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Darkness. Screaming surrounded by darkness.
She could barely remember much more than that. By the time the screaming stopped it seemed like hours had passed. Sansa’s head spun in her tightly shut closet, shielding her from whatever laid in wait beyond.
Her siblings had all been away, summer camps and sleepovers, only she remained in the house that night. The only living remnant of the massacre.
Seeing the bodies of her murdered parents was blurry, censored with deep blank spaces in her memory. A flash of her hand on the kitchen phone, the garbled words pouring out of her mouth. She’d hung up and retched right on the tile.
He was the clearest thing she could remember. Warm arms enveloping her frame when he entered the house. She’d rushed to him, needing someone to shield her from everything. He’d carried her back to her room, his uniform clutched tightly between her knuckles. The lingering smell of cigarettes swirling around him as he rubbed her back while she sobbed.
He’d meant nothing to her before that night. Even when she’d seen his face, deep pitted scars marring half of it, she hadn’t been scared. His voice, so rough and deep, smoothed over her, whispering soft words.
“Little bird, I’m so sorry.”
_____
Her father had made a bad business deal, or at least that's how they framed it to her at only 12. Trusting the wrong people resulted in his and her mother’s deaths. Sansa knew it was horrible, but at that moment she had never felt so irate. They could have taken her toys, her horses, her nice clothes, but they had to take her parents.
6 children were no easy burden to bear, especially on such short notice. Sansa had hardly been able to grieve being separated from her siblings, still drowning in the horror of what she’d seen. Certainly she’d been the most difficult to decide what to do with. Once a bright and shining girl, full of potential, she felt ground down to ash.
Aunt Lysa had been hesitant, but her new husband was convincing. Petyr wasted no time moving her in. Sansa hadn’t felt any particular way about it. Resigning to keep to herself, attempting to pick up the pieces of her broken and barely begun life.
_____
Sansa fidgeted in line, clenching and unclenching her fist around the money in her hand. Would she have enough? Would they really not ask for her ID? After all, Joff had promised there wouldn’t be any issues.
On a rainy Saturday evening she was at the Merchants Mart convenience store, attempting to make an underage alcohol purchase. It sounded so bad, the thought causing her teeth to sink into her bottom lip. But what choice did she have? Everyone was counting on her.
About a month ago she’d managed to catch Joffrey Baratheon’s attention. Despite her hanging black cloud of a reputation, he hadn’t seemed to know who she was. It wasn’t a big deal, their dads had only been best friends. Not to mention business partners. Joff was chronically distracted.
“Your dad is the one who got his brains blown out!” He’d when he realized who she was. Joffrey had quickly composed himself, a mask slipping over his features, “My father was distraught, our whole family really was.”
Sansa had searched her mind for if they’d been present at the double funeral and found nothing. Either way it didn’t really matter.
Before last month Joffrey had acted like she didn’t exist. He’d been in her mutual friend group but always seemed so preoccupied. Finally, on a group family outing he started talking to her. Since then he’d been flirting with her. He’d bring her coffee in the morning or flowers after school.
Sansa felt like she had walked into the perfect dream of distraction. Nothing had been simple since losing her parents 5 years ago. She’d thrown herself into school and social events, trying to escape the infamy of her family tragedy. Surprisingly, the murders seemed to have made her only more popular. Everyone wanted to attach themselves to the wake of terror that followed her. She tried not to think about it.
Friends made things busy and in turn easier to forget. Boys took even more of her time. She didn’t particularly care if Jofferey liked her or not, or if she returned that sentiment. It was about occupying her mind.
Friday after school Joff had texted her about everyone meeting at Trant’s house. He was throwing a party and wanted her to go specifically with him.
It hadn’t been easy to convince Uncle Petyr to let her out of the house. His grip had tightened since Aunt Lysa passed, only allowing Sansa out for school and her extracurricular activities. Occasionally he permitted her to spend the night with Margery, her closest friend.
A sleepover was where she was supposed to be tonight, tucked safely in the Tyrell home. She’d made herself look perfect and waited until 8pm sharp when she was supposed to meet Joffrey at the little park close to her house. He’d pulled up in his white BMW, smiled wide and told her they would be making a quick detour.
Sansa trudged forward in line, her nerves building the closer she got. Joff said he had been here tons of times without ID. He’d always gotten away with it. She couldn’t tell if that made her more or less anxious about the situation. The weight of the beer case made her palm ache, her shoes scraping on the linoleum as she shifted the burden to another hand.
