The Northern Tyrant [Game Of Thrones]

She ducked under the tent flap and slipped inside with a silent grace that reminded him of a hunting cat. A single loose tunic hung from her shoulders, long enough to brush her upper thighs, but it swayed with her every movement, hinting she wore nothing underneath. Her hair was loose for once, not braided for battle, falling in soft, light brown waves. Her bare legs shone in the low firelight, thighs strong and sculpted, toes curling nervously against the fur-lined ground

The cold bit at her skin, so Wylis instinctively shifted, letting her into the warmth of his makeshift bedding. But to his surprise, Wenda didn't stop there.

She sneaked under the quilt without asking, her hips swaying as she nestled up against him, lithe and quiet, her breath a soft cloud against the cold air. She curled up under the hide like she belonged there, her head resting on the crook of his thick arm, their faces just inches apart, facing each other.

For a time, neither spoke. Just the heat of their breath mingling.

Her brown eyes drank in his icy blue ones. There was a look in her gaze; part wonder, part heat, nerves bundled with want. She seemed to shimmer with silent questions, caught somewhere between fear and hunger.

"Had a nightmare or something?" Wylis asked in a teasing way while sliding his arm over her waist. She felt soft to touch, the first time he was feeling her that way. She was as tall as Lyanna but less slender.

"You can say that." Instead of getting angry, Wenda smiled in a self-deprecating way. She, too, put her hand against his chest as if feeling it. "Thought of my future. After seeing how you gut those bastards like hogs at harvest, I feel… there is no future in banditry left for me… With you running around, absolutely not."

He said nothing, just let his hand slide behind slowly up her back. Her warmth seeped into him. He could feel how delicate she was compared to his massive frame, like something precious, wild, and barely tamed.

Then she shifted closer, her breath quickening. Her breasts, soft and small, pressed against the broad wall of his chest. Her lips were now just inches from his, parted slightly, her breath hot.

"But… I have a few questions before I say it." She added.

Wylis gave a comforting smile and nodded. "Ask away."

"What happens to me afterward? After I've given you what you want?"

"I can see, whether it's a son or daughter, they'll come out strong and beautiful." Wylis honestly declared and noticed a rare, faint blush on her face.

Well, I am talking about impregnating her. Probably too intimate of a subject even for her.

But he understood her worry. He was asking her to give him her womb, and she wondered if that was all there was to it. If that was all she was worth to him. And the answer was a clear no. He was clear in his ambitions and rules.

"Here's how it goes. Once it's certain you're carrying my child, I'll have you sent up North to Winter Town. Quiet place. I've got a house there, under a different name, well-kept. You'll have coin, food, whatever you need. I'll see to it. After the birth, if you still want to be part of the babe's life, I won't say no. You'll be the mother, and the child will know you as such. Maybe, if things go smoothly, there's room for one more down the line. But that's your choice. I leave the final decision up to you as long as you promise not to neglect the child. If you want to stay, I'll accept. If you want to leave, I won't chain you down."

"Hmh…" Wenda's lips grew a charming smile, her brown eyes glimmering. "You're as soft inside as brutish you look outside."

"Insult? Compliment? I'll take both."

Wenda let out a soft giggle, then leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against Wylis'. There was hesitation in her touch, not reluctance, but doubt. As if unsure whether she was truly allowed to kiss a man like him… or if he even wanted her to.

Wylis answered that question without words. He wrapped his thick arm around her back and pulled her close, solid and warm.

That was all the permission she needed, Wenda kissed him with sudden hunger, passion spilling out in raw waves.

Her lips slammed against his, needy and messy, unpolished. Like she didn't quite know how to kiss, but refused to hold back.

Her body pressed forward until Wylis had no choice but to turn and lie flat. Soon, she was on top, straddled, the weight of her slim frame atop his chest, almost weightless but burning hot.

His large hands slid down, gripping her ass through the hiked-up tunic—and it was bare, completely bare. Plump and plush, perfectly shaped for his rough hands. The soft give of her cheeks beneath his palms was enough to make his cock twitch below her.

