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Jon sees her as soon as she walks in, and it feels as if the world stops spinning when he lays eyes on her.
He is sitting by the bar, cradling a glass of whisky, and from his position he has a perfect view of the entrance. The glass doors are sleek and elegant, like the rest of the hotel bar – all dark colours and dim lighting, the black tables and crystal chandelier matching perfectly with the smooth jazz music and low rumble of voices filling the room. The shelves behind the bar are stocked with expensive wines with impossible names and old liquors with impossible prices. The whisky he is drinking cost more than he would like to admit, and he only ordered it because he knows better than to ask for a beer from the stuck-up bartender.
It is the kind of place that exudes taste and wealth – or at least does its very best to – which means it’s the kind of place Jon normally does his best to avoid. However, his hotel room is only 9 floors up – I don’t care if you’d rather stay in a bloody tent, if you’re going to represent us at this conference you better act like it, the Old Bear had said when he protested the choice of hotel – and after a long day of giving presentations he doesn’t want to stray too far away from his bed.
He is still wearing his suit, which means he is dressed for the place as well, though he wouldn’t have guessed it from the look the bartender is giving him (granted, the man only became rude after Jon cursed audibly at the prices, but still). All in all, it’s the kind of place he expects to see well-dressed men and beautiful women, but he still feels as if his heart stops in his chest when she walks in.
Her black dress is skin-tight, clinging to every curve of a body taken straight from his filthiest day dreams. Her shoulders are bare, and though the dress is floor-length, there is a slit that travels up one side and stops just below her hip, showing off an impossibly long leg. Her hair – red, like a sunset, like the glowing embers of a dying fire – seems to shine in the dim lighting where it spills across her shoulders in elegant waves.
She is stunning.
She stops just inside the doors, lips pursed as she scans the room, and Jon would be surprised if not every eye in the bar is on her, though he has no intention of looking away from her to check.
There is something about her, something tempting and mysterious and just a little bit dangerous, something which makes it impossible not to be completely captivated by her. Maybe it’s her beauty, or the hair that would stand out in any crowd, or else the sheer confidence radiating off her – hips tilted, head held high, shoulders drawn back, and a determined look in her eyes as they scan the room. She is here for something, or someone, that much is clear for everyone to see.
To Jon, she looks like something out of a movie, all curves and creamy skin and perfect hair – she reminds him of the lovely and lethal Bond girls that used to frequent his teenage (and occasional adult) fantasies, and he wonders briefly if she has a sad story on her tongue and a gun strapped to her thigh.
He is suddenly very happy that he went for a whisky instead of a beer after all – it seems more classy, more fitted to the pure elegance she is radiating – and, together with his black suit and slicked back hair, it makes him feel a hell of a lot more like a secret agent himself.
When her eyes land on him – a striking blue, he can see that even from across the room – her red lips curve into a satisfied smile, and Jon is certain he forgets how to breathe for a moment. Oh holy –
She strides purposefully towards the bar in high stiletto heels, hips swaying, eyes locked on him, smirk on her lips.
Jon, for his part, has watched enough James Bond films in his life to know what comes next.
He watches her as she walks, trying to collect his thoughts enough so that he will have a smooth and flirty remark ready when she inevitable comes up to him. But instead of sitting down next to him like he was sure she would, she chooses a bar stool several seats down from his and lifts herself onto it gracefully. With her legs crossed, her dress falls to both sides along the slit so that her thigh is exposed almost all the way to where it meets her hip. The bartender, who had stopped in the middle of putting away bottles to just stare at her when she walked in, comes running over as soon as she looks his way. A slight blush betrays how effected he is by her presence as he asks for her order, and it is enough to make Jon growl quietly in annoyance. He is feeling surprisingly territorial, and he doesn’t like the idea of another man ogling her, despite how impossible it would be for anyone to not stare.
“A martini please”, she says, and Jon has to smile at how perfectly it fits with his little fantasy, even as a thrill runs through him at the sound of her voice.
He can’t tear his eyes away from her – the curve of her neck, the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks, the tops of her full breasts over the black material of her dress – and it isn’t until a tall glass is placed in front of her and she turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow that he snaps out of it.
He jumps down from his stool (far less gracefully than he would have liked, so he has to make up for it with a slight swagger in his step) and walks over to stand next to her.
“Here, allow me,” he says as he pulls out his wallet and places a twenty-pound note on the counter. He wonders briefly if a twenty is even enough in this ridiculously overpriced place, but he doesn’t want to break the illusion of confidence by asking the bartender. The man doesn’t protest though, only gives Jon an ugly look as he reaches for the money, something which just serves to make Jon feel smug. That’s right, back off, he can’t help but think.
