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It had been a thought plaguing him since this blasted war had begun. It had come to him in the middle of the night, causing him to reach out across the bed pulling you closer into him. He held you tighter after that. Night after night, praying to the seven that they could prolong his departure.

He did not mean forever. He knew that was impossible, and he would do as duty called, but by the Gods he simply wanted more time with you. To be with you. To enjoy you. To perhaps leave you with a reminder of him that came with a rounded belly and swollen breasts.

And so he set out on a mission as if it was graced upon him by the Seven themselves. He had received a raven only days ago gracing him with the wonderful news that you were in fact with child. You and the maesters had began to think it was a boy. A son. Another man to carry on the Hightower name and legacy. His legacy. His love for you.

He would be the first son of his made out of the love rather than duty. But you had always been more than a duty. More than an obligation. You were his heart. You were his soul, and when his time came whether it be now or even years from now during his final moments he would close his eyes and picture you.

Like he was doing now. But this was far from innocent. This was not the love sick man wishing to be reunited with his lovely wife. He still was that, but this was different. This was more. This was sinful.

Gods helped him he had tried to not succumb to it, but as the days passed it became harder. And finally he fell to his knees, embracing the sinner he was. Because the thoughts of you did not pass, but no they came back each night while he lay alone tri-fold.

And sure he could probably fuck a whore like most soldiers away on battle, but none of them would ease the hunger. None would be able to even try to feed the hunger that he currently felt.

None would be you. None would be able to quite make the small sound you made every time he pushed his cock into you. Or to even come close to the glorious scent of your skin.

He moaned slightly as he could picture it now, and if he could focused hard enough it felt as if you arousal was burning his nose. As if he was actually burred deep in your soaking cunt as he feasted like it was his last meal.

Ormund let out a ragged breath as he closed his eyes, his hands moving up and down his shaft quickly. The imagines had not changed. To now. To trying to picture what you looked like with the life that now grew inside you.

Your swollen breasts. He could hear the small whine of his name you would let out as he touched your sensitive nipples. He could feel your fingers latching through is hair trying to pull him off. His hand stuttered slightly at the thought of when they would begin to leak milk, dripping down your chest that he would greedily lick up. Or if you would let him relieve you of the ache of when they began to feel to full without a babe in sight to feed.

Then your his came to mind. The way they would be widening in preparation for the entrance of the babe in the following moons. He could feel his hands digging into your skin, pressing bruises into it. The way he would hold them, grounding himself to you, gripping you tightly as he fucked in and out of you the way that caused your toes to curl.

He wondered if your ass had grown as wall, and how it would feel for him to hold you there by the fat of it when he fucked into you against the wall. Preferably the one in the hall when he became to greedy to make it to your chambers. When you would have to bite into his shoulder trying to silence yourself.

You always seemed so embarrassed afterwards, but Gods he enjoyed it. He liked the fact that the servants in the castle could know exactly who made you feel that good. On the marking on his shoulder, the one that left a faint scar as your teeth imprint never fully healed.

He was close. He was so fucking close he could feel it in the way his balls ached, and his knees threatened to give out beneath him.

So finally he thought of your stomach growing by the day. The constant reminder to everyone just who you belonged to. That you grew the Lord of Hightower's babe in your womb. In the new positions he would have to take you in to avoid harming the babe.

That did it. He let out a small groan, your name falling from his lips as he painted his hand with his own seed rather the walls of your cunt. He squeezed himself harder at the base trying to mimic the feeling of how your hole clenched around him with your own release.

He stood there for a moment, ragged breaths, mind fuzzy with only thoughts of you. But one last thought came into his mind, and it was softer than the other. It was you, turning toward him with a son, that had his eyes, perhaps your nose and hair color.

He let out a sigh, as the remainders of his high wore off and he was left with the burning truth. He was not in Old Town, but yet hundreds of miles away from you with no return in sight. Instead of your sweet smell and easy smiles he was surrounded by smelly soldiers.

