Push your luck

Prissy, gullible, slut, you sneer.

No one was around - the other Stark women having left - and the corridor was empty. Your grip on her hand strengthens, and you **** it behind her back.

She gasps in surprise as your other hand you place over her mouth, your gentle application of pressure forces her backwards against the cold stone wall.

"You know what," you say, feigning absentmindedness, "I think I deserve a proper thank you for sorting this argument out, sister."

She mumbles against your hand.

"What was that? I can't quite hear you." You let her arm behind her back go, but the **** you're applying on her keeps her hand trapped there. You make no move to allow her to speak. "Be a good girl, and let me take my thanks from you."