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I'll Burn for You (Lust)

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“…anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart”-Matthew 5:28


Jon Targaryen sat alone in the booth of the noisy club, staring morosely at the shot of whiskey the server had brought him.

Everyone else was celebrating Mr. Baelish’s brilliant new deal. He had brokered an unbelievable arrangement between two of the most powerful families in Westeros and Jon had been a part of it. He hated his part of it though.

As a private investigator, he’d been sent to dig up dirt when Cersei Lannister had proven ‘unamenable’ to Mr. Baelish and the Tyrell’s offer. He’d found dirt alright…and it sickened him.

He stared down at his shot and wondered how he’d come to this. His line of work had always held a shady side to it but since he’d started working for Baelish, he felt filthy. And, he was quickly burning out. Not that he felt much sympathy for the Lannister woman but there had been plenty of jobs the past year that had left him more and more jaded towards humanity in general and romance especially.

“This seat taken?” a low and sultry voice said at his shoulder.

He looked around and saw her. The most gorgeous woman in the room. Her red hair had caught his eye the moment she walked in the door. She was wearing a red dress, too. She looked like a living flame but her eyes were as blue and beautiful as a tropical lagoon. A man could drown in those eyes. A man has.

“No, not taken,” he answered.

“Good,” she said with a smirk, sliding into the seat next to him.

The booth was large enough for six but she pressed herself right up against him. He could feel the heat of her thigh against his khakis. His hand itched to touch that milky white thigh and caress it. Blood rushed to his groin at once and he felt a little color touch his cheeks. He was like a boy shamefully getting hard for a pretty girl in public. But he was no boy. He hadn’t been a boy for many years now.

She knew what she was doing but Jon didn’t mind. She was no tease. Sansa would let him caress those thighs of hers soon enough if he liked. She’d let him do more than that if he wanted. Well, he wanted…and he had other plans for them tonight.

One of Mr. Baelish’s flunkies was calling for a toast. All the people present at the club which Baelish had rented out for the night raised their glasses to toast their clever Mockingbird.

All except Sansa at Jon’s side and Jon himself.

Mockingbird was the clever little nickname the clever little man had given himself years ago. Long before he had become so powerful. Long before he had courted the Tyrells by making them wealthier and more powerful than they already were. Long before he had committed murder for them to gain their trust and bind them to him. Long before he’d felt secure enough to blackmail a powerful woman like Cersei Lannister. And long before he had double-crossed an honorable man and taken his daughter as his prize and a wife.

Jon felt the familiar anger bubbling beneath the surface as always when he looked at that man...the same anger he felt when he looked at the object of his lust and imagined her in that man’s bed.

“Why aren’t you celebrating with your husband, Mrs. Baelish?” Jon hissed in her ear.

“Because I hate him and you know it,” she said under her breath while keeping the sunniest of smiles on her lips.

Jon’s anger melted away at once. He felt sorry for her. None of it was her fault. She was as trapped in this life as he was. So, the anger subsided but the lust did not.

Baelish laughed just then in that calculated, false way he had at something Oliver said. He kissed Ros and one of his other whores on the lips before his eyes sought out his wife. Almost as if he was hoping she saw it.

You don’t mind humiliating her in public. In fact, I think you like it.

But Sansa had already left Jon’s side with just a whiff of her Chanel No. 5 and her whispered instructions lingering in the air.

“Ten minutes. Come and find me, Jon Targaryen.”

Jon felt no shame and boldly stared back at the man. He even raised his shot in salute and smiled at him before grabbing his jacket and heading to the door as if he was heading home.

Fuck you, asshole. But first I’ll fuck your wife.




It had started six months ago. Jon had been working independently at a crappy little office in Flea Bottom when Mr. Baelish had come to call on him. Business had been slow and Jon had been falling behind on his bills.

So, when the man started talking dragons and stars of what he’d pay Jon to be his own personal, private investigator for his firm, Jon had taken the bait. He needed the money. Well…he wanted the money.

The jobs were straight forward at first…and then not so much. Jon had got to know Ros and then Lothor Brune. Ros helped Mr. Baelish win people over in some ways. She helped him make new friends by pleasing his new friends. Lothor helped win Mr. Baelish new friends in other ways…usually by eliminating his new friends’ old enemies.

Jon was soon wondering how he’d gotten mixed up with these people but walking away from an organization like Petyr’s was not advisable to anyone that wanted to continue breathing.

