Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The streets of Stoney Sept were alive with the usual noise of a bustling town—merchants shouting their wares, blacksmiths hammering steel, and drunkards laughing as they stumbled out of taverns. But I had only one destination in mind.

A tavern.

Not just for ale or food—but for something I had never experienced in my past life.

As I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the scent of roasted meat, stale beer, and smoke hit me instantly. The place was dimly lit, lanterns hanging from wooden beams, casting flickering shadows over drunken men and barmaids who weaved through the crowd.

The sounds of laughter, coin clinking, and the occasional brawl in the corner filled the air. This was Westeros in its rawest form. And this was exactly where I belonged.

I walked in, my boots echoing against the wooden floor as I made my way toward the bar. The system's Lust & War function had given me a ridiculously high Charm stat—22. It was time to put it to the test.

I took a seat, resting my arms on the counter. The barkeep, a burly man with a graying beard, gave me a nod. "Ale?"

"Something strong," I replied, tossing a silver stag onto the counter. "And maybe some company."

His eyes flicked toward a group of serving girls chatting near the fireplace. They were dressed in low-cut bodices and flowing skirts, meant to entice customers into spending more coin.

One of them caught my eye immediately.

She was young, maybe eighteen, with auburn hair tied loosely over one shoulder, deep green eyes, and lips that curled into a knowing smirk the moment she noticed me looking.

This was it.

I turned slightly, letting my body language speak confidence, and gave her a slow, deliberate smirk.

She noticed.

Her eyes flicked over me, assessing. A moment later, she excused herself from the conversation and made her way over.

Hooked.

"Don't think I've seen you around before," she said, her voice smooth, teasing.

I took a slow sip of my drink before replying. "Just passing through. Figured I'd see what Stoney Sept has to offer."

She leaned on the counter, her bodice pushing up the soft curves of her chest, giving me a generous view. "And what exactly are you looking for?"

I chuckled, swirling my drink. "A warm bed, good company… maybe both at the same time."

She arched an eyebrow but didn't back away. "That depends," she mused, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of my cup. "Men come in here looking for a good time all the time. But not all of them are worth it."

She was testing me.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make her focus entirely on me. "Then I suppose you'll just have to find out for yourself."

The way her breath hitched ever so slightly told me everything I needed to know.

Charm stat: 22, baby.

She smirked, her fingers brushing against mine as she reached for my cup. "You're cocky."

I let my hand move, my fingertips grazing over the back of hers—just enough to be suggestive. "Only when I know I'll deliver."

Her cheeks flushed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She was hooked.

"Upstairs," she murmured. "End of the hall."

I didn't hesitate.

Behind Closed Doors

The moment the door shut behind us, she was on me.

Her hands grasped my shirt, pulling me in for a heated kiss, her lips soft yet eager, tasting of ale and honey. My fingers tangled into her auburn hair as I deepened the kiss, pressing her back against the wooden wall.

She let out a soft gasp as my hands roamed down her waist, over her hips, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

"Gods," she breathed, her fingers running over my chest, her touch exploring. "You're built like a knight."

I chuckled, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, eliciting a breathy moan from her lips. "Not a knight. Just a sellsword who knows what he wants."

Her hands moved lower, trailing over my belt, teasing. "And what do you want?"

I spun her around, pressing her front against the wooden door, my hands sliding up her thighs, lifting her skirts. "You."

She gasped, arching into my touch as my lips found the curve of her shoulder. My fingers traced up her inner thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. She was already aching for more, her breath quickening.

"Don't tease," she murmured, pressing back against me.

I smirked against her skin. "Beg for it."

She let out a frustrated whimper, turning her head to meet my gaze. "Damon," she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

And that was all I needed.

I claimed her, right there against the wooden door, our bodies moving in sync, raw and unrestrained. The way she gasped, the way her nails dug into the wood, the way she moaned my name—it was intoxicating.

For the first time in both my lives, I was no longer just existing.

I was living.