#lyon

Lyonel:

He laughs at first, a disbelieving sound. Happy that his new wife has a sense of humour bold enough to match his.

Then he sees your face. He stills, his laugher dying

He crosses the room in three strides, so quick you almost retreat.

“Not much to look at?” he repeats, voice dropping lower with every word, hand coming up to your jaw, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. His gaze follows the movement like he is already imagining something sinful, dark eyes pinning you to the spot.

“You think I pretend?” His other hand slides down your side, gripping your hip firmly as you let out a gasp “You think I take you to my bed out of duty?” His eyes locking with yours in disbelief.

“I have imagined you under me since the day they told me you were to be mine.” He confesses, jaw tight pulling your body close enough to feel the affect you have on him, straining against his breeches.

You open your mouth to protest, to insist this must be a jest, when his mouth descends on yours.

The kiss is hungry, firm enough to make you gasp as his tongue slides into your mouth. Hands moving over your body, squeezing and mapping every curve,

He pulled back flushed, breathless, resting his forehead against yours “Never insult my wife in my presence again”

Maeker

Maekar goes still, the silence stretches, your head dropping down unable to hold his intense gaze.

He steps closer, fingers sliding under your chin gently tilting your head up to meet his.

“Is that why you stand so far away. You believe I pretend” his tone iron.

You swallow “I assumed you would prefer to sleep alone”

His thumb brushes your lower lip slowly, thoughtfully, like he is studying you like it is a riddle he cannot believe he is hearing.

“You think I would dismiss my wife on our first night?” He steps closer chest brushing yours as his other hand settles firmly on your hip, fingers flexing in restraint.

His head dips, his lips trialling down your neck sliver hairs scratching softy as he moves upward toward your jaw “If I did not want you, you would know” he murmurs against your skin, teeth nipping at your throat.

You inhale sharply, opening your mouth to protest as his restraint finally frays. His lips pressing firmly against yours, in a bruising kiss as he lifts you up, urging your legs to wrap around him as you gasp into his mouth.

“You are mine” he says against your lips, before claiming them again.

Baelor

You expect him to be kind. What do not expect is for him to look wounded.

Baelor’s brow furrows immediately. “Pretend?” he repeats softly stepping forward, hoping he has misheard you.

You gesture vaguely toward the bed.

His hands come up to cradle your face, warm and steady.

“I have seen the daughters of all the great houses” he says quietly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, catching your lashes as you lower your gaze “And I have not once looked at them the way I look at you now” his voice dropping lower, his gaze following the line mouth, down your throat and the exposed curve of your shoulders.

“I have been exercising restraint all evening,” he admits, one hand dropping from your face down your neck, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin there as you shiver in response.

He smiles faintly, something heated flickering beneath the gentleness.

His lips brush yours first, soft, exploring.

However when you pull back to protest, he follows pressing down firmer stealing your breath as his strong hands pull you against him.