Gods he longed for you, but he would not have to persevere as duty demanded.

Standing in front of the mirror, you smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from your outfit and told yourself it was because this was different. This was not a chance encounter anymore. This was not just a reckless decision made after having a few drinks, to soothe a bruised ego.

This was a date. An actual date with a man who fucked you like a god, and wanted more, wanted you.

The doorbell rang at precisely seven o’clock.

Of course he was on time. From what you had seen so far, it would have surprised you if he was not. You took one final look in the mirror and smiled, before rushing to open the door.

And immediately forgot every coherent thought and anything you were about to say.

Maekar stood on the other side, one hand tucked in the pocket of a dark coat. He looked entirely too handsome for a man who seemed permanently irritated by the existence of other people.

In his other hand he held a bouquet of the freshest roses you have ever seen. 

For a second, you simply stared. He cleared his throat. 

“These are for you.”

The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet that it caught you completely off guard. Your cheeks warmed.

“They are beautiful.” You accepted them carefully before leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I am just going to put them in a vase, will be right back!” 

You disappeared inside to find a vase, trying very hard not to smile even wider.

When you returned, Maekar’s eyes immediately found yours. His gaze softened almost immediately. The change was subtle, but you noticed it.

And, annoyingly, so did your heart.

“You look nice.” He said.

Not beautiful, not stunning, just nice. That coming from someone else would have been underwhelming. But coming from him, it felt sincere and more genuine than any elaborate compliment ever could. 

“You do not look too bad yourself.” You smiled. “Like you managed to get some proper rest after last night.”

He scoffed, but you could see his mouth twitch.

“Brat…” He muttered under his breath, making you giggle slightly.

When you got to the car, he opened the door for you.

“Where did you get your manners? Before Aegon's Conquest?”

Maekar gave you a long look. “Just get in the fucking car.”

You laughed and obeyed.

You liked that he was a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman.

The drive should have been awkward. You had known Maekar for barely twenty four hours and you slept with him. Now you were sitting in his passenger seat while he drove you to dinner like this was a completely normal progression of events.

Instead, it felt strangely easy.

The city drifted past outside the windows as Maekar navigated traffic with the same focused concentration he seemed to apply to everything else in life.

You stared shamelessly at him. His large hands rested loosely on the steering wheel. His brows were furrowed in concentration, though to be honest you suspected it looked like that even when he was relaxed.

“You know…” You said eventually. “For someone who spent most of last night acting like talking to me was a burden, you seem awfully committed to this date.”

“I warned you, I do not do things halfway.”

“Oh, that is so romantic of you.” You could not help but tease.

“You got flowers.”

“That is just one thing.”

“And now I am taking you out to dinner.”

“You are really setting the standard high, old man.”

A loud scoff escaped him, and you took that as a victory.

Silence settled comfortably for a few moments after that. The city drifted past the windows and you found yourself studying him again.

The lines at the corners of his eyes, his neat silver-blond beard, the strong line of his jaw, the broad shoulders that filled out his coat. He was definitely older than you would usually go for a man, but you did not mind.

Your gaze drifted lower then, almost unconsciously. There was no wedding ring. You noticed it the night before, and you noticed it again now.

But a man like Maekar did not simply exist in a vacuum. There had to be some history, past relationships, a marriage perhaps. An entire life you had yet to learn more of.

The thought lingered for a moment before curiosity got the better of you.

“Do you have kids?”

Maekar sighed immediately.

“What?” You asked, confused. 

“Nothing good has ever followed that question.”

“You are just being dramatic.” You retorted. 

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” You pouted. “Come on, tell me!”

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel, as if he was contemplating whether answering was worth the headache.

“Six.” He almost whispered. 

You stared. “What?”

“I have six children.”

You nearly choked. “Six?!”

“Yes.”

“Six actual human children?”

His expression flattened. “No, I have six dragon children.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Holy shit, Maekar!”

“You fucking asked. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

“Six children?” You repeated.

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened and he stared at the road. You leaned back in the seat, whistling.

