When she shuddered and melted all around him, Daemon smirked and, after giving her just a moment to catch her breath, surged up from the couch with Sansa still cradled in his arms. Four long strides brought him to the King's royal bed, and he deposited his wife in it, pausing just enough to shuck his trousers, then smoothly insinuating his body between her slack, damp thighs.

It was only a matter of moments before he was easing inside of her, trusting that by now she was slick enough to take him without pain, and he ducked his head to her breasts even as he did, tongue rolling a hard nipple in his mouth as his cock sank inside her slick sheath. Even with all of his experience, Daemon still huffed a flared breath, because being wrapped in that smooth silk was always exquisite.

And his wife made a pretty picture beneath him; flushed, pale, and lovely, reeling from her own pleasure.