A second round is needed

Jon kept his hands on her hips a moment longer, feeling the quiet readiness of the power swelling within him.

“That is enough,” Jon opted said.

Those dark eyes of Mordane's moved over his face, lingering on the set of his mouth, the tightness still held in his jaw. A slow breath left her. She leaned in without speaking, lips brushing his once, twice, then settling more firmly. The kiss stayed soft at first, almost careful, before her mouth opened against his and her tongue traced the seam of his lips in a single, unhurried stroke. One hand came up to cradle the side of his neck, thumb resting against his pulse. She did not pull away until the rigid line of his shoulders had begun to loosen under her touch.

Then she moved, clearly Mordane was not finished,

Rising off of him just far enough that the cold air kissed the place where they had been joined, she sank back down in one smooth, deliberate motion. This time the joining was different. It was less careful, more certain. Her body already knew the shape of him. She took him deeper on the first stroke and set a steadier pace, hips rolling with quiet purpose while her hands braced on his shoulders.

Jon’s breath left him in a rough sigh as he gave up any thought of taking control. He let Mordane work, let the slow, insistent rhythm pull the last of the sharp edge from his thoughts. The ruined tower around them faded to background the cold stone, the broken shutters, the distant wind. Until all that remained was only the heat of her, the soft sounds she made against his neck, and the way her inner walls tightened and released in time with each rise and fall.

Mordane’s forehead stayed pressed to his. Her voice came low between breaths.

“Stay with me. Just this.” After saying those words she kissed him, her mouth open and unhurried, tasting him deeply while her hips never lost their measured rhythm. The second climax gathered slower than the first, a deep, rolling pressure that tightened her around him by degrees. When it finally took her she did not cry out, instead a long, shaking breath left her instead, body locking hard and rhythmic around his cock as she kept moving through every wave, deliberately milking him, offering every clench as both pleasure and solace.

The relentless pull dragged him after her. Jon’s hands tightened on her waist. He thrust up hard once, twice, burying himself as deep as he could go, and emptied into her with a low, broken sound that was half relief and half surrender. She held him through it, still moving in small, coaxing circles, taking everything he gave while her mouth stayed soft against his, whispering wordless devotion into the kiss.

Holding Jon there through it, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, cheek against his temple, until the last pulse faded.

Only then did Mordane ease off him. Seed slicked the insides of her thighs as she settled beside him on the fallen stone. Her skirts remained bunched at her waist. She made no move to fix them. One hand rested lightly on his bare forearm, thumb moving in small, absent circles.

Jon sat with his back against the cold masonry, breath still uneven. The fear of what he might do to Robb or Arya or the younger boys had not disappeared, but the immediate pressure of it had lessened. For a short while the silence felt almost clean.

Mordane leaned her head against his shoulder. She did not speak again. She simply stayed there, warm and present, while the wind moved through the broken stones above them and the light in the ruined tower slowly shifted toward afternoon.