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Ross's tongue traces a slow path along Jon's shaft, and he grips the silk sheets hard enough to tear them. Every nerve in his body feels alive, crackling with sensation he's never experienced before. His cock twitches with renewed interest under her ministrations, already beginning to harden again despite his recent release.
"Responsive," Ross murmurs approvingly, pulling back to study him with those knowing green eyes. "Youth has its advantages." She rises gracefully, moving to straddle his lap without quite touching. "But first, we need to work on your kissing."
"What's wrong with my kissing?" Jon asks, trying not to sound defensive. He can feel the heat radiating from her core, so close but not quite making contact with his growing erection.
"Nothing wrong, just... unpracticed." She cups his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "You kiss like you fight—all intensity, no finesse. Sometimes a woman wants to be conquered, yes, but first she wants to be seduced."
She leans in slowly, giving him time to watch her approach. "Start soft," she breathes against his lips. "Tease. Make her want more."
Her mouth brushes his, barely a whisper of contact. Jon instinctively tries to deepen it, but she pulls back with a knowing smile. "Patience, little wolf."
She does it again—that barely-there touch that sends sparks through his entire body. This time Jon forces himself to remain still, to let her lead. Ross rewards him by lingering a heartbeat longer, her full lips molding gently to his.
"Better," she murmurs. "Now... when I part my lips, trace them with your tongue. Don't thrust it down my throat like you're storming a castle."
Jon follows her instruction, marveling at how different it feels to kiss with purpose rather than desperate hunger. Ross makes a soft sound of approval that goes straight to his cock, now fully hard again and pressed against her stomach.
"You learn quickly," she says, nipping at his bottom lip. "But not everything can be mastered in a single night. Lucky for you, some things are more instinct than skill."
She arches back slightly, presenting her breasts like an offering. Jon's mouth goes dry at the sight—full and round, topped with rosy nipples already pebbled with arousal. He's seen breasts before, glimpses and accidents, but never like this. Never presented for his touch, his worship.
"Go on," Ross encourages, voice honeyed with amusement. "I can see you staring. Touch them. Learn what makes a woman sigh."
Jon reaches up tentatively, cupping the weight of them in his palms. They're softer than he expected, warmer. When his thumbs brush across her nipples, Ross's breath hitches.
"Harder," she instructs. "I'm not made of glass."
He squeezes more firmly, watching her face for reactions. When he rolls a nipple between thumb and forefinger, her eyelids flutter. The sight sends a bolt of satisfaction through him—he did that, gave her that pleasure.
"Your mouth," Ross says, threading fingers through his dark curls. "Use your mouth."
Jon leans forward, capturing one perfect peak between his lips. The taste of her skin—salt and woman and something uniquely Ross—floods his senses. He sucks experimentally, then harder when she makes that approving sound again.
"Teeth," she gasps. "Gently, but—oh, yes, like that."
Fuck, Jon thinks as he alternates between her breasts, learning what makes her breath quicken, what makes her hips roll against nothing. This is power. Making someone else feel this way.
His cock throbs almost painfully, trapped between their bodies. Every time Ross moves, her stomach brushes against it, sending jolts of pleasure through him. But he forces himself to focus on her, on mapping every curve and valley with hands and mouth.
"Good boy," Ross praises, pulling his head back by his hair. Her lips are parted, green eyes darker with arousal. "You're a natural worshipper. Some men have to be taught to appreciate a woman's body. You already understand it's a gift."
She slides back on the bed, spreading her legs in invitation. Jon's breath catches at the sight of her—pink and glistening, completely bare of hair. He's heard crude jokes about women's parts, seen rough drawings scratched on tavern walls, but the reality is both more beautiful and more intimidating than he expected.
"Don't look so nervous," Ross laughs, but not unkindly. "I won't bite. Well, not there anyway."
She props herself on her elbows, watching him with amused expectation. "Have you ever tasted a woman, Jon Flint?"
"No," he admits, then adds with forced confidence, "but I'm a quick study."
"Mm, I bet you are." She crooks a finger at him. "Come here. Let me teach you how to make a woman scream."
Jon moves between her spread thighs, hyperaware of every detail—the musky scent of her arousal, the way her inner thighs glisten, the delicate pink folds that seem impossibly complex.
