Brienne sipped her martini, dry and chilled. It stung. Her plain white mask covered her forehead, nose and cheeks—leaving her eyes, lips and chin exposed. String quartet waltzes ricocheted across the extravagant, golden ballroom hall. No one recognized her dressed in her blue ball gown. She couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. A masquerade ball hosted at Casterly Rock, home of ex-agent Cersei Lannister. Brienne had been sent to find her, interrogate her and save King’s Landing from her satellite weapon. Brienne hoped she wasn’t too late.
But Cersei was nowhere to be seen.
Hundreds of costumed and masked people stepped in tempo, wafting invisible clouds of floral perfumes and woody colognes. Brienne set her glass on the bar and stepped into the crowd of dancers with confidence. She walked through, eyeing any potential clues to Cersei’s whereabouts. Large carnival and historic costumes donned with ribbons, feathers and jewelry made her job harder, as did the Walther PPK strapped to her thigh. Damn thing was hard to walk and dance with. Musicians finished their lively song.
Turning, a man dressed in a golden suit with a full faced black mask stood in front of her. His eyes landed directly on hers. He held out his hand and Brienne swallowed. Beside them, twirls of people left tiny gusts of wind from their large outfits as the quartet started a slower tempo song. The man, maybe a couple inches shorter than her, continued to hold out his hand. A subtle smile crossed Brienne’s wine colored lips and she reached forward, accepting his hand—warm and strong.
Slow waltz allowed Brienne the chance to scan the room for Cersei’s trademark hair, but this man’s presence stole her attention instead. Her left hand wrapped loosely around his bicep, but his right hand burned on her back. Brienne turned her eyes to him, only able to see his eyes and nothing else. His firm hand pressed her closer and their chests brushed together. Tingles trickled down her body like rain. If only she wasn’t supposed to be working tonight. Brienne smirked at the distraction in front of her, but his black mask simply stared back without a smile. It was for the better.
The song ended, and neither of them dared to move away—their eyes locked in a wordless challenge. She knew that look. Offering a smile, she stepped back and lowered her hands, trying her best to ignore the lingering drag of his fingertips against her back and hand. She turned away first and refused to look back, feeling her heart sigh at their missed opportunity.
Working, Brienne scoured the party with zero success. No one mentioned Cersei, no one looked like Cersei. Necessity led Brienne upstairs, away from laughing and flirting crowds. She walked with purpose, trying to hide the truth that she did not know the anatomy of Casterly Rock. Using her peripheral vision, she waited and carefully tried closed doors whenever privacy allowed it. She found closets, bathrooms and locked doors down a large, darkening hallway. Dead ends.
Across the hall, the golden suited man exited a locked room. She needed his key. If he was a manager or friend of the family, whoever, he was expendable. When given the choice to seduce him for information or pickpocket his key, taking it by force was much faster. He appeared strong, but she could take him. Brienne walked towards him, mind focused and heels clicked while music faded behind her.
She reached for his forearm, grabbing it with strong force and twisted it behind his back. He jerked as she pressed him into the room. Tensing, he whirled around and out of her grasp while she slammed the door closed. They stood in an office, full of wooden furniture, walls full of books and large windows. The man reached up to yank his mask off in a fit of rage, revealing the handsomest men Brienne had ever seen. His brows furrowed angrily until he looked at her—his lips parted.
Brienne debated pulling out her gun or finding rope to tie him—anything to get the key—but he made up his mind first. He crashed forward, kissing Brienne with a harsh roughness, leaving her stunned. His taste of salt and hints of alcohol assaulted her far better than she attacked him. Her moans and roaming hands encouraged him as she kissed back. He pressed his weight against her, forcing her back against the door and they both grunted on impact. Lost, she failed to stop his hand snaking under her dress—the gun—but rather, he ripped her expensive undergarment. Brienne growled a moan and leaned her hip forward, grinding her cunt over his warm palm. He broke off the kiss and exhaled, “Fuck.”
With her help, they unbuckled and shoved down his pants, and all on his own, he lifted her thighs into his palms like she was weightless. She curled over him, clutching her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist while he pinned her against the door. His cock burned against her thigh, hotter than his palm during their dance. One thrust forward and Brienne was in another blissful place, one more exciting and adventurous than any mission she’d ever been on. She refused to trust him—he couldn’t possibly hold her weight—but with each thrust, she immersed herself further within him. Her mask slid part way up her face, forcing her to see white and focus entirely on him. His fingers dug into her thighs, his stubble scratched her neck and his lips nipped the exposed skin beside her shoulder. He grunted, breaths hot. She clenched his golden suit jacket with one hand while she forced her other hand between them. Instead of grabbing her gun, she rubbed her clit—faster and harder.
Her legs tightened around him and he sank deeper into her, leaving them both moaning. His cock stiffened, her cunt, wet and swollen, could feel it. The sound alone of him unraveling sent her over the edge, throwing her body into a tight mess of sudden pleasure. He held her long after his cock stopped throbbing, and when he slipped out, she missed him. She would relive this moment for years to come.
He set her down on firm ground and stepped back, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. Brienne’s thighs trembled, and a small gush of hot liquid crawled down her skin.
She looked him over, remembering the key. But she couldn’t do it—she couldn’t hurt him. Couldn’t even ask. She needed to find another way and she accepted her loss. Brienne licked her lips and turned around, flattening her dress before she reached for the door.
“Party’s not even over,” he said, still breathless.
“It is for me.”
“You don’t even want to know my name? What’s yours?”
Brienne wanted to roll her eyes. “Save your pleasantries.”
“I’m Jaime. Jaime Lannister.”
Brienne stopped turning the door handle and peered over her shoulder. She decided to stay.