She paused, a shy but fierce light dancing in her blue eyes as she realized her protests were falling on deaf ears. "Since you clearly won't leave, I suppose we have no choice but to..."
She trailed off, her face flushing a deep crimson as she reached out to toy with the collar of his leather jerkin. A mischievous, regal tilt returned to her chin, the persona of the highborn lady flickering back to life even as she stood in his arms.
"You should be honored, Alaric Thorne," she teased softly, her breath ghosting against his lips. "To have a Lady like myself risk everything for a brute who climbs through windows. I expect you to remember your manners, even if you have forgotten your fear."
Alaric didn't give her the chance to finish her teasing rebuke. He moved with a sudden, fluid grace, his large hands shifting from her waist to her shoulders as he pinned her firmly against the cold stone wall of her chamber.
The breath left Sansa's lungs in a soft gasp, her head hitting the masonry with a dull thud that was muffled by the thickness of her copper hair. Before she could mutter another word about manners, Alaric claimed her lips in a fierce, bruising kiss that tasted of the midnight air and unyielding possession.
Sansa's back arched instinctively against the stone, her fingers knotting frantically into the dark strands of his hair as she fought to keep her feet. He was relentless, his mouth leaving hers only to trail a path of searing heat down the column of her throat.
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, his rough stubble grazing her pale skin before his teeth nipped playfully at her collarbone. A broken, needy moan bubbled up in Sansa's throat, but she bit her lower lip until it bled, remembering her own warning about Septa Mordane.
Her heart hammered against his leather jerkin like a trapped bird as Alaric's hands wandered lower, his palms mapping the curves of her hips through the heavy sky-blue velvet.
Alaric broke the contact with the stone wall, the heat of his body the only shield Sansa had against the freezing draft of the room. He didn't let her recover her breath, sweeping her off her feet with a surge of strength that made her copper hair spill wildly across his leather-clad arms.
He moved to the feather mattress, and the bed groaned under the sudden weight as he laid her back against the furs and silk pillows.
"Alaric, the noise—" she hissed, her face a mask of scandalized heat as the ancient wood frame let out a sharp, rhythmic creak.
He ignored the warning, his eyes dark with a hunger that made her poetry and courtly lessons seem like children's fables. His hands, calloused and firm, slid beneath the heavy sky-blue velvet of her bedgown. With a sudden, possessive movement, he unfastened the silk sash and pulled the layers of white linen away from her hips.
As the warm air of the hearth was replaced by the bite of the midnight air hitting her skin, Sansa flinched. Exposed before his unwavering gaze, she instinctively tried to hide herself, her wool-clad ankles hooking together as she pressed her legs tightly together to shield her privacy from his predatory focus.
"Don't hide, Little Dove," Alaric rasped, his voice a low vibration she felt deep in her chest.
He reached out, his large hands settling on her thighs with an iron grip that brooked no refusal. With firm, deliberate strength, he pried her legs apart, opening her to the amber light of the fire.
The sight of her—the soft, pinkish skin of her most intimate core finally revealed—made Alaric's breath hitch in his throat.
Sansa let out a soft, broken sound of total defeat. Overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment and the sheer boldness of the man she had loved in shadows, she threw her hands up, hiding her burning face behind her palms in a fit of frantic embarrassment.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she waited.
Alaric did not leave her to wither in her embarrassment. He moved downward, his large frame casting a shadow over her that blocked out the flickering hearthlight as he positioned himself between her trembling thighs.
Sansa's hands remained clamped over her face, her fingers digging into her temples as she felt the humid heat of his breath against her most sensitive skin.
When his tongue finally made contact, tracing the delicate, pinkish folds with a slow, deliberate stroke, Sansa's entire body jolted off the mattress. A sharp, needy sound escaped her throat, and she frantically bit down on the meat of her palm to keep the noise from echoing beyond the heavy oak door.
He was relentless, his tongue mimicking the rhythmic "clack-shush" of the training yard, driving her toward a ledge far higher than the Broken Tower.
Sansa's back arched into a bow, her copper hair tangling in the furs as the tension in her core snapped. She came with a muffled, broken cry, her legs locking around his head as she sought purchase in the storm. Alaric didn't pull back; he drank her in, accepting the mark of her climax across his face like a warrior accepting a blessing.
As she collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air, Alaric lunged upward to reclaim her lips. He kissed her fiercely, his mouth sliding over hers with a predatory grin.
Sansa's eyes fluttered open, widening as she tasted the salt and sweetness of her own release on his tongue. It was the ultimate education.
Alaric didn't let the silence of her recovery last, his hands moving with a fluid, predatory grace back to her upper body. Though her lower half was exposed to the firelight, she still wore the heavy, sky-blue velvet bedgown, now bunched and wrinkled around her waist.
Alaric leaned over her, his large, calloused hands sliding upward to settle over the swell of her chest. Through the thick velvet and the fine white linen shift beneath, he found the hard, sensitive peaks of her breasts.
He began to play with them, his thumbs circling and rolling the tight buds with a possessive strength that made Sansa's breath hitch once more.
Alaric shifted his weight, his large frame casting a shadow over Sansa that blocked out the flickering hearthlight as he moved to finish what he had started. His large, calloused hands moved with a fluid, predatory grace, sliding beneath the heavy sky-blue velvet of her bedgown and the fine white linen shift beneath.
With a sudden, firm movement, he pushed the fabric upward, sliding the layers of fine clothing past the swell of her chest to reveal her fully to the amber glow of the fire.
The firelight danced over her, revealing her perfect shape and the hard, pink peaks of her breasts that were now fully exposed to the freezing midnight air. Alaric leaned down, his face pressing into the soft dip of her cleavage, the heat of his breath soaking into her pale skin.
He hovered there for a heartbeat, his dark eyes tracing every curve with an unyielding confidence that made Sansa's breath hitch in her throat.
...