“That explains so much.”

He shot you a look. “Explains what?”

“The permanent scowl. It is there because you have spent years arguing with younger versions of yourself.”

He rolled his eyes, but you could see he was fighting a smile. Warmth spread in your chest at that. Then another thought occurred to you. 

“Which one is your favourite?”

Maekar just stared at you. “I do not have a favourite one.”

“Oh, you absolutely do.”

“No.”

“Come on. You know exactly which one.”

“I am not continuing this conversation.”

“Coward.” 

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Fine, different question then!” You grinned. “How much do you know about them?”

He frowned.

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

“A normal one.”

“It is not.”

“It is. Humour me, please!”

Maekar sighed again.

“I know their birthdays.”

You nodded. “That is a good start.”

“Their favorite foods, and their allergies.”

“Expected.” Your smile softened slightly.

“The books they liked as children. The movies they still pretend not to like. I know which one calls when something goes wrong and which one pretends nothing is wrong until it has become a disaster.”

Something warm settled in your chest, because he answered without hesitation, without having to think. It was like those details lived permanently inside him.

You looked at him for a long moment.

“What?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“No, it is just…” You looked out the window briefly before glancing back at him. “You have no idea how incredibly attractive this is.”

The silence that followed was immediate, and you watched the tips of his ears turn red. Actually bright red. For one beautiful second, Maekar Targaryen looked completely caught off guard.

“Are you blushing?”

“Stop it.” He almost growled.

Your grin widened and his ears grew redder. And for the rest of the drive, Maekar refused to look at you.

The restaurant Maekar had chosen was nothing like the one where you had spent forty-something humiliating minutes waiting for a man who never arrived.

This place was quieter, the lighting was soft without being dim and the tables were spaced far enough apart to allow privacy. The low murmur of conversation never rose high enough to become distracting.

It felt like the type a restaurant someone like Maekar would choose because they genuinely liked it, not because it was currently fashionable.

This realization should not have affected you, but it did, because it meant he had put thought into this, into you.

The hostess greeted him by his surname. You immediately looked at him, following him to your table.

“She knew you. Do you come here often?”

“Not that much, no.”

Dinner unfolded slowly after that. It was mostly you who spoke, because he was not the sort of man who filled silence simply because it existed.

But when he spoke, you listened. And when you spoke, he listened too. And not the polite kind where someone nods while waiting for their turn to speak. The real kind, the kind that made you feel like every word mattered.

You told him about Rowan’s inability to mind her own business.

“She sounds exhausting.” He grumbled.

“She can be sometimes.” You nodded, sipping your wine. 

“Yet you are friends with her.”

“She is my best friend, and I love her.”

“Hmm.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means you are also exhausting.”

You nearly dropped your glass. “Excuse you, I am delightful!”

“You are relentless.”

“That does not sound like a compliment.”

“It was not.”

You could not help but laugh at his honesty.

Later, the conversation drifted toward books, then travel, then work. Then somehow to memories. You discovered Maekar spent years coaching various sports teams because one child had joined and the others eventually followed.

“Are you telling me you volunteered for that?”

“Fuck no, I was coerced.”

“By your children?”

“They are surprisingly effective negotiators, the little fuckers.”

You laughed. The sound earned one of those rare, fleeting smiles from him. And suddenly you wanted another one, then another. 

You found yourself watching him while he spoke, the movement of his hands. The slight furrow between his brows whenever he concentrated. The dry humor that appeared unexpectedly and disappeared just as quickly.

Every glimpse beneath the stoic exterior only seemed to make the problem worse.

Because for the life of you, you could not understand why you suddenly wanted more. Not just another date, or more attention.

You truly wanted more of him, his thoughts, his company, his opinions. You wanted to know what made him laugh when nobody was watching. Whether he made coffee before breakfast or after. Whether he was impossible to deal with when he got sick. Whether he let people take care of him at all.

The thoughts arrived completely uninvited. And once they started, they refused to leave.

