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Sansa Interrupted

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Hot tears spilled down Sansa’s cheeks as she made her way down the corridor. She clutched the white cloak tightly to her frame with trembling fingers and breathed a sigh of relief when the door to her chambers came into view.


“Lady Sansa, please let me check you for wounds. Ser Meryn was terribly rough with you.”


Sansa glanced behind her at the meek handmaiden. The poor girl only wanted to help. She couldn’t have any idea that Sansa wanted nothing more than to be completely alone in her misery. That no amount of “tending” to her wounds would do anything to heal the shame of being stripped and beaten in front of Joffrey’s court.


“I’m fine,” she replied softly. “Please, just leave me in peace.”


The handmaiden nodded before turning and leading Sansa’s other maids away from her chambers.


Sansa made her way quickly into her room and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against the wood and let out a shuddering breath, which quickly turned into a sob of despair.


She didn’t understand. She would simply never understand.


Why was he so cruel? What had she ever done to him to deserve such wrath and malice? Anybody with half a mind would know that she had no control whatsoever over what her brother Robb did. That she couldn’t possibly be responsible for what happened in a battle that she was miles away from.


That hadn’t mattered, though. It hadn’t mattered that Sansa had knelt on the hard floor, tears streaming down her face, and begged Joffrey for mercy. She begged him not to kill her, but her cries were lost on him. He had still had Ser Meryn beat her. And Ser Meryn, cruel man that he was, seemed to have no problem obeying his precious king’s orders. He even seemed to be enjoying himself and did not hesitate to strip her of her dress and her dignity.


The other members of the court could only stare on in horror as Sansa’s naked flesh came into view.


Except one man.


Sandor. Sandor had looked away. He had been the only man in the room who had not taken the opportunity to drink in the sight of a nearly topless Sansa; the only man in the room who had refused to humor the king and watch his act of punishment being dealt. And then, when Tyrion had arrived and prevented the beating from getting any worse, he had draped his cloak across her shoulders in order to cover her.


That one tiny act of kindness, even if it had been an order, meant more to Sansa than words could express. She had been shown so little compassion since her arrival in King’s Landing that him lending her his cloak, so that she could shield her nudity, was one of the nicest things that had happened there. Gods, that was sad.


Taking a deep breath, Sansa wiped her eyes and pushed herself off of her door. She had done quite enough crying today and wanted nothing more now than to get out of her ruined dress, climb into bed, and sleep. She strode over to her bed and spread the cloak across the covers. She reached up and worked on her hair until it fell in loose waves down to her waist. Gently, she slipped off what was left of her ruined dress until she was standing in nothing but her smallclothes. She hesitated for just a moment before slipping those off as well before climbing on top of the cloak completely naked. She dropped down onto the white material and pulled the sides of it over her until she was wrapped in it like a cocoon. She buried her face in the material and took a slow, deep breath.


The smell of sweat, blood and horse filled her nostrils, but there was something else there; the faint scent of soap and leather. A clean, masculine smell that was incredibly pleasant.


With a jolt, Sansa realized that it was the smell of Sandor all over the cloak. She pressed her face to the fabric and took another deep breath.


He smells good.


The thought was sudden, but Sansa couldn’t deny it.


She was reaching an age where she started to notice things about men. How they smelled, looked, acted. Her head used to be filled with fairytales about brave knights and fair maidens, but her time under Joffrey had taught her that those stories were sadly false. Joffrey had a pretty face, but he was a monster. She was starting to understand that true men were kind and gentle and respectful. She knew now not to judge a book by its cover.


She took another deep breath.


Gods, he really does smell good. Sansa closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift to Sandor. No, he didn’t have Joffrey’s pretty face, but he was still handsome. His scars no longer scared her, for they were a testament to the trials he had endured as a child. She let her thoughts drift to other aspects of him. His body was impressive.  He was tall and broad and covered in hard, battle-bred muscle. The few times they had stood next to each other he had towered over her, his muscles straining his armor. She looked like a little doll next to him.


What would he feel like pressed against me?


She breathed him in again.


He was kind, in his own way. He had given her his cloak today. And there were other times where he had looked out for her, had tried to give her advice so that she could survive Joffrey. He wasn’t gentle by any means, but he wasn’t cruel.


Yet another breath.


Sansa had started to ache between her legs. The more she thought about him, the more she realized that, despite his scars and rough demeanor, she found him… desirable.


The ache between her legs turned into a dull throbbing and she squeezed her thighs together to try and assuage it. The pressure only served to make it worse and she sucked in a shaky breath. Rolling onto her back, she let the edges of the cloak fall off of her until the warm air of her room kissed her naked flesh. She spread her legs and tentatively reached down to press her fingers between her thighs.