When he turns back to her, she is smiling at him again, a confident little pull of her lips that makes his imagination work overtime. He imagines the feel of her mouth on him, hot, wet, her red lipstick staining his lips, his neck, his cock –
He almost groans out loud at the idea and has to draw a steadying breath. But he is standing only inches away from her now, so his nose is filled with the smell of her perfume – dark, heady, intoxicating – and it does little to bring him back to his senses. Instead, he can only continue to stare at her as she raises her glass to him, presumably as a thank you, and takes a sip. Her lipstick has left a red mark on the glass when she lowers it again.
“Are you here by yourself?” he asks, but only because he can’t think of anything better to say. He sounds ridiculous even to himself.
She only smiles at him again, eyes studying his face and then dropping down his body. He is fully dressed of course, though his jacket is open over his white shirt and his tie is gone, but the obvious appreciation in her gaze still sends a thrill through him.
Her eyes lift to meet his again. “Not anymore,” she says, and her grin widens when he licks his lips in response.
His eyes drop to where she is tracing a gentle pattern along the stem of her glass with her fingers (no ring, he notices). The sensuality of the movement sends a jolt right to his cock. It’s like he can feel her fingers on his skin – tangling in his hair, nails scraping along his back, hand slipping inside his trousers –
He is normally an expert at self-doubt, always second guessing himself and in constant need of a motivational speech, but somehow he is feeling much more confident now than he usually does. Maybe it’s the whisky he’s been drinking, or the fact that he is far from home and surrounded by strangers he will never meet again, or that the woman of his dreams (quite literally) is right in front of him, but it makes it easy to pretend. He is playing a role – self-assured, confident, sexy – and she clearly likes it, if the way she bites her lip and looks at him through her lashes is anything to go by.
“The name’s Jon,” he says, just barely resisting the temptation to introduce himself as Snow, Jon Snow.
She smirks again, is if she knows exactly what he almost said, but she remains quiet for a few moments, just looking at him. It’s enough to make his newfound confidence falter slightly – maybe they weren’t supposed to do names, maybe that wasn’t part of this thing that they’re doing – but then she seems to take pity on him.
“Alayne.” She says the name slowly, drawing it out and letting the vowels slip gracefully off her tongue. Alayne. He likes it. Definitely Bond girl.
She takes another sip of her drink, all the while keeping her eyes on him. He does the same with his whisky, studying her over the rim of his glass – soft lips, an elegant nose, pale skin that almost glows in the light from the chandelier. Her smoky eyeshadow and perfectly sculptured dark brows only heighten the air of mystery about her, but her blue eyes are kind, gentle – he could drown in those eyes and feel nothing but happiness.
So captivated by her face, Jon almost jumps when he feels something graze against his thigh. He looks down and sees her foot slowly traveling from his knee and up. Sitting cross-legged on the stool while he is standing next to her makes slightly taller than him, and so the glide of her foot against him is a smooth movement. She is wearing black stiletto heels (those, too, are taken right from his filthiest fantasies), so it is the shoe he feels against his thigh, the hard edge of it sending a shiver through his whole body, and he whimpers.
Her toes stop only an inch or two away from his cock, and she starts drawing small, lazy circles against his thigh, getting dangerously close to where he is suddenly half-hard and aching. God, he wants her even closer – wants to nibble at her lips and kiss a trail down her neck, wants to feel her pressed up against him, soft and hot, wants to uncross her legs and let his hand travel up, up, up –
There is a wicked gleam in her eye now, and her grin widens when he releases a low growl of lust and frustration. She knows exactly what she is doing, and she seems to enjoy the power she has over him.
He imagines licking that smirk off her lips, hearing her moan against his ear as he steps between her legs and presses himself against her, dropping to his knees in front of her right here in the bar and getting his mouth on her –
He grips her ankle, partly to stop the movements that are slowly driving him insane and partly because he can’t resist touching her, and starts drawing slow patterns on her skin. He wants to see if he can affect her too, and from the way she moans softly as his fingers run up her shin and teases the back of her knee, it is clear that he does. The thought sends another thrill through him – the idea that this gorgeous woman wants him the way he wants her is intoxicating, more so than the whisky he has been drinking.
He would be more than happy to fuck her right here in the bar, he thinks, just step between her legs and pull her close, rude bartender be damned.
But before he has time to act on his crazy impulse, she slides off the stool, much more gracefully than he did, and sets down the half-full glass of martini. Jon’s breath hitches in his throat as she steps in close to him, hands coming up to rest against his chest. Her breath is hot against his skin as she leans in, lips grazing his ear.