It was absurd. You had known him for barely more than twenty four hours. That was nothing, a blink, a moment. 

And yet every time he looked at you, every time he remembered some small detail you had mentioned, every time that guarded expression softened for half a second, you found yourself wanting to know what existed underneath all of it.

By the time dinner ended, you felt slightly unsteady. Not because of the wine, though you were sure it had not helped, but because of him.

The drive back was quieter than the rest of the evening. The city slid past in soft streaks of gold and white. Maekar drove with the same steady focus. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, and you would glance at him. 

When you finally reached your building, the car rolled to a stop and the silence changed.

You turned your head slowly, and found him already looking at you.

The air between you felt different now. It was charged in a way that made your skin prickle.

“Are you going to kiss me, old man?” You asked softly, tilting your head. “Or are you going to continue staring at me like that?”

His eyes darkened slightly, and then he simply leaned over.

The kiss was immediate, firm and unapologetically him. His hand came up to your jaw, steadying you as if he needed to make sure you stayed there, that this was real. You melted into it without thinking. Then just as quickly, he pulled back a little, far enough to make you chase the absence of him. His thumb lingered against your cheek before he withdrew completely.

He got out of the car first. You stayed for a second longer, trying to collect yourself, trying to remember how breathing worked normally. He opened your door again without a word.

You walked together to your apartment, the distance between you small enough to feel dangerous, close enough to become aware of your own breath.

“Thank you for dinner.” You said when you reached your door, smiling. “I had a great time.”

“You are welcome.”

The silence was different this time, somewhat heavier. His gaze held yours without wavering. And for a second you saw it, the raw hunger underneath everything. How he did not seem capable of wanting anything halfway. This sent a strange rush through you, excitement and fear.

Because suddenly you could imagine how easy it was to fall in love with him. The thought hit you hard enough to steal your breath and Maekar noticed.

He cupped your cheek with a carefulness that did not match the weight behind his stare. His thumb brushed over it gently, eyes flitting to your mouth and then back up.

Maekar said your name, and it sounded so different in his voice. It made your pulse stutter.

“Yes?”

For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you again. You wanted him to kiss you again. You wanted to feel him again.

“You should go inside.”

Your brows shot up. “What?”

A faint curve touched his mouth.

“You came up with me all the way just to send me to bed? Alone?!” You let out a short, incredulous laugh and pushed at his chest, but he would not move away.

He huffed. “I brought you home.”

“Same thing.” You pouted, before saying quietly. “I was hoping for more than just a kiss…”

“And what were you hoping for?” He asked, voice lower now.

You felt your back hit the wall, your eyes not leaving his. 

“You know what…” You whispered, looking at his mouth. “I want all of you.”

“Greedy girl.” He huffed a laugh. “You had my attention all night, and you still want more.”

“I could never get enough of you.” You admitted. “Is that so strange?”

His grip tightened slightly at your jaw and the way he was looking at you sent a jolt to your core. He did not answer you. Instead, he lunged forward, pressing his lips against yours hard. You gasped into his mouth, a sound that was swallowed instantly as he devoured you. His tongue forced its way past your lips to claim every inch of your mouth. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed you against the wall, leaving no space between you. He kissed you with a starving intensity, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, pulling and nipping at it until you whimpered.

When he finally pulled away, the sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical blow. You were left staring at him, your lips swollen and tingling, completely disoriented. Maekar rested his forehead against yours.

“Do you want to come inside?” You asked breathlessly.

His eyes held yours for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted. 

He did not say yes. He did not say no. He simply pressed his lips against yours, the space between you disappearing again.

Your heartbeat quickened, hard and loud enough that you were certain he could hear it too.

Stumbling into each other. Into walls. Wine spilled on your fingers. So much roaring laughter from the pair of you. You’re sure an impression of your visit was carved behind you both like a canyon.

Lyonel’s arm is snug over your waist. Settled in the dip. Still wearing those thick gold cuffs he fancied so much, and a chunky sapphire bracelet. Ringing his wrist like a slip of the blue sea had slung itself over him. His rings too. Big gaudy gold. All still swarming his thick fingers.

