whole house hot idccc

"Have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "Disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like I'm nothing but a toy to be played with when I'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"

But you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. All you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. All muscle and sinew and Gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.

You almost sighed thinking of it. You loved your husband's cock. It was one of the best things about him.

"You're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "So sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."

Maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "Don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. It made you warm under your chemise. You loved it when your husband was all snappy and indignant.

You leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "You were gone for so long, and I have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "The least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."

Aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "You always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching Maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "Makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipice of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.

As always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. You had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.

"You're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "Pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. The sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “Stop. I reek of filth and—”

“And I love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “You smell s’ good, husband, gods. I want to lick you all over.”

It always got like this. The more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. Shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.

Maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. The touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“Filthy,” Maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. Your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “You’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl.

“Always have been,” Maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “Getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.

“What of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “It’s your smell I crave, your taste—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.

Maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

You did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. Then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.

A garbled moan punched out of Maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. You could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. But you also knew he liked it. Craved your attention like poison in his veins. Hated that he needed it. Snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.

“Look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “Licking and sucking like a common whore,—”

But you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. It was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. Seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.

“How would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “Have you been indulging without my knowledge?”

Each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. And you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.

And he always bit.

“You think I would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.

As you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “I would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “I would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.

But, gods, the scent—the taste of him.

Musky and sweaty and man.

It drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.

A groan slipped unbidden from Maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “Don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when I have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. Lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.

His words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “Good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.

“Woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. The friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten-off, pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. He looked good enough to eat. And maybe later, you intended to do just that.

The scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “Smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “Taste s’ good, husband.”

“Gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to Maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.

It made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.

“C—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “Can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” Maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “Mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”

You could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. Seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. A delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.

“Mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “Not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “I’ve been so lonely.” The words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “N—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”

Wife. The word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.

His chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.

It made you smile, and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. The sound seemed to bring Maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.

“Lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “Can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”

You only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palate. “Yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.

“Fucking filthy woman—,” Maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.

You knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.

Understanding better than to ask about the cause, you set the book aside and allowed him to adjust the skirts around your waist, positioning his body over yours. He unlaced his pants, allowing his thick cock to spring free. In an instant, he plunged deep into your wet, pulsing heat, accompanied by a shuddering exhale that caressed the shell of your ear.

Your walls stretched at the familiarity of his size, fingers pressing into the taut muscles of his shoulder. Yet, instead of moving his hips to seek release, Ormund remained still.

He slowly lowered himself onto you, nestling his face into the crease of your shoulder. A soft hum escaped him as he settled comfortably. "The petitions. Read them for me, please."

With one hand gently tousling his hair, you reached for the stack of letters beside you with the other. Holding the first page up, you began to scan the words for Ormund.

"Lord Redwyne addressed the shipping tariffs in the bay," you began. His body was fully relaxed now, given over entirely to the soothing sound of your voice.

It was an intoxicating feeling. While your voice carried on about the tedious bureaucracy of a Great House, your insides, on the other hand, were wrapped around the hardness of a man who had momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

When the letter brought up a dispute over wool shipments, you noticed a slight tightening in his core.

“Did he truly expect a rebate on the harbor fees?” Ormund’s voice vibrated low, a minuscule movement that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your nerves.

“Hmm, he only said that the storms damaged three of his main vessels. Nothing beyond that,” you said, turning your face to catch a better glimpse of his handsome features. He offered no reply, only drawing closer and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your oils.

He nudged his hips upward to adjust his position slightly. A slow, grinding pressure that made your toes curl into the velvet upholstery. You could sense a rhythmic throb. The desire to rock on him was overwhelming, but you knew better than to rush him before he cleared his mind.

This was one of the reasons he constantly sought your company. He often expressed that the world demanded he embody the name ‘Hightower’ - to be rigid, cold, and unyielding. But here, in the embrace of the woman he loved, cocooned by your warmth, he was permitted to be soft.

The more you read the flowery prose and the fervent pleas for prestige, the more you felt him relax, shedding every burden of the day.