“Why don’t we continue our conversation somewhere more… private?”
Jon doesn’t point out that they haven’t had much of a conversation at all. He has seen the films, he knows that talking isn’t all that necessary, and frankly, he’s more than okay with that. It almost seems better like this, more mysterious and forbidden and sexy. The way they are looking at each other, the way they are responding to each other’s touch is far more meaningful than any pretence at casual conversation could be. He is away from home – he could be anyone here, and right now he wants to be the man who can make Alayne tremble and sigh and scream with pleasure.
“I have a room upstairs,” he says. His voice has turned low and husky.
Her tongue darts out to lick behind his ear, slowly and sensually, and he moans out load. God, he wants her. He turns his head instinctively to capture her mouth with his, but she takes a step back before he can manage it. As soon as her hands leave his chest he feels empty. He wants her between his arms, pressed tight against his chest, her tongue on his skin again.
She turns around and starts walking towards the doors. She looks just as purposeful as she had when she walked in, still radiating confidence and sex appeal, but this time she turns her head back slightly to shoot him a flirty grin over her shoulder, and Jon doesn’t waste any more time before he follows her. He does, however, allow himself to send the bartender a wink as he walks off, earning himself another ugly look in response.
Out in the lobby, her heels click against the tiled floor as she heads straight to the lift at the far end. Jon’s eyes are fixed on the sway of her hips as he walks two steps behind her. The feeling of anticipation that has been thrumming through him since she walked into the bar is even more noticeable here in the silence of the lobby, only the two of them together. He has never done anything like this before, and it is so much more thrilling than he expected it to be.
In front of the lift he reaches past her to press the button before turning back to face her. His hand settles at her waist automatically. He just feels the need to touch her, he is drawn to her like a magnet, his whole body aware of every inch of her next to him. She is warm beneath his hand, and when she steps closer he feels flushed from it, as if her warmth is radiating off her, sending shivers down his spine and making his knees weak.
“Is this private enough for you?” he mumbles as he leans his head in.
Her lips are soft and hot and tantalizing when they meet his, and he groans at how perfect it feels. It is a slow kiss, lips gliding leisurely against lips, his hands caressing her waist, the soft swell of her breasts pressed against his chest.
He draws her in even closer as the kiss deepens. God, she feels so fucking good. Her tongue dipping into his mouth, her teeth on his bottom lip, the little moans and whimpers she makes, seemingly without realising it while she clutches his shoulders. It’s perfect, but he still needs more, more, more.
The sound of someone clearing their throat right in front of them breaks him out of his lusty daze. Looking around, he comes face to face with an elderly couple who are clearly trying to exit the lift they are blocking. Red from embarrassment, and more than a little uncomfortable at the suggestive look the old woman is giving him, he almost stumbles over his own feet trying to get out of the way, all his feigned self-assurance forgotten. Alayne, however, still seems calm and collected despite how flushed her cheeks look.
“Excuse us,” she says with an easy smile as she steps around the disgruntled couple to get in to the lift, pulling Jon with her.
He jabs the number nine so hard he is almost worried he fractured his finger, so eager is he to turn back to her and get her mouth on his again. But as the doors close behind them and he can take in the sight of her again, he is floored all over again by how stunning she is. That this angel of a woman wants to do this with him, wants him here with her, that she looks so flushed after kissing him – well, it makes his heart swell and his cock twitch.
He reaches his hand up to caress her cheek, fingers tracing along her jaw reverently. His thumb brushes against her lips, eager to feel the softness there before pulling her in for another kiss. But before he has time to lean in again, she grabs a hold of his wrist, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes she bites down on the pad of his thumb. Jon draws a raspy breath that turns into a loud moan when she moves his hand to catch one of his fingers in her mouth, sucking it all the way in and humming around it. Her mouth is hot, hot, hot, and he needs to feel it everywhere –
She releases his finger with a pop, and maintaining a firm grip around his wrist, she pulls his hand down to the slit of her dress and – oh holy fuck – up, up, up -
The growl he lets out when his hand touches bare skin and he realises she is not wearing panties is like nothing human.
She keeps here eyes locked with his as she slides his finger through her folds, stopping to circle her clit, so he doesn’t miss the way her eyelids flutter and her breath comes out in a harsh exhale. He is achingly hard now, straining against his suit, and as she guides his hand further back and his finger slips inside her, it is a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there. Instead he lets out another moan, completely enraptured by her, and watches her face as she slowly pulls his finger out and pushes it back in again, her eyes hooded and lips parted, cheeks flushed.