You ignore your pounding head. Peeling your face off the pillow. Breath stale. Hair stuck and knotted to your warm cheek. Twisting properly to see him behind you.

Lyonel has bite marks seated deep in his neck. Blue and black. Bruises on his thighs taking the shape of fingers and teeth. His hair is like a storm has bashed and combed itself through it. Chest hair dusted with sweat. He wears a saffron orange nightshirt that barely comes to his thighs and naught else. It hangs off one shoulder, baring his chest, gold chain hanging with a little gold stag pendant, and a string of pearls for some reason. You spy the disc of his nipple - that too ringed with love bites.

The room about you is utter chaos. The bed is ripped to shreds and blankets half cast to the fine tiled floor. One cushion has split and now coats the floor in a drifting army of feathers. Lyonel has one or two tufting out his hair like a newborn baby bird. There are fingernail scratches carved in the wooden bedposts.

The curtains at the huge arched windows float on the morning breeze that brings baking sun and the scent of orange groves. Jasmine croons its sugar to you from the yellow flowers that strangle the marble columns.

The low wooden table where you dined last night, scattered with empty platters, bones from meat. The corpses of figs. Skeletal stems and peels of fruit. Many empty flagons and cups tossed to their sides. Leaking red and gold to the floor like spilled dragon breath. The plump cushions around it have been scattered around in reckless disarray.

“Fuck.” You hiss as you rub a heel of one hand into your eyes. The throbbing pain growing bigger in confidence by the second.

The air is kissed with sun. Fierce sun. You’re sweating already. Naked save for sweat and jewels. You spy the corner of your - torn - butter yellow dress falling off the back of the overturned chaise opposite the bed. You do recall briefly being naked and stretched back on it, legs wide, someone’s hair gripped in your fist- but the memory fuzzily ends there.

Clutching the thin silken sheets to your breasts. Attempting to regain some dignity. You’re sure there’s miles yet more ground to cover in that regard.

When you turn back to the left side of the bed, it’s the you note how the weight of the mattress dips.

A naked woman is sat in your bed. Up next to you near the carved headboard. Redressing. Silk piled in her lap.

She is entirely all curves. A real beauty. Lush heavy breasts. Dark skin. Full upper arms and wide hips, an hourglass shape that could stop a clock dead.

She turns back with quiet grin finding you awake.

Hair falling over her shoulder. Dark as raven feather. Silky as oil. Her smile is devastation in human form. Jewellery bands her thick upper arms. Her wrists.

Big earrings she’s just threading back in from the bedside where they lay tangled with your own. A fine thin gold chain hangs low and discreet between her breasts. Swaying against her perfumed skin. You seem to recall the feel of that chain against your lips last night.

Your voice comes as a dumbstruck croak when your eyes meet. They are green as jade and you fully get stuck in them.

You feel caught out. Swallowing to moisten your dry throat. “Morning.”

She chuckled. When she speaks, her voice is smoky. Husky as raked embers. “Good morning, my lady.”

Fingers weaving her halter dress around her neck. In a wicked patch of golden sunlight, it’s see-through. Lapis blue and sheer as butterfly wings. Hugs the swell of her tits. The hard perks of her nipples.

Her name comes slithering back to the forefront of your mind. You’d gasped it. Cried it. Brushed her hair off her neck and showered her neck with kisses as you said it into her ear. Nysah.

Something else swims for clarity- you can’t decide what yet. Her beauty has rendered you an imbecile.

Her skin glows in the soft peachy light of dawn. Like you’ve cracked open oranges, torn them, and smeared the sticky dewy juices over her shoulders.

She twists back. You watch the blades of her shoulders twist under her skin. She reaches over. Dragged a fingertip over your shoulder. “Last night was incredible. I had wicked fun with you. Both of you-“

Lyonel snort-snores himself awake behind you. Enough to make you jump. Wincing at the cloud of poison and knives ramming around in your head.

