and it made her feel drunk. But this...this feeling was sure to drive her mad...it wasn't just his warm breath and soft lips on that most secret part of her...it was the teasing sucking...he sucked at her like she was a ripe winter peach, wantonly licking up her wetness, and keeping up an endless stream of filthy words about how good she tasted, and how divine she smelled. It felt so good, but also made her want more, made her want to feel the hard, hot length of him inside her, instead of resting heavily against her bare leg. Barbrey knew she wouldn't be able to say no this time.
***
Lord Eddard
“Ned...you haven't heard a word I've said have you?” Ned was staring at her with slightly glassy eyes, that were too dark to be only from the wine. Catelyn thought he had followed her to her chambers to continue their discussion, but her lord husband plainly had other plans.
His gaze trailed up and down her body slowly, with such intensity she could practically feel it. Ned was not shy with his affections towards her, not anymore, but he hadn't looked at her like that since the day Rickon was conceived, a day he came upon her bathing in the hotsprings.
He didn't answer, but took two steps to reach her, and captured her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. He wrapped one arm around her waist and held her tightly, while the other hand carded through her hair, which she had left long and unbound, despite the formality of the occasion.
When she tried to undo the laces of her gown, he pushed her hands away, and fell to his knees in front of her, pressing his face against her belly and running his hands along her waist and hips possessively.
“No, don't take it off...gods Cat you're so beautiful. You're so beautiful and you should have more beautiful things like this...I'm sorry you don't...you should be drowning in finery like this...”
He had reached under the voluminous skirts of her finest gown, which she had worn to greet the King and Queen and welcome them to Winterfell. His large, warm hands were sliding up her fine silk stockings, so slowly and with such reverence, that Catelyn felt herself get wet with anticipation and wanting, though he had only kissed her once and had barely touched her at all.
“I know you didn't wear this for me, but I confess you've driven me to distraction my lady...all night as I looked at you in your fine skirts, all I could think about was getting underneath them to taste you.”
The shock of those words from Ned's mouth, combined with his wandering hands and the intense look in his gray eyes made Catelyn lose her balance, and she fell into a conveniently placed chair. Ned immediately started pushing the layers of her skirts up into her lap, kissing her legs through her stockings and nosing between her thighs with a urgency that had her panting in moments.
Before Catelyn even settled in the chair, Ned had ripped off her small clothes and buried his tongue inside her. She slipped further down into the chair, and Ned threw one of her legs over his shoulder, and the other over the arm of the chair. Catelyn had no time to feel wanton or wonder at her husband's intense enthusiasm for her gown, as Ned used his tongue and his lips and his fingers on her so insistently that she peaked in mere moments. She was still dizzy with the aftershocks when she felt him lift her out of the chair and place her on the bed. They were both still fully dressed, except for her small clothes, and as Ned buried his face between her thighs again, she resolved to find more reasons to dress up for her husband.
***
Lord Jon
“Will you...will you kiss me like you did the other night?”
Jon feels the burn of Sansa's blush against his cheek, as she shyly whispers into his ear. Her hands are buried in his hair, so tightly that he doesn't want to pull away, doesn't want to deny her that anchor. He feels the fine tremors in her arms and realizes how much it cost her to voice her desires aloud...and for the thousandth time he works to suppress his anger. He kills them in his dreams every night, those men who took advantage of her sweet and trusting nature, who made her afraid to be touched, made her unable to believe that a man's touch could feel good.
She must know he would never tell her no, so Jon answers not with words, but by rubbing his lips down Sansa's neck, across her collarbone, then slowly...so slowly, between the perfect mounds of her breasts and down the slight curve of her belly. Although his want for her is so desperate that it frightens him, he doesn't want to scare her away by being too aggressive. She is still so shy with him, the last thing he wants to do is make her regret asking for her pleasure.
As his kisses reach below her belly button, he slows down even more, and allows himself a small smile when he feels her hands push gently on his head...that she wants this from him is the best news he's gotten since he found out she was alive and safe.
When he reaches the apex of her thighs, he tries not to stare, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, though he knows she will be as beautiful there as a winter rose. Next time...next time he will take his time to look as much as he intends to taste this time.
He doesn't tease her...he can barely hold himself back and he doesn't want to give her time to change her mind, so he leans in immediately for a long, slow lick...always slowly with Sansa, and smooths his hands along her thighs as he tastes her. Her grip in his hair and her quiet sighs are the best rewards he could ask for...he hopes to make this last as long as he can...all night if he can stand it. He wants her to ask for this every night.
