He carried scars from the remnants of his former life; collar marks around his neck and wrists, the latter of which he customarily covered with leather cuffs, and his torso bore the marks of whips, blades, and other weapons here and there, the dusky skin decorated by a life of hardship and struggle.

But her hesitant touches were pleasant, and Daemon rumbled his satisfaction against her skin, coaxing Sansa's tongue from her mouth with broad strokes of his own, hands leaving her breasts to shove that cumbersome dress off of pale shoulders to pool at her waist, an unwanted barrier. But probably prudent, given how high his passions customarily ran.