The next chapter will contain all the steamy bits, but this one leaves off for a nice lead up (I hope! More to come soon!
Ramsay wore a brimming grin as he was guided to Sansa's chambers. It was hard not to be elated having the worries of a conflict with the Umbers fall to the backdrop of his mind, to know Sansa was home safe happily awaiting his presence, and to top it off by putting the servant wench who dared taunt him back in her proper place. It had been far too long since he'd felt that thrill of dominance over another, and in some ways a part of him shifted internally to reclaim just a little bit of power from anyone; it was uplifting for Ramsay not to feel like he was the lowest rung on the totem pole. His euphoric feeling of triumph didn't last long as the sinking remembrance of his quandary returned to Ramsay upon reaching the top of the tower stairs where the vision of the grand master bedroom was well lit with candlelight through the open door awaiting his arrival. To be brought here like this, it was a reminder that he had absolutely no control anymore; it was worse than the restrictions that being a bastard had put on him (which he'd thought were rather demeaning and infuriating then) but of course he'd never known what it truly was to be humbled as he did now.
This wasn't the first time Ramsay had seen this room. He'd occupied it prior to the battle albeit not long enough to have had all of his possessions moved in to take up full residence. His father before him along with his fat Frey wife had also inhabited the room, and remnants still lingered such as an elegant tapestry of a flying hawk soaring above a forested ridge. It covered a large portion of the wall over the fireplace; that same drapery had hung in Roose's personal study at the Dreadfort as one of his prized possessions due to its intricacy and the fact some pompous well known artist in King's Landing had made it specifically for him. Roose had told Ramsay while admiring it one day that it reminded him that to rise above all standing obstacles gave way to insight and that until one did, they could never see clearly the path in front of them.
Ramsay had rolled his eyes at his father's back sneering in contempt as he immediately compartmentalized the old man's prophetic lecture to be more of the same gibberish that Maester Medrick often spouted. It wasn't until he'd killed his father and became lord of the castle did the textile and his father's reverence of it hold any meaning to him. To Ramsay, the picture had always reminded him of a hunting predator on a clear day (a much more simple and appropriate context to Ramsay and one he personally enjoyed envisioning as a sign of power over prey), so he'd not bothered to remove it, nor had Sansa apparently for whatever reason. To see it now sent a shiver up his spine; it was a weighty recollection that bore down upon him its significance. Suddenly his father's words regarding the wall-hanging came back to him putting in perspective once more what place in the world he now held; Ramsay finally saw the meaning his father had meant to depart to him clearly; it was of course, too little too late.
Ramsay's thoughts altered as his eyes drifted away from the tapestry and over to Sansa taking in the fact she only wore a loose robe and a barely veiled grin. The look of her in such a state caused Ramsay's cock to jump to half-mast with desire; she was ever the beauty with fiery thin spirals of hair escaping her tightly bound braided bun to waft about her neck in an unruly display. To set eyes on her now seemed to capture Ramsay and funnel him into a distant place seeded deep within his mind's eye where every step closer she took, it was if she scattered his thoughts like a shattered mirror, and the fragmented pieces he knew only she could put back together.
Her half lidded gaze poured over Ramsay noting the want for her he held; Sansa's lip twisted into a sultry smile to observe his avarice. Ramsay had looked at her in a similar fashion prior to their wedding night except now there was a distinct hesitation that remained about him and reminded her of a begging dog beneath the table. It was an apt comparison Sansa supposed since she had brought him to heel from the wild beast he had been into the man that stood before her.
Ramsay was still a work in progress, but he was hers to mold. The clay she was working with had started out hard and impenetrable like stone, but having etched away at him long enough, Sansa had managed to crack through Ramsay's barriers to find something far more pliable than she'd ever imagined. There was a person beneath the callousness and cruelty that had been the ever present exterior of Ramsay, and if Sansa hadn't seen it for herself, she never would have believed such a thing possible. The irony that she found herself curious enough to dig deeper had started only as a want to destroy him further, but when she discovered something worth saving and nurturing, Ramsay's salvation bloomed into a personal crusade.
Sansa had not told Ramsay as much, but his ability to show he was willing to change for her and wanted to just to gain her affections teemed a deep seeded hope and pride within her that she could have awaken such a thing in him of all people. She dared not speak it aloud and make real her feelings lest she open her heart to Ramsay and he betray her fragile trust. Sansa still questioned her ability to read Ramsay even if her gut told her what she was feeling for him and he for her was true; even so, it was difficult to easily let go of so much pain he'd caused her; the wounds were still so fresh, but they no longer festered, and that was a start.
Sansa turned to the guards as she nodded, "Thank you for bringing Ramsay to me; you may stand outside the door now."
Temeric and Cecil quickly nodded ascent to their Lady's command and backed out of the room shutting the door behind them without further word.