***
Lord Rickon
“What...what are you doing?” Shireen tried to keep the whine out of her voice, but it was hard not to protest...Rickon had been kissing her, and his deep, aggressive kisses – just this side of bruising – always drugged her in a way no dream wine ever could. A fierce snowstorm was raging outside, but she could scarcely tell, buried under piles of furs and the hard, muscled body of her lord husband.
But he started to pull away, and although the fire in the hearth blazed high and hot, when the furs fell away from her shoulders, and Rickon's mouth descended down her neck, she felt the chill immediately.
His answer was a feral grin and a loud suck on one exposed nipple. He pulled the furs down further to bare both her breasts to him, and her skin instantly pebbled in the cool air of the bedchamber. She shivered, but couldn't say whether it was the sudden chill or the predatory gleam in his eyes.
“Winter is upon us, my lady, and I feel a chill. Don't you want to warm me up?”
His large hands trailed down her ribcage and her belly, dragging the furs lower and lower, further exposing her to the cold air, though his hands and his mouth were hot against her skin.
“It's warm beneath the furs, yet you take them away! Come back here, and I'll keep you warm...” she tugged on his russet curls, long and wild and tumbling around his broad shoulders, but he only grinned at her again, kissing her belly and rubbing his clean-shaven chin against the dark hair on her mound.
His dark blue eyes glittered, and he slowly sucked on the pad of his thumb in a gesture so obscene that Shireen blushed just watching him. She was so transfixed by his indecent display, she barely noticed him pushing her thighs further apart, and kicking the furs off the bed completely. Suddenly he was licking at her, quickly and desperately and so intensely it reminded her of watching his direwolf with a fresh kill. He was devouring her, and Shireen couldn't feel the cold at all.
She peaked the first time as he simultaneously pressed his wet thumb against her center and bit her thigh hard enough to bruise, and she shrieked and pulled his hair, tight enough to make him grunt, but she knew he loved it.
He barely let her catch her breath before he plunged his tongue inside her furiously fast, holding her thighs wide apart as she trembled and squirmed on their bed, both of them bare to the cold winter air.
Shireen was so lost in her pleasure she barely heard him as he spoke in between licking and biting and sucking at her. “I need no furs nor fires, my lady...every northern lord knows the warmest part of his castle is in his lady's bed...and the warmest part of his lady's bed is between his lady's thighs.”
***
Lady Arya the Lion-Tamer
“Are you ready for me, pet?” Arya entered the princess' bedchamber, smiling at the thought that lions weren't so hard to tame, after all. Spread out before her like the finest feast was her very own golden lion princess, waiting patiently and as still as death, just as Arya had instructed her.
There was no longer any need for the white silken scarves and gray velvet ribbons, although Myrcella looked especially beautiful trussed up in Stark colors. No, her golden lion was perfectly trained. She knew to strip herself bare and stretch out on her bed and wait for Arya to come to her. She knew to never move her hands from where they lay above her head, palms facing upwards, unless Arya told her to. She knew to stretch her long legs out and point her toes, until Arya gave her the command to spread them.
Arya approached the bed slowly, appreciating the sight of her tamed and lovely lioness. When she reached Myrcella's side, she tapped on her knee lightly.
“Open up for me, sweetling, let me see your pretty pussy.” Myrcella complied immediately, arching her back and spreading her legs wide, bringing her knees up far enough so that her feet left the bed.
This was Arya's favorite part. As good as her princess tasted, and as sweet as she sounded while Arya licked and sucked at her center, this moment of anticipation was the best. Seeing her golden lioness spread out and perfectly still, naked as her name day and waiting patiently for instruction, was the reason she kept coming back.
Arya slipped out of her clothes and climbed onto the bed, lying between her pet lion's thighs, smirking unrepentant when she saw how Myrcella's breath quickened, how the wetness between her legs gleamed in the sunlight, and how tiny beads of sweat formed between her breasts and on her belly.
Arya waited and waited, wanting to draw out this moment for as long as possible, perhaps long enough to frustrate her princess into begging or moving or breaking some other rule, so she would have the pleasure of punishing her. But her lioness was well trained. She panted and perspired, partly in anticipation and partly because of the blazing Dornish heat, but she never moved nor said a word, and Arya felt it was only right to reward her with a kiss.