When it came her time to pay Sansa shuffled to the counter, placing the beer and the money in view of the clerk. It was a rough looking old man. He seemed to size her up for a moment.
“Where’s your ID?”
Sansa flushed, tears clawing at the back of her throat.
“I forgot it at home?”
It sounded more like a question than a statement. The man narrowed his eyes and Sansa knew she’d been had.
“Get the fuck out of here kid! Do I look like I sell to teenagers?” He gestured towards the door, scooping up the beer in his other hand.
Sansa squeaked out an apology before grabbing the money and running out the door. Tears were already running down her cheeks, ruining the makeup she’d worked so hard on. She walked back shamefully towards the BMW.
Timidly she knocked on the tinted window. A cloud of vape smoke poured out, revealing a perturbed looking Joffrey.
“Where’s the beer?” He eyed her up and down, like she must have it hidden on her person somewhere.
Sansa opened her mouth but nothing came out. Joff looked at her expectantly, “Well?”
“I…they wouldn’t. I’m so sorry Joff,” she whispered, her stomach dropping. It pained Sansa to disappoint him and everyone else. They were always there for her, ready to provide a shoulder to cry on or a distraction to keep her occupied. She knew her pain would be more acute without them.
He was silent for a moment before rolling the driver's side window up. Sansa stepped back, confused as Joffery swung open the door and stepped out, slamming it behind him.
Surely he’ll understand.
“You worthless little bitch!” He roared, stepping closer to her. Sansa shrank, her heart dropping to her feet. Fear gripped her, freezing her limbs and sinking her down into a familiar place.
When she felt the impact of his palm on her cheek everything went black.
She could hear him berating her from above, her hands scraping against the asphalt as she tried to stand. Pain bloomed on her face, her fingers coming back red with drops of blood. The color made her ears ring.
Desperately she wished she could go back to her bedroom closet. Back to the darkness that held the possibility of horror and not the confirmation of it. There was nothing she could do, she laid there paralyzed as Joffrey loomed above her.
“Get the fuck off of her,” A deep growl cut through the haze that was overpowering her.
“Piss off,” Joffrey’s voice was muffled, her hearing slowly tuning back in.
She could hear the sound of his boots, closing in on them.
“If you don’t take your sorry rich boy ass out of my sight I will make sure you spend the night in jail among the worst of the worst,” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the full weight of the threat.
Silence hung thick in the air, before Sansa heard the BMW’s door open. Joffrey peeled out of the parking lot without another word. Without her.
Large hands helped her up, steadying her as she found her footing.
“Little bird,” he murmured as their eyes met.
Him.
_____
Sansa wouldn't have been able to avoid him if she wanted to. At first she found his presence jarring, a memory of a memory she constantly tried to forget. Eventually, it turned out to be different with him.
Sandor moved around her like he couldn’t be certain she knew who he was. Always nodding in her direction at the grocery store or restaurant. It seemed like he didn’t want to bother her with his presence, but wanted to acknowledge their shared connection.
Sansa found herself completely and hopelessly devoted to him.
Each time she saw him it took every ounce of strength she had not to cling to him for dear life. As if his presence would heal her. She hadn’t been this close to him since the night her parents died, but she’d thought of him every second since.
Since then he’d occupied her dreams, swooping in to save or comfort her. In her favorites they would kiss, soft and sweet. He’d make her safe, and replace the pieces that were missing.
Sandor’s eyes were solid steel, looking at her like a hunter might look at its prey. Dressed in his uniform, pressed and clean with a shining badge. It hugged him tight, muscles bulging against the fabric. His hands removed from her, held awkwardly at his sides.
“Are you okay?” He whispered, testing the distance between them.
Sansa stared at him, slack jawed. She forced herself to nod, eyes locked on him. Every other moment she’d come into contact with him had been brief, but now he was standing before her, speaking.
Shuffling uncomfortably he leaned in, “Do you remember who I am, little bird?”
Her heart jumped to her throat, hammering so hard she could feel it throughout her whole body. Without a thought she shook her head, needing him to know that she remembered. She knew the secret they shared.
Sandor seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head. When his eyes turned back to her, he cocked his head towards the cruiser, parked by a nearby pump.
On weak legs Sansa followed him, settling down in the black leather passenger seat. It smelled like him, cigarettes and warmth. When he closed the door the silence enclosed tensely around them. Sansa pulled at the hem of her dress, fingernails scraping against her exposed skin.
