#tiny ship

Sansa exhaled a low, breathy sigh, her eyes drooping shut while a small smile ghosted her face.Maybe there was a time when she would feel shame or embarrassment; a time in the not-so-distant past where she would bite her lip in trepidation and then scurry to the godswood for a quick begging of forgiveness. Perhaps a tear or two would fall, followed by a deep scrubbing in a scalding bath to cleanse her body. She would sit the next morning, prim and proper and washed of all indiscretions, working diligently on her perfect needlepoint or following her mother around learning how to handle the duties of being the Lady of a castle with grace. Once upon a day not too long ago she would glance at her Septa and be terrified that her wickedness of the night before would show on her flushed and tired face. But oh, those were in weeks past. Nowadays, as she sits next to her sister or Septa with the lessons of the day or while she shadows her perfect mother, there is always a smile on her face much like the one she has now. 

But now there is nothing prim and proper about the way she gasps softly, her slender hands grasping at strong thighs, and nails digging into muscled flesh as her head lolls back into a broad chest. She squirms in her lounging position and can feel the hardened length pressing into her lower back, jutting tall and proud and warm up against her, just as she feels the same body heat from sturdy legs trapping her own underneath them, spreading them apart in a hold so tight she cannot move her thighs together even if she wanted to. Her legs tense even though she does not want to escape; she wants to be here, like this, naked flesh exposed to the glow of the bedroom’s hearth. Her eyes flutter open to gaze slightly down at the sight before her. 

The flames flicker light across the bed and seem to set the head with its mop of auburn hair between her legs afire; perfectly tousled waves falling around a half-hidden face. For a moment she catches reflecting blue eyes staring at her and she turns her head into the chest, suddenly feeling a pang of desire so strong that it makes her weak. She can never seem to look at him while he is doing this to her without feeling as if she were drowning. She feels his hands smooth up her inner thighs and she sighs again, this time with a small shudder. His touch is light, sensual, thoughtful, and just as smooth as the tongue licking through the folds of her maiden’s place. The firm wetness rhythmically allows her to climb towards certain heights she knows she can reach as soon as his mouth encloses around her tiny nub to suck. Yet he teases, draws out her pleasure but there is no protest from her lips, even as her hips arch to encourage his lips to latch where she wants it.