"Start slow," Ross instructs, voice huskier now. "Kiss my thighs first. Tease me like I teased you."
He follows her guidance, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs. She smells incredible here. When he gets close to her center, she threads fingers through his hair again.
"Breathe on me first," she says. "Let me feel how close you are."
Jon exhales slowly across her wet folds, watching goosebumps rise on her skin. Ross's hips shift restlessly, seeking more contact.
"Now... use your tongue. Start at the bottom and lick up, like you're savoring honey."
The first taste makes Jon groan against her. She's tangy-sweet, nothing like he expected but somehow exactly right. He licks again, broader this time, trying to catalog every texture and flavor.
"Fuck," Ross breathes. "That's... eager. But you're attacking it like a training exercise. Slower. Feel how I respond."
Jon forces himself to slow down, to pay attention to more than just the novel sensations. When he circles his tongue around what feels like a small pearl at the top, Ross's thighs tense. When he flicks directly across it, she gasps.
There, he thinks with satisfaction. That's important.
"Don't just focus on my clit," Ross instructs, though her voice is less steady now. "Use your whole mouth. Suck on my lips, thrust your tongue inside me. Make me wet enough to take that pretty cock of yours."
Jon follows each instruction religiously, alternating between broad licks and focused attention on that sensitive bud. His jaw starts to ache after a few minutes, and he's making embarrassingly wet sounds, but Ross's increasing moans suggest he's on the right track.
"Use your fingers too," she pants. "One at first. Slide it inside while you suck my clit."
Jon shifts position slightly, bringing his hand into play. Her entrance is slick and hot, accepting his finger easily. The feeling of her inner walls clenching around the digit makes his cock throb with anticipation.
"Curl it up," Ross instructs. "Feel for a spot that's different, almost rough— Oh fuck, yes, right there!"
Her hips buck against his face as he finds what she's describing, a slightly textured area that makes her whole body tighten when he strokes it. Jon files this information away even as he struggles to maintain rhythm with both tongue and fingers.
"Another finger," she demands. "And don't stop what you're doing with your tongue."
It's harder to coordinate than fighting with sword and dagger, Jon thinks dimly. But the rewards are better—Ross's thighs trembling against his ears, her breath coming in sharp gasps, the flood of wetness coating his fingers and chin.
He's clumsy at first, losing rhythm when he tries to focus on too many things at once. But after about ten minutes of dedicated effort, something clicks. He finds a pattern—two fingers curling against that special spot while his tongue circles her clit—that makes Ross's back arch off the bed.
"Don't stop," she gasps, fisting his hair almost painfully. "Right there, don't you dare fucking stop!"
Jon doesn't. He maintains the rhythm even as his jaw screams and his wrist cramps, driven by the intoxicating knowledge that he's about to make this experienced woman come undone.
Ross's thighs clamp around his head as she crests, a broken cry escaping her lips. Her inner walls pulse around his fingers, whole body shuddering with release. Jon keeps going until she pushes him away, oversensitive.
"Seven fucking hells," Ross pants, staring at him with something like amazement. "You sure you've never done that before?"
"Never," Jon confirms, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He can't quite hide his smug satisfaction. "But I told you I'm a quick study."
"Cocky little lordling," she laughs breathlessly. "Come here."
She pulls him up for a kiss, humming at the taste of herself on his lips. "Most green boys can't find a woman's clit with a map and detailed instructions. You just made me come harder than some men who've been between my legs for years."
Pride swells in Jon's chest. "So I did well?"
"Fishing for compliments now?" Ross pushes him onto his back, eyes glinting with renewed purpose. "Let's see how you handle being on the receiving end."
She moves down his body, leaving hot kisses across his chest and stomach. When she reaches his cock, standing proud and flushed against his belly, she pauses to admire.
"Seven inches at least," she murmurs appreciatively. "And thick enough to stretch a woman properly. You'll have noble ladies fighting over you in a few years."
Before Jon can respond, she's swallowing him down in one smooth motion. The wet heat of her mouth shorts out every thought in his head. His hips buck involuntarily, but Ross pins them down with surprising strength.
"Stay still," she orders, pulling off with an obscene pop. "Let me work."