Then, he’d met Sansa.

He’d been invited over to Baelish’s manse to report his progress in a delicate matter and she had answered the door. At first, Jon thought she might be his daughter. She’d laughed when he asked if her father was home but it was a mirthless sort of laugh.

“You think I’m Petyr’s daughter?” she said with her eyebrows raised as she raked him from head to foot with her eyes.

“Sorry. Honest mistake,” he said to the young woman in front of him, trying to ignore the thrumming in his blood those bold blue eyes were invoking.

“I’m Sansa…Petyr’s wife.”

He had heard Petyr had a wife. All his men called her Icy. He could see what they meant maybe. Her blue eyes, the frosty look she adopted when she labeled herself Petyr’s wife. But he’d never call her that.

She couldn’t be more than twenty or so and, while Mr. Baelish certainly wasn’t the first man to take a young mistress, most men in the business didn’t marry them.

Petyr was busy on a call and she’d sat with him chatting for nearly an hour before the boss came in making his insincere apologies. It didn’t matter. He was the boss. He didn’t have to apologize.

But in that hour alone with Sansa, Jon had discovered that he envied Petyr Baelish for more than his money. He wanted more than Petyr Baelish’s wealth and power.

Sansa was something special. A beautiful, determined young woman trying to make the most out of the shitty hand she’d been dealt when her family had been laid low. Her father had been too honorable to survive in this line of work. Her brother, too, it turned out.

And, Sansa had been the reward Baelish received from the Lannisters for his role in the Starks’ take-down once the bullets stopped flying and the smoke cleared.

She touched his heart in that hour of chatter…but more than that she ignited a fire in his blood. Her beautiful face disguising the fact that she was stronger and steelier than any of the men in her life had been. Jon liked that. He liked that kind of strength. He admired it.

Sansa was wearing a sleeveless, yellow sundress and her long red hair hung in a fishtail braid over one shoulder. Her creamy white skin looked as soft as a rose petal and her pink lips were puckered in an inviting pout most of the time. Her perfectly manicured nails rapped against the glass of Pinot Blanc she was sipping while they waited. Her cerulean blue eyes raked him from head to foot once more. She liked what she saw. He could tell. He liked what he saw, too.

And Jon Targaryen wanted. He wanted another man’s wife. He wanted Sansa Baelish within an hour of meeting her like he had never wanted any woman.

He thought of the Faith’s school from so long ago when he was just a poor boy, an orphan from the North. He remembered the words of the good septas and the septon and how they had warned the boys about adultery and the sin of lust in general. But that had been so long ago. Who could really care about all those warnings and words now?

“What do think of my lovely wife, Mr. Targaryen?” Petyr had asked as he entered the room at last.

Sansa had stood and made her way towards the door. She was a wife. She knew her place.  She knew her presence was not wanted when her husband talked business.

Jon knew she’d still be able to hear him but he’d said it anyway. Maybe he said it because he wanted her to hear him.

“I think she’s hot as fuck, Mr. Baelish, and you’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

Baelish’s thin lips quirked into an amused smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Jon didn’t care though because he glanced at Mrs. Baelish then and saw a beguiling smile appear upon her luscious lips.

Maybe it wasn’t the ideal thing to say to his boss, a man who was as mobbed up as a business man could be who wasn’t in fact related to any of the families. But then, Jon had never been one to mind his tongue when he felt passionate about something. And he felt passionate at that moment as he watched Mrs. Baelish walk out of the room in her yellow sundress with her red hair hanging over her shoulder in a braid.

Just as she had reached the door, Sansa looked back over her shoulder at him and licked her lips. That look in her eye was unmistakable. Lust. She had felt it, too.


Three days later, Jon had dropped by the house with an update for Petyr. But the man had not been at home as expected…just his wife.

She was lying by the pool in a navy-blue bikini with her long, red hair hanging loose now. She wore a large sun hat and her body was wet from a recent dip.

“Hello, Jon Targaryen,” she’d said from behind her Wayfarers.

“Hello, yourself,” he’d replied.

He'd looked around to see if they were alone. Other than the maid that had opened the door for him and informed him that Mr. Baelish was out, he hadn’t seen another soul until he’d been led to Sansa by the pool.

“Petyr’s not here,” she’d said.