When she finally gained the courage to look at him, their eyes met. An impassable look hung on his features.
“Let me see that cut,” he mumbled, leaning in a little closer.
She’d practically forgotten the burning against her cheek, mind preoccupied elsewhere. Nodding Sansa turned so she was facing him. The pads of his fingers were featherlight against her chin, passing gently over the scrape. It was no longer bleeding but still stung. Sansa leaned in, his touch soothing her.
Sandor frowned, hands returning to his lap.
“I’ll take you home,” he resigned, turning to start the cruiser.
Panic shot through her.
“No,” her voice caught against her lips. Uncle Petyr would be home by now. Seeing him was enough of a deterrent, but his suspicions would earn her more time locked away. Lying girls didn’t get to leave home. Lying girls might not get to live on campus. Lying girls might not get to go to college at all.
Sandor looked at her hard, concern hung heavy on his quirked brow.
“I’m supposed to be somewhere else,” she admitted, “I don’t want Uncle Petyr to find out.”
“Uncle Petyr,” he scoffed, like the name tasted foul on his mouth. Despite it, he seemed to have no problem with her answer, “Where to then?”
Sansa bit her lip, mulling the question over. Margery would be going to the party, and completely unwilling to ditch in order to have an actual sleepover. Jeyne too. Nothing seemed to fit.
Tentatively, her eyes met his, “Could I go home with you?”
_____
Night had fallen by the time they pulled up to the house. It was small, old but seemingly well kept. The back screen door opened into the kitchen where old wood cabinets lined the walls. A faint smell of cigarettes lingered throughout the air.
Sandor dropped his eyes on the bar before turning his attention to a nearby drawer, rifling through it. Once he found what he’d been looking for he pulled out a barstool, patting his hand against the cushion.
Sansa sat, the soles of her shoes perched against the base. He placed a small first aid kit between them, leaning over her to inspect the cut. The feel of his gaze was hot on her skin, the burn warming her down to her bones. Sandor turned her chin, wiping the gash with an alcohol pad.
“Where were you going tonight, little bird?” He dabbed antibiotic cream on with the tip of his finger.
“I…I was going to a party with Joffrey,” she admitted, her nails biting into the skin of her thighs. It wasn’t something she should tell him, Sandor was a cop, or more specifically a detective. She’d read about his promotions in news articles, silently congratulating his successes.
His mouth quirked slightly up, fingers pulling the packaging off a bandage.
“He try to make you buy alcohol?” He murmured, spreading the band-aid over her cut.
Sansa felt her stomach fall uncomfortably, the realization that he was able to read her so easily stinging. It must have shown on her face because Sandor chuckled.
“I’m not going to arrest you,” he put the items back in the kit, clicking the plastic case closed. “Besides, that gas station’s been busted before, they wouldn’t chance selling to a little girl.”
While she let out a sigh of relief, she wondered if that was what he really thought of her, a little girl. Sansa knew she’d been a kid when he saved her that night, but that had been long ago. It seemed foolish, but she’d always hoped he dreamed of her too.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” he mumbled, sliding off the stool. The room felt colder now, Sansa shuffling off her seat as well. She moved around the kitchen, eyes trailing over the cracked linoleum. Sandor had made his way over to the fridge, his head ducked behind the door.
“Are you hungry?”
_____
Although she’d never known much about him, Sansa would have never expected Sandor to be a good cook. He’d made a simple breakfast spread, something she’d had hundreds of times. Despite that, she’d never had breakfast like this. The pancakes were thick, fluffy and sweet, the bacon perfectly crisp, and Sansa was sure she’d never had more flavorful eggs.
“I didn’t realize you could cook this well,” she gushed between bites, inhaling everything he put in front of her.
Sandor’s hands stillied at the hot plate, “What all do you know about me?”
She paused, trying to find the right words, “You’re a good person.”
That earned her an unamused snort. Sandor moved a fresh pancake to her plate, his eyes briefly meeting hers.
“Why is that funny?” She asked, trying to maintain eye contact but it didn’t work. He’d turned back to the hot plate, pretending to be absorbed in what he was doing. Sansa waited a beat but he never responded.
“It’s hard to know things about you when you don’t talk to me.”
That seemed to strike a nerve. Sandor’s jaw jumped, the scars on that side of his face tightening.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to remember,” he whispered. Remember that night, remember him.