What follows is sweet torture. Ross uses every trick in her considerable arsenal—deep throating him until her nose brushes his pelvis, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head, even gently scraping her teeth along his length in a way that makes him see stars.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jon chants, hands fisting in the sheets. He can feel his release building embarrassingly quickly, balls drawing tight. "Ross, I'm going to—"
"I know," she says, pumping him with her hand while sucking on just the tip. "Don't fight it. Come for me, little wolf."
The command combined with a particularly clever thing she does with her tongue sends Jon over the edge. He comes with a shout, spilling into her mouth as pleasure whites out his vision for the second time tonight. Ross swallows it all, working him through the aftershocks until he's whimpering from overstimulation.
"Two minutes," she declares, crawling back up his body. "Impressive stamina for such an inexperienced little thing."
"Two minutes?" Jon asks muzzily, brain still foggy from orgasm.
"Until you're hard again." She straddles his hips, grinding her wet center against his softening cock. "Youth definitely has its advantages."
Sure enough, the combination of her wet heat sliding against him and the sight of her above him—hair mussed, lips swollen, breasts bouncing slightly with each movement—has Jon's cock showing renewed interest in record time.
"There we go," Ross purrs as he hardens fully beneath her. "Ready to become a man in truth, Jon Flint?"
"Yes," Jon breathes, hands coming up to grip her hips.
"So polite." She rises up on her knees, reaching between them to position his cock at her entrance. "Remember this feeling. Your first time sliding into a woman's cunt. Nothing else quite like it."
She sinks down slowly, and Jon has to bite his lip to keep from embarrassing himself again. She's impossibly hot and tight, wet walls gripping him like a silk fist. Every instinct screams at him to thrust up, to bury himself to the hilt, but he forces himself to let her set the pace.
"Good boy," Ross praises, fully seated now. "You can move when I do. Match my rhythm."
She starts slow, rising up until just the tip remains inside before sliding back down. Jon watches where they're joined, mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing into her body. When she speeds up, he matches her, lifting his hips to meet each downward stroke.
"How does it feel?" Ross asks, voice breathy with her own pleasure. "Tell me."
"Like... like coming home," Jon admits, then flushes at how foolish that sounds. "Like I was made for this. Made for you."
"Sweet talker." She leans forward, changing the angle in a way that makes them both gasp. "Touch me while I ride you. Remember what you learned."
Jon brings his thumb to her clit, circling the way she seemed to like with his tongue. The effect is immediate—Ross's rhythm falters, inner walls clenching around him.
"Fuck, you really do learn fast," she moans. "Harder. Make me come on your cock."
Jon increases the pressure, using his other hand to pluck at her nipples. The dual stimulation combined with the steady roll of her hips has Ross climbing quickly toward another peak. Jon can feel his own release building too, that familiar tightness in his balls.
"Together," Ross commands, reading his face. "Wait for me."
It's the hardest thing he's ever done, holding back his orgasm as Ross chases hers. But when she finally crests—back arching, cunt clamping down on him like a vice—Jon lets go with a roar. He spills inside her, cock pulsing as her walls milk him for everything he has.
They stay joined for a long moment, both panting. Then Ross lifts off him with a satisfied sigh, his seed dripping down her thighs.
"Not bad for your first time," she says, flopping beside him on the bed. "Though we'll need to work on your stamina."
"We?" Jon asks hopefully.
Ross laughs. "Oh, little wolf. The night's not over yet. Give it a few minutes and we'll see what else you can learn."
True to her word, after some lazy kissing and mutual exploration, Jon finds himself hardening again. This time, Ross positions herself on hands and knees, looking back at him over her shoulder.
"Take me from behind," she instructs. "And don't be gentle. You've been such a good listener—time to show me what the wolf can do when he's unleashed."
Hearing those words, a beast roared in his chest. He moves behind her, gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. When he thrust inside, it's not with the tentative care of before. This is claiming, conquering.
"Yes!" Ross cries out as he sets a punishing pace. "Fuck me, my lord!"
Jon does, all his careful control abandoned. He pounds into her with enough force to shake the bed, driven by instinct and need. One hand tangles in her red hair, pulling her head back. The arch of her spine is beautiful, submissive in a way that makes him feel powerful.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, surprising himself with the roughness of his voice. "The wolf unleashed?"