She is hot, and tight, and oh god, so fucking wet – he wants to get between her thighs, wants her legs wrapped around him and his cock buried in her tight wet heat. His arm is at an awkward angle and he is painfully hard, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. Watching her, and feeling her, fuck herself with his hand is overpowering all of his senses.
The lift comes to a stop and the doors slide open. Some part of Jon’s mind registers that there is no one waiting on the other side this time, but he’s not sure if he could have brought himself to feel embarrassed even if there had been.
She slowly pulls his hand out from under her dress, and with a mischievous grin – the effect of which is only tampered slightly by her shallow breathing and the flush that has spread from her collarbone down to the curve of her breasts – she turns around and walks out of the lift.
It takes him a minute to gather his thoughts (and adjust his trousers) before he runs to catch up with her.
Her confidence and assertiveness had turned him on from the beginning, but the little slips in her façade that shows how effected she is makes it even better. Two can play this game, he thinks as his hand settles on her ass, and he pulls her close as they walk down the corridor. When she turns her head to give him another smirk, he lifts his other hand to his mouth, and slowly licks the finger that is still wet from her. Jon feels very pleased with himself when she gasps, her gorgeous blue eyes fixed on his mouth, and her confident steps faltering slightly. He closes his eyes and hums, before he leans in and places a hot kiss just below her ear and nuzzles his nose against it.
“Delicious,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble, and she shivers in his arms.
They have reached his hotel room, and he pulls his key card from his trouser pocket as quickly as he can (though he lets out another groan when the material of the suit rubs agonisingly against his erection).
And then they are stumbling into the room, hands pulling at each other, desperate to touch. The room is dimly lit by the lamp on his nightstand that he left on earlier, so he ignores the light switch and instead pushes her up against the wall just inside the door. His lips are on hers again, and this time it is all open mouths and demanding tongues and clashing teeth.
Her fingers are tangled in his hair, his thigh between her legs. Her moans and whimpers are captured by his mouth. She is everywhere – he is wrapped up in the feel of her, the sight of her, the taste of her. He is impossibly hard. He rocks forward to relieve some of the ache, and they both moan at the friction. Releasing her lips, he trails hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He stops to lick along her collarbone before he continues leaving kisses along her chest and down towards her cleavage. She is moaning and gasping all the while, circling her hips and pressing herself down on his thigh.
He is about to drop to his knees in front of her – the ache in his boxers be damned, he needs to get his head between her legs – but she stops him with a hand fisted in his shirt and a little shove to his shoulder.
Perplexed, he looks up to find her staring at him through hooded lids. She looks absolutely dishevelled – her red hair a mess, lipstick smeared, chest heaving – but she still somehow manages to look calm and collected as she quirks an eyebrow and gives him a smirk.
“Why don’t you close the door? Unless you mean to give the whole floor a show.” She laughs when he whips his head towards the door that is somehow still wide open. The sound is low and husky, and it sends another shiver of pleasure through him. Somehow, he manages to untangle himself from her and goes to close the door.
When he turns back to her she has walked further into the room and is standing in front of the full-length mirror across from the bed, and she appears to be fixing her make-up. She catches his gaze in the reflection and raises an eyebrow.
“You messed up my lipstick.”
He keeps his gazed locked with hers as he strides towards her. He is still achingly hard, but he has regained some of his earlier composure, and he decides to take his time.
He stops just behind her, and drops a gentle, lingering kiss to her neck.
“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles against her skin as his hands come to rest on her hips. His face is buried in her hair (soft, silky, sweet), but he can feel her nod and hear her sigh softly.
He trails light kisses along her neck while his hands slowly run up and down her sides, massaging gently. Every once in a while, he glances up to look at their reflections in the mirror. He feels drunk from the sight of her. Her head is tilted to the side, her long hair tumbling across her shoulders, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes are open, fixed on their reflection in the mirror, and he can tell that her pupils are blown wide with lust, the striking blue only a thin line around the black.
He lets his hands get closer and closer to her breasts, stopping just below the soft curve of them, and then sliding back down across her stomach, again and again. When he finally lets his fingers brush against them, she gasps out loud and arches her back, pressing her ass against his cock. It is Jon’s turn to gasp now, and he can’t help but rub himself against her as he cups her full breasts and starts massaging them. Their heavy breathing fills the silence, interrupted by occasional moans and gasps and whimpers. And they haven’t even got their clothes off yet, he thinks.
She looks gorgeous like this, all dishevelled and wanton, but he wants to see more of her. Slowly, he pushes her dress down, revealing the creamy skin of her full breasts, and then the soft pink of her nipples. He releases the dress, where it still clings to her waist and hips, and lets his hands travel back up to cup and squeeze her, brushing his thumbs gently over her nipples and the rolling them between his fingers. She is moaning freely now, head tossed back to roll against his shoulder, and it’s just so fucking hot.
