Daemon ducked his head slightly to catch her eyes. "You can trust me, Sansa," he told her quietly. "I'm not one of those dimwitted brutes they call lords here in Westeros. When I tell you something, believe it. And I'm telling you that you're safe, you never have to fear me, you simply have to enjoy me. That's all."

And he gladly kissed her again, putting a little more heated desire into it than he had previously. Her hands he guided to his leather Dothraki jerkin, bidding her untie the laces so she could touch him herself. Still bold, Daemon cupped Sansa's breasts, pinching the tight nipples a little roughly, but from the unconscious rocking of her long body he gathered she was enjoying his attentions.

"Feel good, princess?" It was a rough rumble, given against her smooth neck, even as he began to rock beneath her in time with her own untaught movements. "You feel good to me."