"Gods yes," Ross moans. "Knew you had it in you. That controlled exterior hiding something wild."
Jon releases her hair to grip both hips again, angling deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room along with their harsh breathing. He can feel Ross getting wetter, inner walls starting to flutter.
"Touch yourself," he commands, remembering her lessons. "Make yourself come on my cock."
Ross's hand flies to her clit, rubbing furiously as Jon continues his relentless pace. Within moments she's screaming her release, whole body shuddering. The rhythmic clenching of her cunt triggers Jon's own orgasm, and he buries himself deep as he empties inside her for the third time tonight.
They collapse together on the silk sheets, both thoroughly spent. Ross turns to look at him, green eyes bright with satisfaction and something like respect.
"Well," she says finally. "You're definitely not a boy anymore, Jon Flint."
Jon grins, pulling her against him. No, he thinks. Not a boy. And armed with far more dangerous weapons than just sword and dagger now.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence between the two of them, Jon leaned against his elbow to look down at her face resting on his chest.
"You mentioned men tell you things," Jon says. "What exactly did you mean?"
Ross stretches like a cat, the sheet slipping to reveal the curves he's just finished worshipping. "Curious little wolf. No more touching for now—you've had your fill. But we can talk."
"I'm listening."
"Men come here for different reasons," Ross begins, voice taking on a teacher's cadence. "Some want simple release—a quick fuck to scratch an itch. Others..." She trails off thoughtfully. "Others come because they're lonely. Because their wives won't touch them anymore, or because they've never learned how to talk to anyone without titles and formality getting in the way."
"And they talk to you?"
"Oh, sweetling, you have no idea how much they talk." Ross laughs, but there's something almost sad in it. "Lords and merchants, soldiers and sailors. They climb between our thighs and suddenly all their secrets come pouring out. Who they hate, who they fear, what deals they're planning, which rivals they want dead."
Jon's eyes narrowed slightly. "They trust you that much?"
"It's not about trust. It's about power—or the lack of it." She shifts to face him more fully. "When a man's cock is wet and his mind is empty, he feels safe. We're just whores, after all. What could we possibly do with their precious secrets?"
"Sell them," Jon says bluntly. "To the highest bidder."
"Clever boy." Ross's approval seems genuine. "Though it's more complex than that. Information is like wine—it spoils if you don't store it properly. And selling to the wrong buyer can get you killed just as quick as keeping your mouth shut."
Jon considers this. "So you collect it all. Sort through what's valuable, what's dangerous, what's merely interesting. Then you decide what to do with it."
"We're not spies," Ross says carefully, for the first time, her voice sounded like a warning. "We're... facilitators. Listeners. Sometimes a lord just needs to confess his sins to someone who won't judge. Sometimes..." She shrugs. "Sometimes what they tell us finds its way to interested parties."
"What do you know about me?" Jon asks, genuinely curious. "Before tonight, I mean."
Ross giggles—actually giggles, which seems at odds with her sophisticated demeanor. "Oh, my sweet wolf. You'd be surprised." She leans back against the pillows, clearly enjoying herself. "One of my girls entertained two Stark soldiers last week. After they finished, they wouldn't shut up about you."
Jon keeps his expression neutral, though his interest sharpens. "Oh?"
"Mm-hmm. Going on about how the legitimized Flint heir—had brought more coin to Wintertown than Lord Stark's taxes ever did. One of them, drunk on wine and cunt, actually said you were better than Robb Stark. More practical, more aware of common folk's struggles." She watches him carefully. "No reaction to that?"
"Should there be?" Jon asks evenly. "Drunk men say many things."
"So they do." Ross sits up, studying him with those sharp green eyes. "Tell me something, Jon Flint. Are you asking out of curiosity, or because you want something specific?"
Jon meets her gaze directly. "I want information. A steady flow of it. What's happening in Wintertown, what travelers are saying, what lords are planning." He pauses. "I'm willing to pay well for it."
Ross laughs, loud and delighted. "Straight to business! And here I thought we'd dance around it for another hour." She shifts closer, close enough that her breath ghosts across his skin. "Why should I help you? Your brother's upstairs getting his cock wet as we speak. He's the heir, not you."
