Domeric was barely gone for a fortnight, to the Dreadfort and back for a few days to settle his father’s business with his bastard brother with her Lord Father, and while her father was on his way back immediately after, Domeric had stayed longer.
Sansa had missed him terribly.
“Sansa, please,” he pleaded, not sure to what gods, looking at his pretty fiancée, the dainty Lady Sansa, with her songs and pretty dresses, and her Uncle Brandon’s temperament.
“Please, what, Dom? Please, should I lift my skirts to show you I have no smallclothes on?” she teased, and he whimpered, grip tightening on her waist. “Please, should I ride you like those horses you mount so well? Or should you mount me like a stallion?”
“Sansa, please, we could be found out,” he finishes the sentence, and she giggles, amused.
“Oh, whatever would we do, then? We are to marry in three days, Dom.” She pushed him into an empty stable, and he stumbled backwards into a bale of hay. “I don’t care if they find us. Let them watch how you take me. Let them know that no one else will ever have me.”
She settled on top of him, skirts hitching up as she straddled him, sitting right on top of his manhood like countless times before, and he palmed up her leg to confirm that yes, she hasn’t bothered with smallclothes today. He whimpered under his little betrothed, as she leaned in and kissed him silent, hands moving fast and deftly to unlace his breeches, and he pulled them down in a hurry, hands moving towards her bodice to unfasten the upper part of her dress.
“Nuh-uh, Dom.” She batted his hand away. “It’s too cold.”
“Let me open just enough to kiss your neck, my lady,” he begged, hips snapping up into her, heart beating so fast he could’ve swore she could feel the thrumming in her skin.
“We can’t, Dom, we need to be fast,” she pleaded, rutting on his cock like a mare in heat. “I asked Aemon to run interference, but he can only delay the family so much, he and Arya.”
“I can barely wait for our marriage bed, where I get to fuck you as slowly and worshipping as you deserve, Sansa,” he whispered, reaching under her to hold his manhood steady, and Lady Sansa wasted no time sinking into him, letting him flip her back onto the hay, fucking into her furiously, and watched with adoration as she reached between her legs like a whore, chasing her pleasure as he did his, moaning his name as silently as she could, peaking messily all over his cock, and he had to pause to not lose himself to those wonderful feelings her little cunt gave him, all wet and tight and swallowing him up like her life depended on it.
“Dom, please, please, fuck me…” she begged weakly, mewling as her body convulsed at every tiny movement they made.
“As my lady commands,” he whispered into her mouth, kissing her until she needed to breathe, intent on not stopping until he was all spent into her.
“Fuck our baby into me, Dom, please, give me our son, right now,” she babbled, urging him along.
“Fuck… Sansa, don’t talk like that, you know how it gets me…”
“What? I want it, Dom, please, fuck that beautiful cock inside me and give me our child to fill me up, I want to get married to you already carrying your son, I love your cock so much I want to always be carrying your children, always, please just spill your seed already inside me, I want it, please Dom, please…” He didn’t know if she knew what she was saying anymore, but he knew she meant every word, as he lost himself in thinking about her being walked to him by the heart tree with his seed running down her legs, because she would find a way to get him and mount him before their wedding. She would, his little lady, all shy smiles in public.
He buried himself as deep as he would go inside her, spilling inside her so hard he could see nothing but her for a moment, holding Sansa close as her little cunt held his cock inside her, and he felt the queer wish to put his mouth on it, kiss her folds with a prayer they held his seed inside her, or to just see it leak out only for him to push it back in with his fingers. But the steps on the courtyard told him it would have to wait, as they had to make themselves mostly presentable. They just came to the conclusion that a bit of hay in their hairs wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when Lord Stark, Lord Robb and Prince Aemon arrived at the stables just as they fell into the hay again, kissing.
“Ah, there you are, Sansa, we were looking for you, but I see you found Lord Domeric on your own,” Lord Stark said, with the tone of a parent who’s aware of what happened and preferred not to think about it.
“Ah, foiled again,” she laughed, blushing prettily, and Domeric could’ve sword he saw Lord Robb and Prince Aemon trade long-suffering looks.
“We welcome you back to Winterfell, Lord Domeric, and I’m pleased to see you back in good health,” Lord Stark intoned, politely, almost as if he was saying ‘thank you for being willing to take on my deviant daughter’.
“My Lords, my prince, it’s always a pleasure to be your guest,” he said, very pointedly politely, and Prince Aemon made a face, a cringing one, and Domeric prayed the old gods would open up the ground and swallow him whole for his poor choice of words.
“My Lady wife is probably awaiting us, so we should better go inside at once. Is your horse seen to properly?”
“My Aunt, the Lady Dustin, would make me my family’s banner if I had not,” he said, conversationally, and prayed Lord Stark didn’t take his previous words to mean he defiled his oldest daughter at every chance.
“She had better not, I like you whole as you are,” Sansa said, with a dissimulated wink at him, and while he was trying to kill the odd tension, she was working her damnedest to make it worse it seemed.
“This marriage cannot come soon enough,” Lord Robb muttered, and Domeric couldn’t help but agree, for wildly differing reasons than the young Heir to Winterfell meant.