Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The room was hot, humid, and filled with the scent of sweat and pleasure. The flickering candle barely held on, its wax melting down into a puddle, much like the woman trembling beneath me—spent, exhausted, and completely claimed.

She was limp in my arms, her auburn hair a wild, tangled mess against the pillow, her green eyes glassy and unfocused, her lips swollen from our endless, fevered kisses. Her breath came in soft, shaky pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly, struggling to keep up with the intensity of the night.

Even now, as I loomed over her, she shuddered, her body so sensitive that even the slightest brush of my fingers against her skin sent aftershocks of pleasure racing through her.

"Gods," she whispered, her voice hoarse from moaning my name over and over. "You've ruined me."

I smirked, running my fingers down her bare stomach, feeling the way her body trembled, exhausted yet still warm and slick from our last round.

"I told you," I murmured, brushing my lips against her ear, "I don't stop until I'm satisfied."

She let out a breathy whimper, her fingers weakly curling against my chest. She was completely spent, her legs limp, her body still twitching from the aftershocks of pleasure.

And yet, I could still feel her warmth pulsing around me, stretched and filled beyond what she had ever known.

The Endless Night

I had ravaged her through the night, claiming her again and again—filling her, stretching her, leaving her writhing beneath me in desperate pleasure until she was nothing but a panting, moaning mess.

Every time she thought she had caught her breath, I had pulled her back in, pressing her into the mattress, coaxing out another gasp, another moan, another cry of pleasure.

She had screamed my name, her voice breaking as I pushed her beyond her limits, until her nails dug into my back, until her legs wrapped around me so tightly that she trembled from the sheer force of it.

And I had taken it all.

The way her body yielded to me, the way she arched and begged, the way she whimpered when she was completely full, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

She was drenched, shaking, and utterly ruined.

And yet, every time she thought I was finished, I proved her wrong.

Her Final Collapse

Now, as the first hints of dawn bled through the wooden shutters, her body was a mess of sweat, pleasure, and exhaustion.

She had collapsed against me, her entire body trembling from the aftermath, her thighs twitching as if she could still feel me inside her.

I trailed my fingers down her soft, sweat-slicked skin, savoring the way she shivered at the mere touch.

She tried to say something—maybe a teasing remark, maybe a breathless curse—but all that came out was a soft, helpless whimper as she nuzzled into my chest.

Completely ruined.

I chuckled, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her damp forehead.

"Are you even awake?" I murmured.

She let out a weak, exhausted moan, her fingers twitching against my chest. "No more," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "You win."

I smirked, trailing my fingers down her flat, quivering stomach, feeling the way her muscles clenched, her body still sensitive from the night.

"You gave up after four rounds," I teased. "I expected more from you."

She groaned, burying her face against me, too spent to even fight back. "I'll kill you," she muttered, but her voice held no real threat—only exhaustion and reluctant satisfaction.

I chuckled, pulling her closer, letting her sink into the heat of my body.

"You loved it," I murmured against her ear, feeling the way she shivered, even in her weakened state.

She let out a small, breathless laugh, but didn't argue.

The Morning After

The golden morning light seeped through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating the room in a soft glow. I sat up, stretching, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles, the satisfying weight of last night still lingering in my bones.

Beside me, she was completely knocked out, her body barely moving, her breathing slow and deep.

I had drained every ounce of energy from her, left her too exhausted to even wake up as I pulled on my trousers and reached for my belt.

As I buckled my sword back into place, she stirred slightly, blinking up at me with drowsy, satisfied eyes.

"You're leaving already?" she murmured, her voice groggy.

I smirked, leaning down to press a final kiss against her lips, slow and deep, letting her feel the heat of it one last time.

"I'm a sellsword," I murmured. "Can't stay in one place too long."

She sighed, stretching, her bare body a vision of spent pleasure and exhaustion.

"Maybe I'll see you again," she murmured sleepily.

I ran my fingers through her hair one last time, letting my thumb brush over her swollen lips, smirking at the way she leaned into my touch, even half-asleep.

"Maybe."

With that, I stood, fastening my belt and stepping out into the cool morning air.

The streets of Stoney Sept were just beginning to stir, the scent of fresh bread wafting from nearby bakeries, the distant clang of blacksmiths already hard at work.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling more alive than I ever had in both my lives.

I had claimed my first woman in Westeros, taken my first taste of pleasure.

But this was just the beginning.

There were more women to seduce, more gold to earn, and more power to seize.

With a smirk, I stepped forward, ready to carve my own legend in the world of Westeros.