You turned to the next letter, a petition from a lesser house requesting a marriage alliance, as it mentioned. "This is quite tedious, my dear husband. Are you prepared for this?" you asked with a playful tone.

He responded with a low groan, weary of the endless petitions and demands that came with his role as the Lord of Oldtown. "Just read it. I enjoy the sound of your voice, especially when you're bored.”

As you giggled, the vibration rippled through you before reaching the place where your bodies were connected. Ormund let out a deep growl before nibbling on your neck, causing your breath to catch. “Stop moving,” he pleaded.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you began to feel a pulsating need in your pussy. You weren’t sure how much longer you could endure this. "The petition asks for a marriage alliance to be considered between—"

"Deny it," he interrupted, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“I haven’t read the rest. Let me finish,” you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

"I don't need to hear it to know the sheer absurdity these men are requesting. Utter nonsense." He shifted his weight once more, pinning you securely against him, allowing you to feel the soft brush of his chest hair against your skin. 

The heat between you had escalated to a feverish intensity, a shimmering warmth that made your head spin. You closed your eyes and let the parchment slip from your fingers, fluttering down like a fallen leaf.

Urging him to penetrate deeper, you wrapped your legs around his waist. The abrupt change in pressure caused him to let out a sharp hiss. Ormund froze, his muscles growing tense.

“All good?” you asked. Dampness pooled around your thighs.

“You’re too… mm— warm,” he choked out a reply. The way he clung to you indicated he never wanted to escape the sensation.

But Ormund remained still, teetering on the brink of something, unwilling to break the spell. You knew he craved the tension to build, the slow burn of warmth to ignite into a raging fire.

So you decided to make the first move. Reaching up, you threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing his head closer for a kiss. His lips were infused with salt and yearning. His tongue danced with yours before he softly whispered your name into your mouth.

The room seemed to constrict until all that remained was the aroma of oils and the sound of tongue sliding against tongue. Then slowly, he began to move.

“I can't remain still any longer,” Ormund said. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, a blend of fatigue and desire.

“Fill me then, darling,” you commanded.

He needed no further instruction. Ormund lunged forward, pumping in and out, in and out, completely losing the composure of Lord Hightower. The way he thrust into you revealed a desperation born of hours of pent-up desire; his movements were raw and unrefined.

You matched him stroke for stroke, bodies colliding with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet of the room. It was like a war drum.

His name flowed from your lips sweetly like honey, “Ormund, Ormund, Ormund.”

The climax that arrived felt like a cascading wave. You sensed him shudder intensely, his whole body trembling with the force of his release. His cock twitched as he spilled his seed inside you, while you let out a long, broken sob of relief. Ormund held you close, tightening his grip and drawing out every last bit of tension from his body.

After some time, he turned to face you, smiling as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead and showering your damp skin with kisses. His now-soft member remained deep inside you, showing no signs of withdrawing soon.

As your own breathing began to calm, your gaze wandered to the letters strewn across the bed. There were still many that required his attention and decision. "We missed a few. There’s one from the Citadel though."

Ormund let out a rumbling groan and sank back down. Resting his cheek against your chest, he closed his eyes, content to remain enveloped in your warmth until the sun set and the world called its lord back once more.

"Read to me, my darling," he murmured, his voice trailing off as he almost drifted into sleep. "Let me hear your voice."

You reached down to retrieve the crumpled papers and began to read again. Your voice flowed softly in the room, a gentle counterpoint to the raw act that had just happened. Tales of tariffs, Citadel appointments, and the everyday disputes of men filled the silence as you continued, creating a world of words around you both - a cocoon of stories and skin.

Ormund stirred slightly, an instinctive movement that reminded you he was still there, still connected, still yours.

As the candles burned low and darkness enveloped the room, you kissed his shoulder and leaned back into the velvet, gazing up at the ceiling while listening to the distant chime of the tower bell.

The world continued to spin; the politics of the Seven Kingdoms persisted. But in this room, time had come to a standstill.

All that existed was the scent of your skin, the feel of silk, and the enduring, golden warmth of a man who feared that the heat might dissipate if he released his hold on his wife, even for a moment.

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