Sansa sucked in a sharp breath, unable to keep all of the familiar feelings at bay. She didn’t like to think about much of that night other than him.
“I haven’t been able to forget,” she choked out, throat tight.
The look in his eyes was pained, as if he was also cursed, Sansa just couldn’t be sure how. Did he think of her in the dead of night? When he felt like his world was spiraling out of control, would he touch himself to the thought of her wrapped in his arms?
She wanted to say more, but nothing came out. Once the silence wore thin, Sandor turned back to the stove top.
_____
Sansa stood in the tiled bathroom, the monochrome sameness of it all made her head swirl. She’d started the shower but hadn’t yet stepped in. A large t-shirt hung over the back of the door next to a pair of boxers, her pajamas for the night. His clothes. It had seemed to mean nothing to him, pulling out a worn dark shirt and plaid shorts from his dresser, but to Sansa it meant everything.
Standing under the freezing cold water hardly did a thing, her skin was still burning hot. The proximity and being able to wear his clothes did something to her. There was a deep ache between her thighs, a need for him that she constantly chased.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as her fingers slipped inside her, pushing in and out. Sansa imagined he was behind her, pressing deep into her as his hands gripped her hips roughly. When she thought of him it was always a mixture of both hard and soft, the duality of his rugged and caring nature.
When she reached her peak a soft moan slipped through her lips. Her forehead rested against the tile, water pelting her from above. There was a bit of immediate relief, but as soon as Sansa dried herself and put on the borrowed clothes she tightened again.
It was going to be a long night.
_____
Sandor situated a pallet of sorts on the sofa, pilling blankets and pillows so she would be comfortable.
“I guess I did end up at a sleepover,” she let out a small laugh. It seemed silly to keep anything else from him so she’d resigned to tell him the original plans of her night. She’d promised to keep this a secret though, “Uncle Petyr would never let me leave the house again if he knew.”
“How does your uncle treat you?” He asked, settling down in an old arm chair next to the couch.
Sansa shrugged, “Fine…I mean he’s strict but I know he wants to keep me safe. It just doesn’t always make things easy, or fun.”
She’d been scared when her Aunt Lysa passed, not knowing what would happen to her or her Robert. While her cousin had been able to go live with his father, Sansa was alone. Uncle Petyr was her only option.
“He never makes you uncomfortable or anything?” Sandor opened his mouth again but then paused, as if he’d thought better before saying something else.
The question made her uneasy. There had been moments that felt off, but Uncle Petyr always had a reason. Sometimes he’d be overcome with grief for her late aunt, needing someone to hold at night he’d ask her to sleep in the big bed. Sansa didn’t like it, but she knew what it was like to feel so alone. Besides, she couldn’t really say no.
Her pause had lasted too long and Sandor’s eyes had narrowed, his stare hard. Without saying anything he got up, stalking to the kitchen. When he came back he held out a slip of paper to her.
“If you need anything,” he mumbled, settling back down in the armchair.
When she opened it up it had a phone number on it, his phone number.
_____
They stayed that way, him in the arm chair and her on the sofa. Sandor put on the TV, some older show that Sansa didn’t recognize. It didn’t matter, she snuggled down between the blankets, comfortable and at peace. Before she knew it her eyes grew heavy, sinking her into a soothing sleep.
When she awoke it was late. The TV was still on, playing an even older show at a barely audible volume. Sansa rubbed her eyes, adjusting to the darkness. She could hear the soft sounds of recorded voices over powerful snoring. Turning, she could see the slight outline of Sandor, still resting in the recliner.
Sansa sat up, shaking off the sleep. Padding to the kitchen she lazily found a glass, filling and drinking from it. When she made her way back to the living room she stopped, staring at Sandor’s sleeping form.
His head was dropped to one side, scars lit by the television light. He snored loudly, his mouth hanging slightly open. It seemed strange, but Sansa couldn’t help how whole it made her feel to have him close to her. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to go back home tomorrow.
Her feet took her closer until she was standing over him. His chest rose and fell, strong and sturdy arms slung over the sides of the chair. Sansa couldn’t understand how she could just go back to normal.
Eyes lowering, she noticed how full his sweatpants looked. They were slightly tented at the joining of his thighs. A spark ran through her, warming the space between her legs. It hurt in the best way, an incessant need that followed her.
