Surprisingly Sandra

Jon shifted amid the tangled silks, his gaze drifting to Sandra where she lingered in the chamber's shadowed corner.

Her storm-grey eyes held steady on him, unblinking through the haze of candle smoke, her armoured shoulders rising and falling in measured breaths while the others circled closer with restless touches and whispers.

She made no move to join them, her gauntleted hands clasped loose at her belt, the quiet weight of her presence cutting through the room's fever like a cool blade.

At twenty-eight namedays, she bore a year's edge over Tyra's fresh twenty-seven, her patience etched in the faint lines at her eyes' corners—a flame banked low but burning true, one that called to him now, insistent and deserving of air.

"Sandra," he said, voice low and commanding,

At his words Sandra drew nearer at his call, the flawless side of her face's skin blooming with a rush of colour that spread from her cheeks to her throat like spilled wine on parchment.

He extended a hand, voice dropping to a low, commanding rumble. "Come to me. You've waited long enough—it's your turn."

Chainmail sighed faintly as she stepped from the wall's shadow, her tall frame shifting with a subtle grace that belied the steel encasing it.

Humility flickered across her features—a rare veil over her usual intensity—as she shook her head once, gaze falling to the floorboards scarred by years of boots.

"Lord Snow," she said, her rough voice threading deference through each word, "one of the ladies should go first—higher born, deserving. And I'm still in this steel; it'd take time to shed it all."

Jon felt the power surge, under him or within him, **** to come to the surface, he indulged it.

"You and Jaime were able to get out of your armour and clothes earlier while I fucked the Queen."

The air twisted in response, shimmering with an electric haze that raised gooseflesh on every exposed inch of skin in the room.

Sandra's plate began to unravel first—a soft, metallic sigh escaping the buckles as they popped open one by one, the steel pauldrons sliding from her broad shoulders like a lover's hands retreating after a stolen caress.

Chainmail links parted in a whispering cascade, slithering down her toned arms and over the swell of her heavy breasts, the cool metal grazing her hardening nipples before pooling at her feet in a tangled heap that left her tall, scarred body bare and glistening in the firelight, thighs parting slightly as if inviting the warmth to explore their taut curves.

Jaime followed in the same breath, her white cloak dissolving into mist, the remaining straps and fabrics unwinding with a teasing slowness, peeling away to reveal lithe muscles honed by battle, skin flushed pink as her full breasts bounced free, nipples peaking in the heated air, her hips swaying unconsciously as the last scraps vanished, leaving her exposed and aching, curves begging for touch.

Jon watched, pulse quickening, the power's afterglow pulsing through him like molten rivers carving paths in ancient rock.

A flush crept across Sandra's cheeks, deepening to a fiery crimson that trailed down her neck and bloomed over the swell of her chest like heat from a forge.

Storm-grey eyes widened, flickering first to the bare expanse of her skin—muscles honed sharp by years of steel, heavy breasts rising with each shallow inhale—then lifting back to Jon, locking with his in a gaze that stripped away the room's shadows.

The beat of his heart echoed twice in the silence, her realization unfolding like dawn breaking over the horizon, she had been chosen second, after the Queen no less, elevated in this heated tangle above the others who circled like wolves.

That steadfast humility shattered then, splintering into something raw and blazing—gratitude twisted with hunger, her breath quickening as she advanced.

Purpose drove her climb onto the bed, silks sighing under the press of her knees, the mattress yielding as she swung a leg over him, thighs clamping firm around his hips.

Callused hands cupped his face, thumbs grazing the stubble along his jaw with a touch that trembled yet demanded.

Lips met his in a fierce descent, crashing like waves against cliffs, her tongue delving bold and insistent, carrying the tang of ale mingled with the salt of loyalty unspoken for years.

Her skin pressed flush against his, heat radiating through every point of contact, her heavy breasts flattening to his chest with each ragged inhale. Nipples tightened into firm peaks, dragging across the rough weave of his tunic as she rocked closer, the friction sparking shivers down his spine. Devotion poured from her in the urgent curl of her tongue against his, in the sharp bow of her back that thrust her body upward, a silent plea for him to claim every inch.

Sandra's thighs locked like iron vices around his hips, squeezing until the muscle burned, her rough palms slamming into his shoulders to flatten him against the sweat-damp silks, forcing a ragged gasp from his chest.

Deep into the mattress her knees sank, anchoring the storm of her movements as heavy breasts swayed with each grind, scorching wetness drenching his skin in slick fire.

Down her lips crashed again, teeth scraping in a savage bite that split his lower one, copper tang blooming as the tongue plunged in, claiming every corner with hungry strokes, muffling the groan while hips circled in brutal rolls that ignited sparks low in his belly.