“Seven cunts. My head hurts. Please tell me I’m dead-“ He’s hoarse as rolling gravel. You’re not surprised. The way he’d shouted and stomped around last night. Voiced his pleasure pretty loud too. Lyonel Baratheon refused to do anything quietly.

She chuckles at his crass manner of awakening. Eyes finding yours again over the rumpled covers. “He’s a lively one. Your husband. I’m not usually a one for Stormlanders. But he’s certainly the most handsome rutting stag.” She winks.

“Quite a mouth on him too.” You declare. Voice dry and unused.

She chuckles. “Oh I know. I’ve met Lyseni whores, who aren’t half as skilled with their tongues. He made us both cum with it.”

Lyonel looks bleary and puzzled. Storm bashed and as hungover delicate as you. Earring jittery at his lobe with his movements.

He shuffled to sit up behind you. Spooning into you. Arm banding your waist. Bearded chin scuffing your shoulder. Greying curls stuck up at every conceivable odd angle. As uncoordinated and messy as you were. Reeling from the hot, sticky night.

“Lovely to meet you….” He paused to blink and find his tongue. “Should I know you?”

“You were working with me last night my Lord.”

“I was?” He frowns.

“Yes. We both tongue fucked your lovely wife.“ She recalls.

Sweeping her hand over your shoulder. Swaying closer to press a kiss to the skin at your sternum. Just to the top of your breast. Your nipples tighten with it. She draws the covers off you and her silky mouth drifts lower.

“Oh.” Your belly coils. A flash of gripping heat. That’s right.

You remember At one point watching them kiss sloppily between your thighs. Her licking the glossy taste of you off his beard. You then rode Lyonel to death whilst she got herself off with her fingers. Tongue curled deep in your mouth sharing your taste. Her teeth sinking down to latch into your nipples at one point. You’d gripped the back of her head to you. Eyes rolling back. You’d cum so hard your vision whited out.

“You remember now?” She seeks to you. Looking sultry. Eyes flicking her long lashes up to your face.

You’d like the bed to swallow you whole. A concave of cotton and silk to part like a mouth and eat you up.

A flimsy smile finds your mouth. A steady nod. “I do remember. But it’s very patchy. We did- uh.”

“Lots of things.” Nysah fills in. “Lots of enjoyable things. I am sorry about your dress. My lady. We did rip it a little getting it off you.”

She leans in and seals her mouth over yours again. A honey slow and warm kiss. Hand slipping under the silk sheet to cup your breast in her warm fingers. Nipple arcing into her palm. Your whole body flushed with need- despite the pain in your head.

You close your eyes. Confused. Breathy as you part from her. “We?”

There was a we. There was-

There was the fractured shard memory of someone else- you remember in a flash; dark curls shot with honey from the sun. A large warm hand stroking down your back, pushing your shoulders gently to the bed. Better angle to fuck you with- you had lowered your mouth to feast and kiss at the perfect cunt between Nysah’s legs.

“That’s right.” Comes a strong male voice from the corner. Dornish accent turning his words to candied, lusty sin.

A lightning snap of recollection.

Vargio. That was the second name.

His movement across the room snatches your attention. Shifts to pull a shirt across wide tan shoulders. Body on display like carved marble artwork. His hair is dark brown, curled at the nape of his neck and swept off his brow. Coiled with sweat.

His eyes are cinnamon-amber dark like Lyonel’s. Every feature is proud and strong. A wide full mouth. A graceful, fine bladed nose. Cheekbones high. Wide hands, and thighs like tree trunks.

He’s gorgeous. An angelic kind of goregeous. You can’t draw your eyes away. So pretty it made your heart stop.

He’s covered in bite marks and love bruises too. His beige trouser falls are open. He’s just tucking an impressively fat, soft cock back into them.

Your mouth falls open at the glimpse of it’s girth. The way it lays against his navel at the thatch of dark curls to be found there. You twitch between your legs. The reminders of being thoroughly used, comes flooding back. Oh yes. You’d had him too.

