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    Summary

    “Sandor!” Sansa giggled, as he pulled her flush against him. She thrilled at how small he made her feel with the crown of her head barely gracing his shoulder, and his heavy arm draped across her slim waist.

    She wore one of his favorite creations; her gown a rich emerald color, with sleeping hounds and yellow daisies embroidered across the flared skirt. Fur-trimmed the end of her sleeves and the round neckline of her bodice, yet Sansa confessed that he kept her warmer than her gowns ever could. “Anyone could see us – “she whispered.

    Sandor snorted, as he moved to cover her frame with his own. He could care less about an idle servant seeing his bare arse or the marks that her scrabbling fingers left behind.  “Bugger anyone that tries.”

    Her lip curved into a pout; the kind she knew drove him mad. “They could still hear us – "

    “Aye, Princess, they could.” Sandor rasped. The first time they’d coupled, he found what a screamer she could be. She was a wolf clad in fine lace in his bed, one with sharp claws and gentle words. "I'll keep you quiet."

    Heavy canon-divergence | A wolf beds a hound, over and over again.

    Language:
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