Jon allows himself a small smile. "Robb's a good man. He'll rule with honor and justice, just like our father."
"But?"
"Honorable men bring honor," Jon says simply. "Men like me bring coin. New opportunities. Protection for those who might otherwise be overlooked." He gestures around the richly appointed room. "This place exists because men need what honor won't let them ask for. I understand that. Robb... doesn't."
"A pretty speech," Ross murmurs. She trails a finger down his chest, stopping just above his belt. "But speeches are just words. What exactly are you offering?"
"Gold, obviously. But more than that—influence. The candle guild was just the beginning. I have plans for Wintertown, ways to make it prosper that Lord Stark would never consider. Your establishment could benefit greatly from having an ally who understands... practical necessities."
Ross considers this, head tilted like a bird. "You're thirteen years old."
"Old enough to fuck," Jon points out crudely. "Old enough to think. Old enough to know that information wins more battles than swords."
"Dangerous thinking for a boy."
"I'm not a boy anymore." Jon lets some steel enter his voice. "We established that rather thoroughly tonight."
Ross's grin is sharp as a blade. "No, I suppose you're not." She shifts position, the sheet falling away entirely. "Very well, little wolf. I'll consider your proposal. But I have a condition."
"Name it."
Instead of answering immediately, Ross swings her leg over his lap, straddling him. Jon's body responds instantly despite his earlier exertions, cock hardening against his breeches.
"Ross," he says warningly. "I thought we were talking business."
"We are." She works his belt open with practiced fingers. "But I find negotiations go better when both parties are... properly motivated." She frees his cock, already fully hard. "Ahh, the recovery time of youth."
Before Jon can protest further, she sinks down onto him in one smooth motion. They both gasp—him at the unexpected sensation, her at the stretch.
"Fuck," Jon groans, hands flying to her hips. "Ross, what—"
"Shhh." She rocks slowly, adjusting to him again. "Here's my condition. I'll be your eyes and ears in Wintertown. I'll share what's worth sharing, keep you informed of anything that might threaten your interests."
She lifts up and slides back down, drawing a moan from both of them. "In exchange—ahh—you don't just pay me. You protect my girls. Any of them gets hurt, you make it right."
"Yes," Jon agrees immediately, though he's not sure if he's responding to her terms or the feeling of her clenching around him.
"And—oh fuck, right there—you come see me. Regularly." She increases her pace, breasts bouncing hypnotically. "Not just for information. For this."
"Why?" Jon manages to ask, even as pleasure clouds his thinking.
"Because—ahh—you're interesting. Because you made me come three times without being told exactly how." She leans forward, changing the angle in a way that makes them both moan. "Because I have a feeling you're going places, Jon Flint, and I want to enjoy the ride."
She punctuates this with a particularly hard slam of her hips, drawing a strangled sound from Jon's throat. His control, newly discovered, threatens to shatter under her skilled assault.
"Do we—fuck—do we have a deal?" Ross gasps, riding him with increasing desperation.
"Yes," Jon groans. "Yes, seven hells, yes."
"Good boy." She reaches between them to circle her pearl, just as he taught her. "Now stop thinking and fuck me properly."
Jon obeys, driving up to meet her downward strokes. The room fills with the sounds of their coupling—skin against skin, breathless moans, the creak of the bed. When Ross throws her head back with a cry of release, Jon follows her over, spilling inside her for the fourth time tonight.
They collapse together, breathing hard. After a moment, Ross climbs off him with a satisfied sigh.
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership," she says, already reaching for the washcloths.
Jon can only nod, mind spinning with the implications of what he's just agreed to. He's secured an information network, yes, but also entangled himself with someone far more dangerous than a simple whore.
Worth it, he decides, watching Ross clean herself with efficient movements. Information is worth any price.
"Same time next month?" Ross asks innocently.
"Sooner," Jon says, surprising himself. "Much sooner."
Her smile promises secrets and pleasure in equal measure. "I'll be waiting, my clever wolf."
Three hours later, Jon walks with his brother back to Winterfell, and he is smiling. Ross might think she was able to get the better deal, but soon, she would be dependent on him, not the other way around...
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