“You needn’t cover on my account. My Lady. I saw plenty of you last night. Every inch in fact. Tasted you too.” He urges with such confidence.

“Oh god.” You mutter under your breath.

You climb past Nysah who watches you with a chuckle caught in her throat. You scramble upright and yank the sheet with you. Ripping it from under Lyonel’s hairy leg. He flops back to the pillows. One arm over his eyes. The other hanging limp off the bed.

“Can I get you something, my Lord?” Nysah ask curiously. Shifts across the bed. Lays her hand across his chest.

“A new head.” Lyonel answers her. “More common sense that would have made me put the last three goblets of wine back down.”

She beams at his grouchy answer.

You meanwhile, wear your makeshift dress wrapped about you as you search for the coin purses. You’d left them within reach. Knowing they’d be needed come the morn.

You move books. You clatter over goblets. You fuss with objects in your trunk as you search diligently. Combing through cloth and clothes. All the while with Vargio’s eyes pinning you down.

You find the coin purses on an overturned and table. Next to the wooden bowl of spilled figs. Where you bend, the cloth is spun see-through in the morning sun.

He steps closer to the bed. All sway and charm. Smile worn wide on his mouth.

“Payment will not be necessary.” He informs.

You blink. Frown crashing down your brows.

“I will not hear of it. This is your living you will take it.” You insist.

He takes the coin purse. Opens it. Grins at you. Emptied it across the floor. To clink to its rattling death near your toes. When he’s done. He chucks the empty purse over his shoulder. Carefree.

“Our coin does not spend?” Lyonel asks. A lilt of danger on his voice. Nysah pats his chest and stretches from the bed to a stand. Coming to search for her sandals.

“I will not take it. I have had the both of you on my cock. That is worth more to me than coin. My lovely stags.” He compliments.

He reaches across. Takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger. Kisses you on the lips. A sweet, sugary peck.

You’re shocked. Mouth floundering. He cards his thumb over your plump lower lip. The gesture so intimate it makes you sweat. Prickling along your brow and behind your knees.

You watch him cross to the bed. Leaning down, one hand spread to the mattress.

Lyonel moved his arm from over his face at his coming closer.

Vargio prowled in like a tiger. Coaxed Lyonel into a filthy kiss. All lips and tongue. Hand clamped on the back of your husbands strong neck.

Your husband takes a second before he melts easily into the kiss. Voice fluttering up like a suprised grunt at the back of his throat. Their lips move furiously in sync.

When he pulls back, Lyonel looks famished. Eyes seeping into a well known hunger. His cock starting to thicken against his thigh.

Vargio winks. “My lord.” He brazenly licks the spit off Lyonel’s lower lip.

He stands, turns for the door, smirks at you both as he takes his leave. Barefoot as he had come. Shirt undone. Confidence bolstering every step.

“Next time you are in Dorne. You send for me. I insist. Or I will put the whole of Dorne to the torch.” He calls over his shoulder.

The door opens. It closes. Birdsong fills the space. The crash of the leaves stirring in the wind through the orange groves.

Nysah has found her footwear. You hold the pouch out to her in hope.

She smiles. Shakes her head. “On the house. The pleasure really was all mine.” She holds her skirts up as she comes across to you.

She cups the back of your waist like she’s handling a delicate relic. Stuns you with the taste of her tongue again. You cup the side of her head as she kisses you fully. Lips melding and moving onto each others. Sharing spit and breath when you part.

“Take care. Lover.” She beams. “Send for me again whenever you like.”

She too crosses the cavernous room and slips out the door

Lyonel is watching, aghast.

‘I’ve never met a whore that turned down gold. My god. Lady Storm. What the in fucking hell did we do to them.’

You almost want to laugh. A lot. Clearly.

“I don’t remember exactly. Bits and pieces.” You speak. Standing there in the middle of the wrecked, sex-scented room. Draped in a sheet. Shocked.