Without thinking she moved in, climbing up and squeezing into what available space there was. Sansa found she had situated herself in his lap. She held her breath, waiting for him to wake up. Sandor stirred slightly, a groan leaving his lips before he settled back into a deep sleep.
Sansa sighed, leaning against him. Heat spread through her just from the contact. It was even better than her dreams.
Tentatively she lifted her face to meet his, tracing the outline of his features with her eyes. He looked less harsh up close, revealing a secret softness she had seen in him once before, on that night.
The memory struck her hard, only worsening the pull in her belly. Her hips rocked instinctively, rolling over something solid. It hit against her core between the folds of clothes, practically making her moan. She caught the sound between her teeth, eyes wide with shock as she realized he was the firmness beneath her.
Sansa knew she shouldn’t but couldn’t stop herself and ground against him again. Her fingers were nothing compared to this, the stiffness of his manhood pressed into her just right. She’d dreamed of this, chased this with everything she had in her. Feeding the feeling, she rocked back and forth, head spinning.
She found a rhythm, tilting her head back and leaning in. It could have been her mind, but she swore he was moving with her.
Two large palms gripped her waist, sending Sansa hurdling back to reality. When she looked down his eyes were staring through her, the steel hot and full of rage. She tried to open her mouth to say anything to explain why she was sitting on his lap, but nothing came out.
Sandor stood, throwing her to the ground. Sansa didn’t have the chance to pick herself up before he was hauling her towards the back door.
“Leave,” he rumbled, holding the door ajar. His fingers held sharply against her elbow.
“Sandor please,” she begged, tears pooling in her eyes. She had gotten more than she could have ever hoped for but it hadn’t been enough. Like a spoiled rotten child she’d only asked for more.
He ignored her, opening the screen and gesturing towards it. Sandor’s eyes stared ahead, burning against the night sky.
Digging her heels in Sansa resisted, her hands flying to his shirt, fingers pinching between the fabric.
“I’m so sorry,” she blubbered, hot tears streaking down her face, “I…I just…I just,” the words caught in her throat, fear tightening of vocal cords.
Something about her reaction made him angrier. Sandor’s hand on the door releasing, sending it back against the frame with a hard smack. His palm gripped hard on her elbow, bordering on bruising.
”You just didn’t think,” he growled, voice like a wild animal. Sandor’s jaw was tight, a vein in his neck throbbing. “I won’t be played with,’ he added, trying to pry her fingers from his t-shirt.
Sansa clung to him, whimpering. How could he think that? She’d never intended to make him feel that way, she just hadn’t been able to control herself.
”No no no,” she sniveled, tears clouding her vision, “I just….”
“You just what?” He bit back, hatred in his voice.
“I just…I love you,” she whispered, the words tumbling out. Sansa didn’t really know if that was true. She’d only ever loved her siblings and parents, people that were part of her family. However, Sandor lived in her mind. No matter how infrequently she saw him, no matter what happened he seemed to consume her, and she felt like that must be love.
She felt his hand fall from her elbow, his eyes turning from fire to ash. A mask of disbelief seemed to swallow his features, throwing Sandor into a thoughtful confusion. Sansa waited patiently for his reaction, teeth working her lower lip nervously.
In a swift movement he picked her up and deposited her back on the couch. Sansa landed between the pillows and blankets of her makeshift bed. When she looked up at him he was shaking, from fear or anger she couldn’t be sure.
“Love me?” He spat, his rough voice trembling.
Sansa shook her head slowly, a little less frightened now that he wasn’t pushing her out the door. Truly she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
“I think of you often,” she said weakly, her words a pathetic squeak in the silence between them. “I…I want for you.”
His eyes changed then, pupils blowing wide. She opened her mouth to speak but the words never came out. Sandor flipped her, pushing her face into the cushions. Sansa’s knees hit the edge of the sofa, her ass up in the air.
Before she could protest he was on her, one palm pushing against her shoulder as the other peeled the borrowed boxers down her legs. Sansa shivered at the feeling, the exposure cutting through her. The helplessness shot down to her core, surprisingly stoking the coals. No one had ever seen her like this.
Silence hung around them, but Sansa could feel his eyes on her.
“Want for me,” he echoed her, voice hollow. Suddenly fingers were sliding through her folds, releasing a pathetic sounding moan from her lips. Face burning, she tried to push herself farther against the cushions to muffle the noise. A deep chuckle reverberated through the room.
“Gods,” he growled, voice dark with something else now, “you’re soaked.”