“What a shame,” he’d said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” she’d laughed. “Such a shame. He’ll be gone till tomorrow. Think I’ll head inside to cry into my pillow about it soon.” She’d stood and sauntered over to the pool bar. Jon watched her move. She was graceful, like a dancer. Her legs were unbelievably long, her hips swayed with her walk and her pert, tight ass in the tiny bikini bottoms made his cock twitch with desire. “Wanna drink?” she’d asked.

“Maybe,” he’d said walking over to stand right next to her. He leaned in close, inhaling her perfume and sunscreen, before he’d asked, “Wanna fuck?”

Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d been that bold. He had never been so forward with a woman in his entire life. But there was something about Sansa that made him want to be that kind of forward, made him want to steal her from Baelish, if only for a while.

He’d waited for the reprimand, the threats or scream, the indignation or horror. It never came.

She’d coolly sipped her cocktail as though she’d not heard him for a moment but he knew she had. The small smirk playing at her lips told him she had heard him loud and clear.

“It's awfully hot. I don’t want to get burned. Let’s get out of the sun, shall we?” she’d said.

Jon had left the Baelish’s mansion an hour later with lipstick on his collar and around his cock. He was sated and rumpled and he relished the taste of Sansa’s cunt on his lips the whole way home.




“Come and find me, Jon Targaryen.”

This was a favorite game of hers. Anytime they were both at one of these events, Sansa would give him a time frame and tell him to come find her.

He’d find her each time; in a closet, a bathroom, an unused bedroom or office depending on where they were. Once he’d found her in the garage when they’d been at the Baelish’s mansion and she’d sucked Jon off in her husband’s red convertible that cost more than Jon had ever earned while Petyr was busy schmoozing the Boltons.

Jon slipped around the back of the club, planning to head in the back door and seek her in the ladies' room. But there was no need. Sansa stood in the alleyway.

“We’re getting awfully daring, Mrs. Baelish,” Jon warned.

It was true. If Baelish found out, Jon knew his life wouldn’t be worth a groat. And Sansa…Jon’s conscience bothered him about that as well. Maybe it was just lust but he didn’t want her harmed either. What would happen to her? Jon would be dead eventually after Lothor and his associates had a bit of fun…but Sansa was Petyr’s wife and Jon knew she wouldn’t get off so easily.

He recalled her words from their early days now.

‘I want to feel something, Jon. I want to feel wanted. Petyr wanted a pretty prize but he’s useless in bed. He can’t get it up half the time. It puts a girl off her game when her husband can’t get it up. But you…you make me feel wanted…and you want all of me. I want to know you can’t stop yourself from fucking me even though we’re playing a dangerous game. If they catch us, you’re a dead man and he will make me beg for death long before he ends it. And I don’t care. If I’m going to die, let me say I lived my life the way I wanted to at least in this. I want you that badly. I know how mad, how reckless and crazy this is and I don’t care. I want you to know it, too...and still not be able to stop yourself.’

“Fuck me, Jon,” she said.

He never could resist that plea.

Jon kissed her hard on the mouth with bruising force. The rougher the better was Sansa’s preference.

He grasped her hand, pulling it down to feel his erection through his pants.

“Do you see what you do to me, Sansa? I’m so fucking hard right now. I was the instant you sat down next to me. I want you all the fucking time. Is that what you like?”

“Yes…fuck, yes. I want you to want me like that. I want you hard every time you lay eyes on me. I want your cock weeping before you get near my pussy.”

“It is, baby. Fuck, it is. And what about you? Are you wet for me, baby? Are you soaking wet with want, my dirty girl?”

“Feel for yourself,” she said as she lifted the hem of her red dress.

She was wearing red, lace knickers and Jon slipped his hand down the front and groaned when he felt the slippery, silky juices that told him Sansa wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“I need you,” he hissed against her throat as he started biting and sucking at her.

He didn’t care if he left blooms behind. He wanted to mark her. He wanted Baelish to know in a strange and twisted way even while his rational mind told him not to be so stupid.

He pushed her against the brick wall of the alley. He rucked up her dress to her hips and ripped off her panties.

“These are mine now,” he growled. He unzipped his pants and lowered them enough for his cock to spring free. He pulled her leg up and around his waist. “I’m going to fuck you here in this alley like a whore, Mrs. Baelish. Tell me you want that.” Sansa moaned into his neck. “Say it.”

“I want. I want it, Jon. I want you. Fuck me here in the alley. I want…I want...” she cried.

And Jon wasn’t even sure what it was that she wanted. He wasn’t sure if she even knew. Neither did he care though so long as he had her.