Lifting high, one hand guided him true, then slammed down with a **** that buried him to the root, a primal roar tearing from her throat, echoing off stone like a battle howl.

In wild fury the body bucked, thighs flexing with raw power as she rose high and crashed back, pounding him into the bedframe's creak, silks twisting in her fists for grip amid the frenzy.

To her waist his hands flew, digits sinking into taut skin, but with a snarl she batted them away, pinning the wrists overhead with crushing strength, grey eyes boring into his as the pace turned ferocious, breasts heaving with every thunderous drop, peaks brushing his chest in electric trails.

Raw and thunderous the moans erupted, filling the air with guttural bellows that built to screams, the bed thudding against flagstone in sync with her savage rhythm.

No gentle glide—up Sandra surged, knees bracing wide as one hand wrapped firm around Jon's throbbing length, lining him up with a single, urgent twist before dropping like a hammer on an anvil, burying him deep in one brutal plunge that ripped a savage roar from her lungs, the cry bouncing off the stone like a warrior's challenge.

Sweat gleamed on her skin as hips snapped up and down, thighs bulging with raw power on every rise, crashing back with **** that shook the bed's frame in groaning protests, silk sheets twisting into damp knots under her clenched fists for better hold.

Jon's fingers shot to those flexing hips, nails biting into the slick, taut flesh, but with a feral snarl she knocked them aside, slamming his wrists overhead against the headboard, storm-grey eyes piercing his while the rhythm turned vicious, breasts heaving with each punishing drop, hardened nipples scraping his chest in jolting sparks.

From her throat the moans tore loose, deep and primal, swelling to bellows that filled the room with their thunder, the mattress slamming floorward in time with her relentless drive.

The bellow built, wild and piercing, sure to summon prying ears from the halls. "No one will think anything of the sounds from this chamber tonight," Jon gasped out, the words spilling as the power flared, sealing the noise just as her next howl shattered the air.

Sandra's pace did not seem to waver, the gasped words only stoking her fire causing her to speed up—hips crashing down with bruising might, body twisting in a whirlwind of sweat and thrust, droplets flying from her skin as she ground against Jon, chasing the peak with wild, animal drive.

Down his chest her free hand raked, nails carving red welts that stung hot and deep, breaths bursting from her in harsh gasps that tangled with his grunts, the room whirling in a blur of scorching air and pounding **** until release hit her like a hammer blow, body seizing in violent shakes, inner walls gripping him tight as iron, yanking Jon's climax out in a roaring flood, spilling deep while she milked every pulse with merciless rolls.

Exhaustion didn't claim her yet—up she pushed on shaking arms, storm-grey eyes locking on his as hips circled slow now, drawing out the aftershocks, sweat-slick skin sliding against his in lingering heat.

Jon reached up, fingers tangling in her hair to pull her down, but Sandra resisted with a low growl, pinning his hand beside his head, her free palm pressing his chest to hold him flat, breaths still ragged as she leaned in, lips brushing his ear in a hot whisper.

The chamber's quiet shattered with her next moan, hips lifting once more to tease, drawing him back into the fire before slamming down again, the cycle reigniting with fresh urgency, sweat beading on her brow as she built the pace anew, body a relentless storm refusing to fade.

The rough nails of Sandra’s fingers dug deeper into his skin, red lines blooming like fire trails, her gasps mingling with his as the room spun faster, heat coiling tight until she shattered a second time with a bellow that shook the air, walls clenching in waves that pulled his climax roaring free again, flooding his seed deep inside Sandra in thick, hot pulses that claimed every inch of her quivering core as she clenched around him with unyielding ****, her body trembling and drawing out every drop with greedy, rhythmic squeezes that left him drained and shuddering.

Only then did Sandra slump forward, chest heaving against his in sweat-drenched presses, breaths tearing through the heavy quiet that finally descended, broken only by their shared, ragged breaths.

"My Lord," Sandra breathed as she hugged Jon gently, "if I get pregnant, how will I serve and protect the Princess?"

Jon did stop to think on that—unlike Cersei, Sandra was a Sworn Shield. She protected Jocelyn, and getting pregnant might get in the way of that.

He could easily handle that. Jon could suggest that Sandra take a break during her pregnancy and appoint another warrior to protect Jocelyn in her stead. With his power, Jon could ensure the new Sworn Shield’s loyalty. Alternatively, he could make it so Sandra did not get pregnant from this encounter—though that might reflect poorly on his own virility. Another option would be for Jon to ensure that Sandra is able to perform her duties throughout her pregnancy, or, in a more depraved twist, that her pregnancy actually enhances her abilities as a Sworn Shield, making her even more capable. The pregnancy could benefit her skills and increase them further.