His fingers returned, exploring her. Sandor’s grip on her shoulder released, turning instead towards her hip as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against her. The touch burned in the sweetest way, stoking the fire inside her.
Sharply his fingers entered her, pushing deep inside. Shame and lust danced up her spine, leaving her mouth in a strangled groan. Memories of touching herself to the thought of him flashed behind her eyelids, all of them paling in comparison to the reality.
Drawing back he made a noise between disgust and pleasure. Sansa couldn’t be sure but it sounded like he was sucking her wetness from his fingers. Before she could gain the courage to look he flipped her again, her backside hitting the cushions.
Sandor’s eyes were dark, but what really drew her attention was the throbbing between his thighs. It was bigger now, tented straight up in a way that frightened and excited her.
“Scared little bird?” He teased, “I thought this is what you wanted?”
When she met his eyes again they were uncertain, clouded with something akin to desire and worry. She shook her head, “I could never be afraid of you.”
His face fell like a mask cracking on its wearer's face. Sansa saw how he tried to fit it quickly back into place but couldn’t get it just right.
Sandor’s gaze slipped down her face, following the trail of her form obscured only by his shirt. He swore, dropping to his knees in defeat.
“This is your last chance to tell me to stop,” the threat rang hollow in her ears. Sansa nodded in agreement as she helped him part her thighs, exposing herself once more.
He paused briefly before running the flat of his tongue against her entrance. She broke on a sob, fingers tightening against his shirt until they turned white. It was hard not to feel embarrassed, everything about her exposed for the first time.
Sandor didn’t seem to care, not let up for a moment, sucking hard on her clit until she was screaming. Sansa’s legs melted beneath her, shaking uncontrollably as he feasted upon her.
Abruptly he pulled away, pumping his fingers in and out violently. A streak of bright heat ran through her before being left empty. The absence was painful and Sansa whined with need.
Sandor went to move her again but she protested, eyes locking with him as she begged, “Kiss me.”
He broke before her, his body collapsing against hers as their lips collided. His beard scratched her cheeks, rough lips scraping desperately to claim her mouth. It was nothing like the brief ones she’d had in the past, cold and quick. Sansa leaned in, just as starved for his mouth as he was for hers.
She remembered when she woke up in the police station, unsure if it was day or night. The fluorescents burned, the veil of reality thin. He’d been there, brought her snacks between her interviews with other officers. When he left she only cried harder, unable to recount the details. She’d only felt brave enough to talk about what she did remember with him by her side, sitting silently.
They both came up for air, gasping.
Sandor’s hands cupped her face, “See how sweet you taste little bird?”
His voice was raw as he looked at her, “You’re so beautiful,” there was a brief pause as he seemed to choose his words, “I remember I saw you a few years after everything happened, you’d grown so much, you looked so happy. I hoped you were happy.”
The thought thrilled her, “I’ve thought of you everyday,” she confessed, the truth releasing a heavy burden from her heart, “I had hoped you did the same.”
Sandor growled, hands at her hips, turning her again so she face down against the sofa. The t-shirt draped down exposing her belly, air hitting her nipples and making them peak against the fabric.
She knew she was completely at his mercy, but that was all she had ever dreamed of. Sansa took a deep breath, listening to the sound of his sweatpants being pulled down. When his palms rested against her hips he stalled, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Are you sure about this little bird?” He mumbled, tracing a pattern against her lip bone. The words made her ache with anticipation. She shook her head, knowing there was no one else she’d ever feel this way about.
He was hot against her backside, stiff and pressing into her skin. Slowly he moved, slipping between her thighs. Sandor paused there, pushing in and out, covering himself in her release. The ache only grew, a bottomless hole of need that raged between her legs.
“Please,” she cried, the fabric brushing against her sensitive nipples.
Sandor groaned, pulling back and pushing up inside her, slowly pressing against her. The stretch burned, a new kind of fire lighting behind her eyes. Sansa stood her ground, knowing the pain would be worth it.
Finally the tension dropped and he bottomed out inside her. Sandor moved slowly, rocking in and out of her.
“Gods,” he cursed, his hands tightening against her hips. “You’re so tight little bird.”
Sansa sighed, finding the pleasure above the pain. He was much bigger than his fingers, the weight and size of him filling her completely.
Suddenly there was a pause, Sandor’s hips stilled, “Little bird,” he said, voice empty, “You’re not…are you….” The question sounded more like it was for himself.