Jon quickly drops his right hand to down to her thigh and then under the slit of her dress again, and he groans when he finds her soaking wet. His fingers brush against her clit, making her moan, and her left hand comes up to rest against the mirror, steadying herself as her hips jerk back. Fuck.
He had planned to get her on the bed, make her come with his tongue before fucking her into the mattress, or maybe let her ride him so he could enjoy the view, but all of that has to wait – he needs her now. Looking at her in the mirror – her breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath, her nipples hard and lips parted – is just too much. It drives him wild. He releases her breast – he still has his hand between her legs, but she whimpers at the loss all the same – and fumbles with his belt buckle, then the buttons on his trousers. He sighs in relief when he has finally freed his cock from his boxers, stroking himself – once, twice, three times – while he pushes the material of her dress aside. He is ridiculously grateful that the slit along the side makes it so easy, and even more grateful that she’s not wearing any underwear.
With the hand that is still between her legs, he gently pushes at her thigh, and she moves to widen her stance straight away. She’s still in her stiletto heels, so he moves his hand to grip hers against the mirror to help her steady herself. They are both panting uncontrollably, and when he when nudges cock forward to slide against the wetness of her cunt in slow movements, she releases a whimpered oh God. Unable to resist any longer, he guides his cock to her entrance, and – oh fuck fuck fuck – pushes inside with one slow movement.
They moan in unison, but Jon barely notices it, he is so overcome with the feel of her. Blood is rushing in his ears, and he has to drop his forehead to her shoulder and take a deep breath before he trusts himself to move again. Agonisingly slowly, he pulls out again until only the tip is surrounded by her, and then pushes back in with a groan. She’s hot, and wet and so impossibly tight, so he does it again, and again, and again, until he has built up a steady rhythm. All he can hear are the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her, his own ragged breaths, and her whimpered moans of oh god oh god oh god yes yes yes!
His eyes lock with hers in the in the mirror, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. She is half naked and moaning without restraint, and with every thrust of his hips against hers, her breasts bounce and jiggle. Her back arches so that he can sink even deeper into her, and her hand that is not clasped with his reaches over her shoulder to grasp at his hair. He groans again when she pulls at it, and it’s almost enough to send him over the edge. The slight pain, the feel of her around his cock, the sounds, the sight of her – it’s driving him absolutely insane. He can feel it building in his balls, threatening to burst, and he frantically renews his pressure on her clit while he fucks her harder and harder. Within moments she starts shaking in his arms, her eyes wide and her lips formed into a perfect O. And then she is clenching around him, knees buckling and screaming his name. It’s too much, it feels too fucking good, and with a few more hard thrusts he comes with hoarse shout. He is completely consumed with the feel of her cunt around him, fluttering and squeezing. Lights are bursting behind his eyes, the blood rushing in his ears is a dull roar, and the pleasure seems to stretch on and on.
As the roaring in his ears begins to fade and he emerges from his daze, he notices that they are both slumped against the mirror, him resting against her back, and their heavy breaths fogging up the glass. They stay like that for several seconds, panting and gasping and sweaty. He turns his head to press a kiss against her temple before straightening and letting his softening cock slip from her. The dress falls back down around her hips, and as she lifts her forehead from the mirror her gaze finds his again and she smiles, a soft, sated smile that he returns happily.
He grabs her hand and pulls her with him to the bed, collapsing on top of the covers. They are both still mostly clothed, but right now he doesn’t care. As she curls up next to him and settles her head on his chest, he picks up her hand and kisses her fingers gently.
“You took your ring off,” he says, his voice a low mumble.
“It’s in my purse. I just wanted to get in character.” She smiles up at him, blue eyes soft and filled with love. “So – was that Bond girl enough for you?”
“It was perfect. You are perfect. I think I became hard as soon as I saw you in that dress.” He kisses the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her.
Sansa hums in content. “I had a whole backstory planned, but you just looked so good in that suit. I had to get you out of it as soon as I could.” She tilts her head up to kiss his throat as he laughs.
“Well, we’ve got a whole weekend here, so I would be happy to hear it later.”
Her smile turns mischievous, and it sends a shiver through him as his mind wanders back to the way she teased him earlier. “Later? You can’t mean that I have exhausted secret agent Jon Snow already?”
She shrieks with laughter as he flips her onto her back and rolls on top of her. “Oh, I can keep going alright,” he says between kisses. “On one condition.”
“Oh?” she sighs as his lips trail along her jaw.
“As long as you keep those shoes on for the rest of the night.”
Her giggle turns into a moan when he bites at her lip.