Their mouths stayed locked, wet, and deep. When one of his fingers brushed over her tight back hole by accident, he felt her twitch, not in resistance, but in sharp arousal.

A small tremble shot through her thighs, and she moaned into his mouth like a secret had been touched.

The kiss grew wetter, hotter. Wenda sucked at his lips, even drinking from his mouth.

Their breath fogged between them, and Wylis couldn't take it. He flung the quilt aside just to see her more clearly. Her face was flushed, pupils blown wide, her thighs trembling under his slow, exploring hand.

In response, Wenda sat upright, planting her hips on the hard ridge of his cock beneath his trousers. She paused when she felt it, the size, the pressure, the thick heat of him nestled between her thighs.

"So, Wylis?" Wenda smirked, looking seductively at him, and gripped the hem of her tunic. In one swift motion, she yanked it off her head, sitting there nude from top to bottom, nothing left covering her hot, desirable body. "Do it then! Breed your bandit slut… impregnate my willing womb… Is that what you want to hear?"

Her body was art. Soft skin stretched over taut muscles, curved and wild in all the right places. Her face, even with that faint scar, looked like something carved to be kissed; lovely, dangerous, tempting. Her lips were plump, flushed, and parted just enough to invite sin. Her small, pert tits spread outward, full of perk and capped with tight, pale-pink nipples that stood out like firm buttons begging to be sucked.

Her chest bore a rare sprinkle of freckles, like cinnamon dusted over warm milk. Her skin was a velvety canvas of wild softness and quiet heat. She looked like a creature of the night, dangerous and delicious.

Wylis's hands caressed her thighs where they splayed over his loins, slowly gliding upward. He took his time feeling every inch of her, the silkiness of her skin, the little trembles, the gentle gasps she gave. Her waist wasn't sharply curved, more streamlined, and athletic, but gods, it was its own kind of perfection. Lean, wild, and built for riding like a beast in the heat.

"Aye, but you're too beautiful for a whore. Bandit? Aye?" Wylis replied and reached for her face, finally caressing her left cheek where that scar was. He knew she was somewhat conscious about that scar, always walking or riding on his left side to hide that from him.

"Heh—Don't know about beauty but…" She ground her naked hips on his cock. "I sure am tight."

"Hah! Oh, I know that. With my size, every woman is tight."

With flickering firelight dancing over their bodies, Wenda shifted down over his thick thighs, eyes gleaming with bold mischief as one of her brows rose up. She hooked her fingers under his tunic and shoved it upward.

Wylis didn't need a prompt, he lifted his hips and let her push the tunic off his torso to see his body with ease.

"Seven Hells!" she gasped.

Her mouth opened wide as her eyes raked over his carved, beastly torso. Thick slabs of muscle rolling beneath the skin. Her fingers moved without command, tracing the hard ridges of his abs, sliding across his sculpted chest, then down his flanks. He was a wall of muscle, hot and hard under her trembling hands.

"Did the gods carve you?"

"Come on, Wenda, you can do better than that for compliments," Wylis replied cheekily. He smirked as he reached down to untie his own trousers, fingers working the knot loose.

She gulped, steadying herself. Her hands dipped down, gripping the waistband, and with a tug, she peeled his trousers off completely, baring him whole naked as well.

His cock sprang free like a weapon unsheathed; massive, flushed, and furiously hard. It throbbed with each beat of his heart, a thick, veiny pillar crowned with a glistening head trying to burst through the foreskin, angry purple and soaked with need.

Wenda froze again, staring like she'd been struck by a spell. Her hand crept out slowly, hesitating only when she saw how laughably small it looked next to that thick shaft, veins like ropes, the entire thing pulsing with carnal power.

"Y-You… I agree… Even a whore ran through by the entire King's Landing would be tight on this monster… Gods!"

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[A/N: Next chapter is not divided. It'll have the entire smut scene and the end of this chapter series.]

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