Alaric moved across the room toward the bed, the "Little Dove" mask finally cracking. What remained was a woman who looked less like a refined hostess and more like someone starving for a kiss she was supposed to pretend she didn't want. He didn't offer a courteous hand. He slung a heavy arm around her waist and dragged her tight against him, forcing her to bear his weight—a pressure she'd learned to crave during the long, quiet months up North.
Her warmth hit him like a spark against the damp chill of the Keep. Her hair, in the uneven glow of the lamp, looked like embers spreading across the pillows. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing the bed, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her throat with a blunt brazen certainty that asked for nothing.
His voice had dropped to a rough low rasp; his breath brushed the hair by her ear as he leaned in. "So," he murmured, the roughness of his thumb dragging hard along her jaw. "Am I free to do whatever I want with you tonight?"
Sansa didn't pull away. She surged up to meet him, her fingers curling into his hair to drag him down to her level. In that moment, the courtly mask fell away, her voice breaking as she spoke against his skin.
"Whatever you wish, my knight," she breathed. Her back lifted from the furs, her hips pressing toward him in a way that was far from ladylike. "Forget the 'Little Dove.' Just… make me yours. Treat me like a prize you won."
Her small, trembling hand slid down to find him. The grip was steadier than he expected, a sharp, knowing glint in her eyes as she looked up through her lashes. "If I use my mouth… would that help you forget who I am?"
Alaric's breathing hitched as she moved. She didn't hesitate, her tongue tracing the length before she took him in. Her face flushed a deep, bruised crimson, her eyes watering from the intensity of it, but she worked with a frantic, worshipful intensity. She didn't look away once, her eyes fixed on the way his jaw clenched shut and his knuckles turned white on the sheets.
When she finally released him, he was more than ready. Alaric pulled her up by her thighs, holding her wrists over her head. She was left lying there, completely exposed, her face flushed with the realization of what she was asking for.
When he pushed his cock deep into her pussy, the friction was blunt and staggering. Though she was eager, she was small, her body tense against the hard, thick invasion of his dick. He didn't hurry; he took a slow, heavy pressure, forcing his way past her tight entrance with a deliberate, punishing weight. Sansa's eyes snapped shut, her teeth biting into her lip until she drew blood, her body shaking as she tried to hold herself together against the blunt force of him filling her completely.
System, Alaric called out internally, his eyes darting towards the corner of his vision. Spend Mp. Soundproof the room. A faint, distorted shimmer danced through the air, encasing the bed in a dead zone of silence. Sansa, unaware of the shield, struggled to stifle her cries. Noticing her, Alaric's lips twisted into a cruel smile. When she whispered for him to slow down, he didn't even notice. He simply held her wrists down harder and began to thrust into her with powerful strokes.
The impact was visceral, the sound of his pelvis thudding against her backside echoing through the room. Alaric didn't hold back, his hands digging into her hips to anchor her as he began a relentless, driving rhythm.
Sansa's head thrashed against the pillows, her voice catching in her throat before breaking into a series of high-pitched, desperate moans. "Ah… n-no… Alaric—nngh!"
The sensation of him stretching her pussy to the limit with every lunging thrust was overwhelming. She was slick and swollen, every inch of her interior screaming as his thick cock ground against her walls. Each time he bottomed out, she let out a choked, shaky sob that dissolved into a long, needy moan, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets.
He was ruthless, his weight pressing her down as he rammed himself into her without mercy. The friction was building into a white-hot heat, and despite her fear, her body betrayed her, her pussy clenching tightly around his dick with every rhythmic strike.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice a ragged mess of pleasure and panic as she felt him pushing deeper than before. "A-ah!... I can't... nghh... Alaric!"
The cry she let out was swallowed by the magical silence of the room. Her back arched like a bow, her heels digging into the furs as his thick cock stretched her pussy to its absolute limit. Alaric reached forward, tangling his fingers in her hair to yank her head back, forcing her to endure a fierce, bruising kiss while he pounded into her from behind.
He didn't hold back, hitting her with a heavy, blunt force that shook the entire frame of the bed. Sansa was bent double, her fingers clawing at the sheets as his dick hit her cervix again and again. Each thrust sent a fresh jolt through her, her body vibrating under the sheer impact of his weight. She was a mess of needy, broken moans, her voice cracking as she sobbed out, "Ah! God... Alaric, please... nghhh!"
The pressure built—a hard, throbbing heat at the base of his spine. He didn't pull out. He anchored her hips, his knuckles turning white as he buried his entire length to the hilt. With a final, violent surge, he let out a low, guttural growl, shooting his warm cum deep inside her as her pussy walls clamped around his dick in a desperate, shaking rhythm.
"Nnngh... ahhh!" Sansa gasped, her body twitching as she took the full weight of his release.
They collapsed into the furs, the only sound the ragged, desperate rasp of their breathing. Alaric rolled away, his skin cooling as the sweat began to dry in the early morning air. Beside him, Sansa lay limp on her stomach, her hair a tangled red shroud across her back. Between her thighs, his cum began to leak out of her pussy, pooling and staining the dark furs beneath her.
After a few minutes, Alaric propped himself up on one elbow. His gaze was still dark; the hunger wasn't gone, just dampened.
"Get up," he commanded, his voice a low vibration in the quiet. "I'm not finished with you yet."
Sansa stirred, her limbs feeling like lead, heavy with a bone-deep soreness. She pushed herself onto her knees, her eyes glazed and distant. As she moved, she reached down, her fingers grazing her own aching, swollen pussy; she brought them to her lips, tasting herself and his fading heat with a dazed, worshipful look that bordered on delirium.
She crawled toward him, her movements slow and deliberate, her small hands closing around his cock as he began to thicken again. She leaned down, her tongue tracing the crown before she took his dick deep into her throat, working with a frantic intensity that brought tears to her eyes.
When his control finally snapped, Alaric's hand knotted in her hair, tilting her head back to hold the angle. He buckled, a guttural grunt escaping him as he spent himself, shooting his cum down her throat. Sansa choked slightly but swallowed hard, meeting his demanding gaze the whole time. As he pulled back, she reached up to wipe a stray, pearly bead of his seed from her lip, licking her finger clean with a slow, focused stare.
He gave her no time to recover. Hauling her upright, he flipped her over and pinned her legs back against her chest, exposing her wet, red pussy. Throughout the rest of the night, the room became a blur of friction and sweat. He took her in every way he could think of—shoving his cock into her while she was folded over the edge of the bed, pinning her against the biting cold of the stone wall as he pounded her pussy, and straddling her until her legs went completely numb.
As the first gray light of dawn started to bleed through the window slits, Alaric finally slumped back against the headboard. Sansa collapsed onto his chest, her skin slick and her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches. She was completely spent, her body marked by the night—her pussy swollen and red, and her skin covered in a mess of their sweat and his cum dripping onto the ruined sheets.
He ran a hand through her hair, looking down at the girl he had spent the last several hours breaking. The courtly lady was gone. There was only the heavy scent of salt and sex, and the total, hollow exhaustion of the morning.
As her mind began to clear, the silence of the room started to feel heavy—wrong. She remembered the way she had screamed—the way her voice must have carried through the Tower. Panic, born of years of hiding and survival, flickered in her eyes.
"Why are you shaking, Little Dove?" Alaric's voice was a low rumble against her ear.