Jon centered his cock at her wet folds and slid inside with one sure thrust. Sansa bit his earlobe and he hissed. Her hands were in his hair, tugging and pulling but not hurting…not yet. He reached down to secure her leg more firmly around him and then grasped her ass as he started pumping into her.

“You’re mine…mine, Sansa," he rasped. "Fuck! You grip me so tight! Unnn…you’ve got the tightest, sweetest pussy I’ve ever had. I’ve never had any woman who’s as good as you.”

Uhhh…not even Ros?” she asked.

He stopped thrusting and looked in her blue eyes. He wouldn’t lie to her. They were lovers but they weren’t playing hearts and flowers here. She didn’t need him to sugar-coat it or bullshit her.

“No, not even Ros,” he sighed, wishing that had never happened…and really wishing Sansa didn’t know about it. “I swear, I only fucked her the one time when Petyr sent her to me as a gift.” Sansa snarled and her nails raked his scalp. He kept from cursing and said, “He sent her. She would’ve told him if I didn’t do it and then he might’ve started to suspect something. But, I didn’t want her. I thought of you the whole time. I pretended she was you.”

Sansa must’ve liked that answer because she moaned loudly now. Her hand ran from his head downwards to squeeze his ass. She started kissing his neck. Jon picked up his rhythm again. He pounded into her harder, making her gasp with every thrust.

“Tell me you think of me when you fuck him,” he begged.

“I…I think of…ahhh…you, Jon. I want it to be…mmm…you…that’s fucking me. But his cock, his mouth…unnn…it’s not good like with you, honey. Never…uhhh…as good as you.”

He gripped her hips tighter, hoping he left bruises for Petyr to see. She was his. Fuck her husband. He didn’t get to have her like this. He wasn’t worthy of a goddess like Sansa. Neither was Jon but that was irrelevant right now.

“Touch your clit, sweet baby girl. Rub it while I’m fucking you,” he commanded.

He held her waist and kept thrusting as Sansa moved a small, dainty hand between them. She started circling her clit and he watched, getting more turned on by the second. He could feel his cock being squeezed by her silky, wet walls. He could feel her panted breath on his neck. It smelled of lemon schnapps and coconut. He lost himself in Sansa like always. He would never stop wanting her.

Her moans got higher in pitch. She was going to come for him.

“That’s it. Play with yourself for me, baby girl. God, I wish I could have your tits now. Those sweet, sugar tits need my tongue on them. Isn’t that right, Sansa?”

“Yes…yes…” she cried as she kept touching herself as he fucked her against a brick wall in an alley. She gasped and sobbed, “I’m coming, Jon. Fuck, I’m…urrr…coming, honey. Yes! Oh, fuck…yes! Jonnnn! Urrrgh!”

Her sweet mouth parted and her eyes closed. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she chased her released.

“Fuck, Sansa. You’re so gorgeous when you come,” he cried as the tension became unbearable in his balls.

He was so close already. And, when he felt her cunt clamping down on him as she called out his name in a strangled voice, he came hard. He was seeing stars as desire and lust were bled from him, his cum shooting into Sansa’s lovely pink cunt like a missile launch, leaving him shaken like no other woman could.

She sagged back against the brick wall after and he leaned into her, panting into her soft, tousled hair as the leg wrapped around his waist slid slowly back down the ground.

He slipped out of her and pulled his pants up. She adjusted her dress. She had no panties now and Jon’s lip twitched into a prideful smirk at the thoughts of his cum running down her legs and getting all over the designer dress her husband’s money had paid for.

Then without warning, the backdoor of the club swung open and a couple staggered out into the alley, looking for their own private party.

Jon heard Sansa’s startled gasp as he recognized the interlopers. Lothor and Ros. His eyes narrowed as Lothor stared at the two to them, comprehension slowly dawning in the older man’s eyes of what he was seeing.

Petyr’s wife with her hair a mess and her lips kiss-swollen, her dress soiled and the private investigator they’d bought with his tie askew and his own hair a mess, his own lips kiss-swollen and his fly still unzipped alone in the back alley.

They were going to ruin this. These two fucks would ruin everything Jon had. They would tell Petyr and Jon would lose her and lose his life.

No…these two won’t take what’s mine from me.

Jon didn’t carry a weapon regularly, not since his army days. But he knew Lothor did and Jon still knew how to disarm a man with lightning speed. Before Brune could decide on a course of action, Jon had crossed the handful of feet between them, torn Brune’s handgun from his holster and shot him in the head.