She felt him go rigid with the realization of her virginity. It hadn’t been something she’d even considered. To Sansa, there was never any other option.
She pushed herself up, looking back at him as best as she could, “Please Sandor.”
He stared back at her, more broken than she had seen him before. There was a moment of hesitation before he entered her again, cursing as he resumed the rhythm.
It was entirely too much and not enough all at the same time. Sansa felt herself mold around him, opening up to the feeling of him. She couldn’t help but push against him, sighing as the angle hit something deep within her.
Sandor slung his arm around her middle, his nails digging into her breast as she panted.
“I never thought I’d have you girl,” he confessed, cock hammering deep inside her, stealing her breath away. “You’re too sweet for me, too good.”
Sansa whined, eyelids fluttering as she rode the wave of pleasure. The pace was punishing, rough just like she’d imagined he’d be. The sweet sting of sensitivity thrumming between her thighs.
“I’ve barely been able to look at you,” Sandor continued, “I was afraid you’d know how much I wanted you,”
His admission stirred the heat within her, rushing in new satisfaction that felt so good it hurt.
“I didn’t know if you even remembered me, but I want you to cum so hard on my cock that you won’t ever forget that you’re mine,” he growled against the shell of her ear.
Sansa felt his rough hand slide down her stomach, fingers resting between her legs. His thumb pressed hard against her clit, rubbing wide circles. Tears pooled in her eyes, the feeling taking her under. Beneath the surface there was nothing but blind satisfaction. All thought or control slipped from her fingers, leaving her moaning uncontrollably beneath him.
When her legs gave out he caught her, arm securely wrapped around her waist. She heard him mumble something into her hair, but her brain couldn’t comprehend it. Sandor cursed, pulling himself from her. Sansa felt his hot seed spill against her ass. There was no room inside her to be disappointed he’d pulled out. She collapsed against the couch.
Boneless she laid there, too satisfied to care about anything. She wanted to swim in the feeling of getting what she wanted forever.
Sansa vaguely registered the feeling of him cleaning her off. She hoped she hadn’t made a mess of his couch but didn’t have the strength to tell him. Before long she felt his arms around her, hauling her through a doorway and depositing her on a bed. The covers were tucked around her.
Sleep was fickle. There were nights when she barely got any because of the nightmare. Others she soothed herself to sleep with the thought of him touching her. In his bed surrounded by his scent she felt utterly at peace.
_____
When she awoke there were fresh clothes laid out for her. In the light of day his bedroom was small and sparse, draped in dark linens and the bare necessities. Sansa changed and padded to the attached bathroom. Her core ached, a reminder of what they had shared the night before.
A small smile lifted her lips as she made her way to the kitchen. The house smelled of fresh breakfast. A plate sat in the same place she had eaten yesterday, one omelette and three pieces of bacon.
Sandor emerged, placing his own plate beside hers. His eyes were unreadable. Sansa couldn’t tell if he regretted what they’d done or if she had just imagined it all. The soreness between her legs told her otherwise.
She sat before him, watching as they ate in silence.
“How did you sleep?” He finally asked, eyes not leaving his plate.
She turned the question over in her mind before letting out a sigh.
“Can we not pretend like nothing happened?”
Sandor finally met her eyes, searching for his own answer. After a moment he sighed, resigning to agree with her.
“I…I hope you’re not hurting,” he mumbled, fork pushing food around his plate.
Sansa shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips,” It was worth it.”
He cleared his throating, seemingly finding that hard to believe.
She let a beat pass between them before speaking up again.
“I meant what I said,” she admitted, trying to keep from looking away. Sometimes he was like staring into the sun. Sansa slid her fingers across the wooden table, pushing past his fork so she could hold his hand. It was warm and rough.
Sandor swallowed audibly, “I know little bird, me too.”
_____
He dropped her at the park so she could walk home undetected. Sansa clung to him through the open car window, unwilling to part.
“You promise I’ll see you again?” Her voice broke with emotion.
Sandor kissed the back of her hand, rubbing it over and over with his thumb.
“I promise,” his eyes were sharp, honest.
Sansa leaned in, stealing another kiss before stepping back from the cruiser. She didn’t head home until she could no longer see his car. Uncle Petyr was out, giving her ample time to cover her tracks.
Taking the steps two at a time she raced to her bedroom. She slid her chest from under the bed, unlocking the combination. Among her treasured keepsakes she placed the scrap of paper with his number on it.