They were both alone, and he, the huge fearsome warrior, was the one that felt uneasy, insecure and at a disadvantage in front of her, a woman who sold her body. He had told her to undress and she had complied but, fully clothed as he was while she stood naked as her nameday, she seemed the one in control and he, the one out of place.
Gods, he needed to feel good! He wanted to feel those breasts filling his hands, he also wanted to enjoy her luscious body, all her body now in display for his hungry eyes, just as he had demanded . He had lit a couple of candles but,for once, the candlelight didn't seem enough. She turned round for him to contemplate her nakedness from every angle, swaying her hips while she turned slowly. Her breasts seemed to rise and fall with her every move, with her every breath, heavy and a bit too large for her slender midrif and specially for that tiny waist that contrasted with the generous hips it expanded into. He looked at her buttocks with increasing hunger; like her breasts, they were a bit too large, if compared with the slight beauties the songs and paintings favoured as ideal, but they appealed to his taste, far more than the flat chests and skinny backsides of ethereal beauties.
Uneasy he might feel but he was no coward and he wanted her very much, so he approached her from behind and embraced her, molding her curvaceous form to his, so big and poweful it dwarfed her, despite her height above average, her long legs and her generous curves. She looked tiny in his arms and shivered when his left hand cupped her breast at the same time as his fingers caressed her rounded hip to go lower, making her gasp in anticipation, hold her breath, and then release it in a helpless moan when she felt them where she was already craving his touch.
She felt him nibling her earlobe while he fondled her breast and caressed her between her legs, teasing her inmensely, still neglecting her core. But it was better this way because if he touched her there she would... 'Oh! Gods!' she cried out, because he had just pressed his thumb against her most sensitive spot and, encouraged by her reaction, continued rubbing and pinching and then circling her flesh, thus making her lose all semblance of control.
'Mmmmm. You like it, little whore? Like me fingers there?You are dripping already...I want to take you... now ... and your cunt seems ready for me.
Without another word he lifted her in his arms and took her to the bed where he dropped her on the mattress.
His eyes intent on the triangle of red curls between her legs, he undid the front of his breeches and was about to release his manhood when she sat up and cried 'No, not like this' ' I'll do anything and everything you wish tonight but only if we are just a man and a woman, not a thug and a whore, just a man and a woman giving and taking pleasure.
His eyes were angry when they lifted to hers.
'Don't play with me, woman. You seemed more than ready and liking very much everything I did to you.'
She covered her nakedness with the rumpled sheet and shook her head. Without his wicked fingers making her body weak with desire she could think more clearly and she wanted more from him, everything she could get.
'I'm not playing, I'm being serious, Clegane. Do not call me whore again. Call me anything but that. I have a name, you know. Back in the nort I was named Rose, call me by my given name, or wench, lass, woman... '
He scoffed a derisive laughter. Hell, he was nasty when he wanted to.
'Don't tell me you want me to call you sweetheart ... or love.'He laughed again, a harsh and scornful laugh. 'That's funny, the little harlot wants my endearmens... Woman ,you're pathetic... and I thought I was a wretch, now look at you...'
He was laughing so hard his eyes began to water but she was dead serious, she really meant her every word. She felt like Rosie again, the prettiest lass in her village, and the prettiest in town as well. All the men wanted the fire between her legs, and she had fire there then, she did, and she had ambition too and too many foolish dreams in her head. Fire and foolishness lead her to the life she now had. Her dreams had come to nothing and her fire had turned into ashes. Pretty Rosie was no more than a whore now and she had nearly forgotten her childhood name and her fire, or her pride. But now she had found this man who made her heart clench and her blood boil again. He would never be hers but she could pretend that he was for a few hours that might be her last or his, or perhaps both.
She would have him, body and soul, and for a few hours, she would feel like her old self one more time, and then, if she had the chance, she woud head north again, somewhere up north where nobody remembered her past, and there she would work to regain her worth, and maybe get a future, and a man she could call hers.
She got up and faced him, fully naked but not teasing, no games, no playing there.
You may laugh all you like,Clegane, but never call me whore again. I don't need endearments from you but it's stupid of you to save them for someone you'll never have, who will never hear them.
'What the hell are you talking about...you wh...?'
'Call me that and I'll leave. You can count on that, dog... '
He looked murderous when he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, making her breasts heave as he shook her body. She was suddenly afraid that she had gone too far and made him too angry but she wanted it to happen her way or none at all, so she risked his anger and violence by goading him more. She sensed he was decent, deep down, that he wouldn't hit her or rape her, but she hardly knew him. She did not know what he was capable of doing.
He inhaled once, twice and then pushed her towards the bed again and made her sit on it, as he sank on his knees and captured one of her nipples with his lips , he suckled it while he fondled her other breast, learning from her physical reactions what she liked and how she wanted it. She feared then that she could do anything for him, even if he called her whore and treated her like one, if that was what he wanted.
Somewhat reluctantly, she pushed him from her chest, and tried to make him listen to her and let her think clearly, but he grunted, grabbed her breast again and and continued suckling it.
She made him stop again and he looked at her without understanding what was wrong.
'You want me to stop? I thought you liked me to touch and caress them and I like it too.'
'And I do, but I want something else from you.' she answered breathlessly.'You have seen me naked, now I want to see your body too. Take your clothes off so that I can see you.'
'That's not neccessary... we can...'
' But I like your body and I couldn' t enjoy it the way I wanted that blasted night you threw me out of your bed and your room. Take all your clothes off and let me see you, I want to see you well, all of you.
'Hell, want to mock me? I'm ugly as sin.
'It's your body I want to see and I liked what I saw that night, very much. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that body of yours. If the women in Kings Landing knew what you're hiding under those shabby garments, you would spend far fewer lonely nights.
That made him angry, he did not believe her and thought she was mocking him. His old wounds were deep, and the ones of the soul run deeper than the physical ones. Mistrust and suspicion were already a part of him, as much as his scars. So, she approached him and kissed him, undoing his tunic as she kissed and touched him. He let her have her way and though she felt him still tense and suspicious, he gave in and let her undress him until he was completely exposed.
Suddenly, she ended the kiss and looked at him, at every inch of his body.
'You know what? You have a beautiful body. No, no. Don't look at me that way, it's beautiful, manly, powerful and extremely arousing for a woman to look at, to feel, to touch. Stand up and bring the candles nearer, I want to see your muscles ripple as you move, those tight buttocks and your strong legs... and your sword, that longsword of yours...
What you hide can make a woman's mouth water, so let me see what you deny yourself and everyone else, oh yes, come here now.'
And he did what she asked from him, but before he came back to her he took a long draught of wine. Her eyes roamed his body with something akin to hunger, and he didn't care if everything was a lie as long as she kept looking at him like that, like women looked at other men, but never him. Him, they didn't even look at. He knew everything must be a lie but that redhead lied very well; not enough, though. A dog could smell the truth and no amount of cheap perfume could deceive him. They both stank of failure, misery and disappointment.
However, he lay in bed next to her and let her kiss him long and hard. They touched each other, he took her and let her ride him, just as she had said she would. He had more pleasure in one night than he had had in years and gave pleasure as he had never done before, but when she made him look into her blue eyes as he reached his climax, she knew he was not with her, that his heart ached even as he took her, even as he came. And she felt sorry for him and for herself, because she could have loved him and ease his pain and hers, but it was too late. He was lost to her and she would never reach him, not even when he was inside her. She felt like crying but had forgotten how to cry, long, long ago.