Ros and Sansa both screamed and Jon turned and fired again without hesitation, killing Ros.

The reverberation of the shots rang through the alleyway louder than a thunderclap. A dog barked in the distance. But through the backdoor, Jon could still hear the steady thumping of the music.

For a moment, he thought no one had heard.

No one will know. She can slip back in and then claim a headache and tell her husband she needs to leave. I can go home and later, we can figure out

But then the music screeched to a halt and there were loud voices on the other side of the door.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, turning to Sansa who was rooted to the spot, her eyes examining the hole in Ros’s forehead.

She didn’t answer but lifted her eyes to his and stared blankly back at him.

She’s in shock. So much for sneaking back in and faking that she’s not seen anything.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along to his car parked nearby. He shoved her in the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel, pulling out of the parking lot and hoping his car was not spotted leaving by anyone.

Jon drove and drove, not knowing where to go.

Safe. Somewhere safe.

But there wasn’t any place like that. Not for him.

He’d killed two people to conceal his affair with his boss’s wife. He had made her an accomplice. Perhaps he could do them both a favor by simply shooting her in the head and then himself.

“I’m going to be sick,” Sansa whispered.

He jerked the wheel over to the side of the road and let her stumble out and vomit on the sidewalk.

Jon held his head and wondered if he should dispose of the gun, down by the lake maybe.

Sansa climbed back in his car and Jon touched her thigh. He ran his hand up it, not meaning to really. Just wanting to touch it like he’d longed to do earlier that evening when she first sat down next to him…a dozen years ago.

He felt the stickiness from where his seed had clung to her. It made him hard. Made him want her all over again despite everything.

Stop it! You’ve just turned your entire fucking world upside down. And hers, too. Concentrate! Think!

“I want some caffeine,” she said flatly.

“Me, too,” he agreed.

He drove to the little diner in Flea Bottom next to his old office where he’d met Petyr Baelish a lifetime ago. Why he had chosen it, Jon could not say.

The bell above the door rang as they entered and Jon scoped the place out. A father and his two young sons eating hamburgers. A young couple sipping milkshakes. A man having coffee at the counter by himself. The place had a jukebox and someone dropped a few pennies in for a tune as Sansa and Jon chose a booth not far from the door.

Sansa sat down and started trying to fix her hair with her fingers. The shock seemed to be wearing off but what she was thinking, Jon could not tell. He pulled out the little menus from their bin on the table and passed one to her.

“What looks good tonight?” she said as she stared at the plastic covered menu.

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes drawn to the door every time the bell rang. He studied every new person that entered. “It’s busy here tonight,” he commented absently, knowing that would not save them.

The waitress came and took their order. Sansa relaxed a bit more. Jon didn’t want to say anything to ruin that just now.

When their sodas and onion rings arrived, she popped one in her mouth and seemed to savor the fried snack. She licked her fingers and Jon thought of her when she'd lick his cum and her own off his cock.

He shook his head and focused on the door again.

Petyr’s men or the cops. Who would come for them first was the only question?

If it was the cops, Jon would swear up and down that she wasn’t involved, that she'd had no idea what he was going to do. He’d plea for them to take her far away from here and keep her safe.

Protect her…because I cannot.

But Jon knew in his heart, it wouldn’t be the cops. They’d spend hours processing the crime scene evidence, studying the bodies and interviewing potential witnesses before they knew their asses from a hole in the ground.

But Petyr…he was clever. It wouldn’t take him too long to put two and two together. When he saw who was missing, he would know.  And he had spies everywhere.

Jon looked at the people in the diner again.  Two young punks had come in.  One kept tugging at his waist band.  The man alone at the counter was talking on his phone.  An older man, rough around the edges and with hawkish eyes, walked menacingly towards their booth...before turning into the restroom. 

Calm the fuck down, Jon told himself.  You're imagining shit.

Just then a man in the dirty old robes of one of the Poor Fellows entered the diner. He went to each table handing out pamphlets with the teachings of the Seven printed on it.

Sansa ate the onion rings and sipped her coke and worried with her fingernails.

Jon watched the Brother make his way slowly towards their table with inexorable dread.

Don’t come here. Don’t speak to us.

But he came all the same. He smiled down on them both and slid his pamphlet across the table between them.

“For the wages of sin is death,” he said to Jon just as the bell above the entrance rang a final time.