Should you remember? Gods the wine stole your attention. You remember snippets. Glittering lusty eyes and a straight cut smile. You remember kissing and tasting the tangerine oil on Lyonels and Vargio’s skin.

It’s all a mashing blur of lips. Hot kisses. Wandering hands. Your eyes rolling back when Vargio slammed to you deep. His hair gripped in your fist as he eagerly ate your cunt on the chaise. Nysah holding your legs open wide for him. Breasts pushing unto your back. Lyonel seating her to ride his face as you deep-throated his cock.

You’d ridden all of them. Lyonel. Vargio. Nysah. All three. You’re certain. Riding their cocks in turn. Grinding your cunt to hers. Hips chasing climax. Nysahs hands on your tits and her mouth on your neck as you took one of their cocks deep. Moving with you. Watching your pleasure like she was addicted to it. Quite the evening-

You remember Vargio’s mouth on your neck too. Your hands digging into his shoulders. Enough to leave bruises.

He had liked it. Your fierce passion. Had chuckled and said Lyonel was beyond lucky to have such a fiery spirit of a woman in his bed. Lyonel hummed his assent. Pulled the man off you to trap him into a sordid kiss.

“I did something to him?” Lyonel checks. Frowning.

“Oh please.”You scoff. “The size of that cock? I don’t see how you resisted.”

“Now you mention it- my jaw does ache rather.” He opens his mouth. Cups his lower face. Rolls his jaw around.

The bite of salty spend and sweat laying distant on his tongue. He has the memory of a fist in his hair. He has a partial to having a nice big cock down his throat.

“I would say we got our moneys worth- and yet.” You weigh the coins in your hands. Tossing the heavy purse back onto the bed. It bounces with a clink. Coins within plinking together.

You and your makeshift bedsheet crawl back to your husbands side. Draped across the bed. Not wanting to let the searing sun come and find you. All that orange scented air can fuck off as far as he’s concerned.

“Permission to cut my head off.” You groan.

He grumbles in response. Lifts his arm to shuffle it down across your splayed back.

Closing your eyes and slumping down into his armpit. Cuddling close. You’re both filthy. Sweat reeking. Bodies covered in marks and various other dried fluids. Your thighs are tacky. You’re sure his are much the same.

“Only if you promise to do mine first.” He wagers.

“I’ve not beheaded anyone before. I fear I’d make a hack job of it.” You worry.

“Can’t hurt any worse than my head right now. Lady Storm.”

“We drink too much.” You mumble. Lips on his dewy shoulder. Mouth dry as dragon bone. Sticky. Still kiss stung. You peck him lightly.

He hums. “Only when appropriate.” Sighing as he tilts his body toward you. He’s searching to find the edge of the covers. His fingers pluck at the silk that wraps you.

“Get that fucking thing off. Skin to skin. I’m not moving for the next several hours which means neither are you.” He speaks. Throwing off his nightshirt.

You trace bruises and bites on his chest. Littered amongst the jewels.

“Where’d you get the pearls?”

“Ask me when I’m more sober. Maybe I’ll remember.” He grunts. Kissing your ear with a ringing smack.

You clutch his hand for a second. Kiss his knuckles. Lay it back to clamping your breast when he’s done.

He snatches the sheet from your body. Lets it mushroom on the air. It floats down and covers you both under its enfold.

He gets himself snugged right to your skin. His big hand finds your tit. Squeezes it lovingly. Knocks his hips to jab deep into your ass. Mouth on the back of your neck, kissing your skin with muggy heat. Your hair in his nose. Now he can rest.

You slumber most of the day away. Heavy coin purse lay untouched on the bed and floor. The nights memories leave soft smiles on your faces, you doze together, like lounging lions.

Half naked skin on skin. Sticking. Sweating in the Dorne heat. Heart of a flaming sun wrapped you both up. Wondering what tonight will bring.

You sleep- you dream of pleasure, of kisses and sensation. Kissing the wine off his bearded mouth. Of blood oranges, ripped open, dripping sweet juice on your tongues.