She was soaking wet.


The contact of her fingers against her slippery, aching flesh felt so good it ripped a startled moan out of her chest. She started to rub in slow circles, instinctively sating the needs of her body. The pleasure crept higher and higher until she was undulating against Sandor’s cloak and whining low in her throat. She tossed her head to the side and took another deep breath of Sandor’s scent.


She squeezed her eyes shut as her thighs started to shake from the pleasure. She was getting close to…something. She didn’t know, but she couldn’t stop. She propped herself up on one elbow and opened her eyes to gaze down at her fingers.


And then the door to her chambers flew open and Sandor strode into her room.


She froze in utter panic.


“Little bird, I need my cloa…”


The words died on his lips, eyes opening wide, as he took in the sight of Sansa.


There she was, on his cloak with her legs wide open and fingers frozen in place against her dripping sex, staring at him in horror.


What are you doing? Close your legs and cover yourself.


She couldn’t, though. She was absolutely paralyzed.


She stared at Sandor, breathing hard, and he stared back at her. Without a word, he reached behind him, shut the door to her chambers, and barred it.


He stared into her eyes for an immeasurable amount of time before he dropped his eyes to her hand between her legs. Her sex still throbbed achingly from the loss of stimulus, but she couldn’t make her fingers move. She couldn’t do anything. He met her eyes again.


Neither of them said a word.


Slowly, and still silently, he crossed the room and sat down quietly on the bed next to her. She thought she might faint at any moment. Never looking away from her, he brought his fingers up to rest over hers and pressed against them.


She whimpered.


The pressure of his fingers on hers forced her out of her paralyzed state. She gasped quietly and bucked her hips up. He moved his fingers over hers and encouraged her to continue stroking her eager sex with the same rhythm she had going before he interrupted her.


As the pleasure started to creep up again her thighs resumed their trembling and her hard breathing was saturated with little moans and whimpers. She couldn’t believe this was happening. As she continued to stroke against the top of her woman’s place some part of her sex began to ache with emptiness. She wanted more, something.


Sandor seemed to understand without words.


He moved his fingers lower and circled her opening slowly. She threw her head back, finally breaking their eye contact, and moaned wantonly. Sandor tenderly pushed half of one of his large fingers into her and Sansa’s eyes filled with tears. She was overwhelmed. She let the arm that had been propping her up slide out from under her and she dropped her body back to press against his cloak.


He started moving his fingers in hard circles inside her, caressing her on all sides. The pleasure spiked the highest yet and she started pushing her hips down against his finger. She wanted more, wanted him deeper.


“More,” she sobbed.


“I can’t little bird. Your maidenhead.”


At the sound of his voice Sansa brought her eyes back to his and whimpered again. She bit down on her bottom lip and noted how his eyes darkened at the action. He slipped his finger just a tiny bit higher inside her and she keened. This was a dangerous game they were playing, but she didn’t care. She was so hot and wet for him the king himself could have broken down the door and she wouldn’t have cared.


“Please,” she begged.


That one word seemed to break him. Sliding his other arm against the back of her thighs, he pushed her legs up until they were pressed against her chest. The sudden action knocked her hand out of the way and she groaned at the loss of contact. She was bent in half and completely, utterly exposed to him.


Without another word, he dropped his head and sucked her into his mouth.


Pleasure so intense ripped through her body it stole her breath away. She couldn’t even moan, just lay there gasping for breath and pushing her hips up against his hot mouth. His circled his tongue against the nub at the top of her sex and continued to circle his finger inside her.


It was too much.


Sansa moaned low in her throat and came on his mouth and fingers. He let out a quiet groan as she started pulsing against him, her wetness spreading down his hand as her muscles contracted violently. He let her ride it out until she started jerking with each swipe of his tongue. When it was over, he kissed her swollen flesh softly before slowly lowering her legs back to the bed. She was flushed rose pink from head to toe and her eyes glistened.


Her eyes widened when he pressed his face between her breasts and rested quietly against her. His warm breath tickled her lightly and before she could stop herself she brought a hand up and slowly ran it through his hair. He stayed pressed against her until her breathing slowed and then stood quietly. He reached down and wrapped her back up in the cloak.


“This never happened little bird. Do you understand me?”


She nodded slowly and he seemed satisfied. He reached down and stroked a hand through her hair. The motion was so relaxing that her eyes drifted closed and she sighed in contentment.


“I’ll come back for the cloak in the morning, before Joffrey wakes.”


With that, he strode out of the room and shut the door behind him.