Waking
Sansa’s cuddled up to a pillow, dreaming. She feels a nibble at her shoulder, a soft sweet gnawing at her skin. Her eyes open in the half-dark of the room, and Ser Jaime comes into focus; skin still damp and soft from the shower, his golden hair mussed, his scent of honey and spices intoxicating. Sansa breathes in with pleasure, leaning towards him, trying to drag him back to bed, to come and keep her warm.
Ser Jaime puts a finger to her lips. “Good morning, sweetest girl.” He grins, feeling Sansa smile under his finger, feels himself stiffen--but that’s for later. “Time to wake up. We’re going to go have breakfast and let our Lady sleep. She needs it.” He looks over tenderly to Cersei, asleep on her back, a black satin mask covering her emerald eyes, her hair fanning out in golden rays over the huge white pillow. Ser Jaime brushes his fingers to his lips, blows his sister a gentle kiss.
He hugs Sansa, her nude white body warm against his black cashmere sweater, strokes her hair. Sansa lifts up to kiss him, warm, slow and sweet, like morning light filling their bodies. She tugs. Ser Jaime chuckles softly. “Not now, sweetling. Come on, I’ve drawn you a bath.” Sansa somehow gets out of bed without grumbling and yawning, walks over to the bathroom, bright with light, the rich sweetness of honeyed bubbles in the tub. Ser Jaime knows her favorite bath treats by now.
Ser Jaime groans inwardly, thinking of Sansa’s nude body, ivory in the black room, hips, curves, perfect rounded ass. Later. He taps softly on the door and whispers.
“I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t be late.”
***
Ser Jaime’s been resting languidly on the lobby couch, his caramel cashmere coat thrown over his morning ensemble, idly thumbing through a magazine; Coit Tower, cable cars, Fisherman’s Wharf. He supresses a sigh, thinking that their pride has far lovelier sights to see. He looks up to see Sansa, radiant in a vintage ivory beaded sweater, black kitten heels, white stockings
and a red plaid kilt, clipped with a golden pin.
His mouth waters.
Sansa grins inwardly, flashing him a gentle smile, lowering her eyes in deference.
Ser Jaime comes to take her arm, kiss her good morning again, checking with a tiny squeeze to see if she’s wearing panties.
She’s not.
“Good girl.” he purrs in her ear, then wraps her in her warm black wool jacket.
She takes his arm and they go to the car.
***
“Little. Minx.” he breathes hotly in her ear, both of them pressed together in the back seat. “Plaid skirt. Naughty, naughty girl. Are you trying to get me to drag you into an alley?” Sansa’s sapphire eyes sparkle from her lowered glance.
She nods yes.
“I see.” Ser Jaime growls into her ear.
Sansa leans over to whisper back in his ear. “See what?” Her voice is all bubblegum laced with champagne, innocence wanting to be defiled and gods, it’s making him so hard. He can feel her smile against his ear, the searing heat of her breath. “Daddy.”
Ser Jaime reaches under her skirt, fixes her with a look that she knows means to keep still and quiet. Looking ahead he calmly pinches her upper thigh, as he admires the painted Victorian houses along the route. Sansa breathes softly, lowly, easing herself on to the edge of the pain, she knows it’s going to bruise. Ser Jaime feels her tremble, then adds fingernails, digging them in, clawing his little cub to remind her he’s in charge. Sansa’s sitting perfectly still, past the edge to the point where it’s all sensation, sparkling like bubbles in her blood, making her insides melt. With one final press she closes her eyes, trembles like a tree in the wind, so quietly all Ser Jaime feels is a gentle flutter as she still looks perfectly still. Then she lays her head on his shoulder, still quivering softly, feeling like she’s illuminated inside herself, slick cunt to shimmering spine to the pleasure blossoming in and out at the crown of her head, dizzied and sweet. Sansa presses her nose to Ser Jaime’s coat, inhales deeply, tender as a kiss.
Ser Jaime smiles, kissing her forehead. “My sin, my soul. Light of my life, fire of my loins.” He knows it makes Sansa squirm and it does. He wraps his arm around her. “I thought you didn’t like to read.” she whispers sleepily and sweetly. “ Ser Jaime grins, the morning sunlight catching golden fire in his hair. “True. However, there are books I’ll make an effort for.” Sansa kisses his shoulder, nuzzling.
“Like Daddy’s Ravaged Princess?” she whispers teasingly, remembering the lurid paperback she’d found in his glove drawer when she’d run up to get a pair for him.
(Sansa remembers the gloves were the oxblood leather with the delicate stitching and very kissable fingertips. She smiles, recalling the taste on her tongue.)
Ser Jaime fixes her with a stern look.
“Yes. Exactly like that. And if you’re not good, it won’t be your bedtime story.”
“I’ll be good, Ser.”she murmurs, nuzzling his coat, thinking of the pleasure of her Ser reading to her at night, things that make her gasp and squeal and cuddle her pillows.
“Good.” he smiles back. “Now then. We’re almost to breakfast. We’ll need to eat well, and keep up our strength. Lots to do, lots to talk about.”