Do you want me?

Their lips touch, hers slowly moving while his don’t move at all. She brings her other hand up, firmly holding his face to hers, and, finally, he kisses her back. He drags his hands from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her blanket from her body. Her hands move to the nape of his neck.

 

It is only when she touches his bottom lip with her tongue that Jon breaks away.

 

“No,” he says, moving to the opposite side of the room, his back to her. “No. This is wrong.” Sansa moves towards him.

 

“Do you want me?” She touches his forearm, but he refuses to face her. “Jon, look at me. Please.” He turns his head, shame shrouding his face.

 

“We shouldn’t do this.”

 

“I don’t care.” She leans up and kisses him. “If you want me, then take me.” He stands, unmoving. “Do you want me, Jon?”

 

“Gods, yes.”

 

He reaches for her, latching his mouth onto hers. They don’t kiss as they did before; this is vicious and biting and hurts but feels good at the same time. He bends, taking ahold of her thighs and hoists her up. Sansa wraps her legs around Jon and he moves to her bed. He lays her down, and she pulls him on top of her.

 

Once they rid each other of their clothes, Jon sat back on his haunches.

 

“Jon-” Sansa said, feeling heat and anticipation deep within her.

 

“Shh. I just want to look at you.” His rough hands lightly trail down her body; rounding the corner of her breast, going down the flair of her hips, stopping at her calves. He places a hand on each leg and pushes them slightly apart. Sansa gasps, feeling the cold air hit her wetness.

 

Jon move back up her body, capturing her lips and pressing his tongue against her own. He kisses across her cheek and places wet kisses on her neck and collarbone. He kisses each breast, covers each nipple with his tongue, hears her soft gasps and moans. He kisses down her stomach, looking up at her face. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open.

 

When she feels his breath ghost over her most intimate place, Sansa looks down at Jon. Their eyes meet.

 

“Has anyone ever done this to you?” he asks.

 

“No.” she rasps out, voice husky with desire. “But I am not a maiden.”

 

He parts her legs more and gives her one final look before lowering his head. When Sansa feels his tongue touch her, she reaches out, grabbing a handful of his hair, and lets out a moan.

 

Fire shoots up and down her body and the small of her back tingles with pleasure. Jon continues, licking and sucking, and Sansa’s breathing gets heavier. He holds her hips down and she tries not the buck up, but her legs begin to shake, and she knows she’s close.

 

He flicks his tongue over her small bundle of nerves, over and over and over again, until she feels her inner muscles jumping and yanks hard on his hair and arches her back, letting out a choked cry of ‘Jon’.

 

He presses a kiss to her thigh as she tries to regain her breath. He moves up and covers her body with his. He moves her hair out of her face, stroking her cheek. She pulls his head down, opening his mouth with her tongue, and she can taste herself on him. She feels him hard against her stomach and moves her hand down to take him in her hand. Jon moans into her mouth. He covers her hand with his, helping her lazily move up and down his length.

 

Finally, he pushes her hand away and positions himself at her entrance. He looks down at her, eyes searching, asking ‘Do we still want this?’ Sansa answers by wrapping her legs around his hips and pushing him into her.

 

They both gasp, and Jon pauses for a moment, trying to get used to the feeling of Sansa, of how wet and tight she is.

 

He starts moving his hips.

 

He buries his face in her neck and his breath is torturous against her overly sensitive skin. She moves her arms up his back, digging her nails into his skin when he hits a particular spot.

 

He starts to move faster and harder and Sansa can hear the small whimpers escaping from him. He moves his hand between them, rubbing her swollen bud, causing her to reach her peak with a muffled cry and he follows soon after, tensing up and groaning into her hair. She feels the warmth of his seed inside her.

 

They’re both shaking when he rests his head on her breast, breathing hard. She smooths his hair away from his face, running her fingers through the locks.

 

“Do you still want me to leave?” She asks, sweat cooling on her forehead.

 

“No,” he says, kissing the side of her breast. “We are the last wolves. We stay together. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

 

“Didn’t Father used to say that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Outside the wind howls.