Sansa sauntered over to run a hand across Ramsay's freshly shaved chin, "That's more like it," she cooed, "I want to always see you well-groomed for me." As if on cue, her hand connecting to his skin sent an immediate shock of adrenaline to pulse through Ramsay, and he inhaled deeply in an almost instinctual manner to take in her scent. Sansa drew her hand down to cup his chin running her thumb lightly over his parting lips. They were warm, soft, and supple bringing forth immediate visual memories of all that she'd seen his mouth do when she had set him to the task of pleasing her. Sansa wanted to taste those lips now, and found herself pulling him forward by the chin as she leaned in closely with eyes staring into his to plant a gentle kiss on his awaiting lips. Pulling him forcibly towards her, Ramsay's breathing had quickened and his eyes widened, but he in no way resisted her, and that complacence to let Sansa do as she would with him ricocheted a swell of heat to bloom between her thighs. It was just the two of them here, and she'd spent too many nights since she'd left Winterfell thinking about having Ramsay all to herself once more.
The adrenaline just to get back to the keep and address the dangers that could have befallen her home had depleted Sansa, but the confrontation had left something else to reside within her that now craved satisfaction. Her lips pressed into his roughly now, and Ramsay let go of a small moan filled of his own desire for her attentions. The sound echoed through her and created a surge of want within Sansa to rip Ramsay's clothes from him, throw him on her bed, and shove her glass cock into herself and then powerfully into him. This image dominated her mind to an extent Sansa felt the need to pull away from Ramsay suddenly with a gasp. He had closed his eyes under the torrent of her passionate kissing, and when she'd broken away from him, his eyes fluttered open questioning why she'd stopped although he only remained silently observant.
Sansa grinned lustfully at the innocence reflected in his stare; her eyes grazing over Ramsay once more before untying her robe and letting the silken fabric slip from her shoulders to reveal her body to him. She watched Ramsay's throat bob as he swallowed, and his eyes roved over her curves to take in every inch of her exposed flesh. Her smile broadened as she instructed, "Come Ramsay; it's time for you to bathe me, and then I shall have a turn bathing you." Sansa padded towards the section of the room that housed the double bath letting the robe spill to the floor as she walked.
Ramsay's erection pressed painfully against the front of his pants and feeling suddenly very aware of himself, his hands moved to cover the bulge. He spun around finding himself just staring after Sansa watching her beautiful form traverse the expanse of the room before belatedly realizing he was still standing where she'd left him. He staggered into motion quickly making up the distance between them as Sansa climbed gracefully into the tub lowering herself to emerge in the steaming waters slowly with a sigh of relief. Her eyes flicked up to take Ramsay in as he wore a thunderstruck expression, cool blue eyes locked on her heaving breasts. Sansa inhaled deeply leaning against the large wooden frame of the ornate tub as she pointed to the bathing brushes, sea sponges, and salted scrubs that lay within an inline of the tub's design, "Look there, Ramsay. All the supplies that you should need; the pitcher of fresh water lay on the floor by the stool."
Blinking in recognition of what she had expected him to do, Ramsay's eyes moved away from Sansa's figure to take in all that she was referring to. Sansa observed him begin to roll his sleeves up to perform the given task, and she interrupted, "No," Ramsay halted in his action looking back at her in surprise, "Take it off."
He paused taking in her words before pulling the shirt free from himself and letting it drop unceremoniously to the stone floor. Ramsay found his muscles ripple as he flexed in a preening fashion before stepping towards the stool. Her voice rang out again in a more authoritative manner, "All of it. You see me fully bared, and I wish the same, to take in the sight of your nakedness for my own pleasure."
This statement caused another hesitation in Ramsay before a quirky grin spread across his face as a pang of further arousal flooded through him. His thoughts turned to where his and her mutual nudity may lead. They were to bathe one another, but she wanted to see his body as he did so. Ramsay could feel Sansa's sexual energy pulsing off of her like rays of the sun. His own member was pulsating in a similar fashion protruding from him and hard as a rock. Ramsay pulled the tie to release the hold his breeches had on his hips sending his pants to pool at his ankles, and his cock, more than ready to be of use, bobbed its eagerness.
Ramsay's smile grew as he took a strutting step forward and raised both arms to each side stating confidently, "Does this please my lady?" Intercourse with him taking her was an avenue the two had yet to explore again, but Ramsay felt assured not only from the fact that Sansa had brought him here, her personal bed chambers, but that she also had no restraints to limit him and no guard to monitor their tryst; tonight would be far different than any night they'd shared previously. The encounter with Melody shortly before had bolstered Ramsay's more sexually aggressive side, and with the way that Sansa had kissed him only moments before, Ramsay had more than high hopes of taking his lady to bed in a more traditional sense once their bath had concluded. This time he would be gentle with her; this time he would treat her as the noble woman she'd proved to him to be.
Sansa's smile turned devious as she replied, "It does; it will please me more for you to turn about so that I may take in the whole of you." Ramsay let out an amused chuckle moving himself in a parading circle, "As the lady wishes." As he rotated, Ramsay's mind flourished mental images of entering her in swift even thrusts to a symphony of the pleasurable moans he'd heard erupt from Sansa when she'd orgasmed with him before. His enthusiastic visions of love making were ripped from him in a halting mental screech by the angry tone that Sansa exclaimed with, "What's this? You've marks upon your ass that are far too numerous and fresh to be by my previous application. Were you troublesome enough for my brother to have had need to punish you in my absence?"
Ramsay's body slackened from the cocky stance he had been holding as he peered warily over his shoulder at her; his mouth parted to answer, but nothing came out. At a loss for words, his jaw clenched in dread as her query sent a wash of worry to shock through him making his cock deflate instantaneously. In his own sexual desire, Ramsay had forgotten the bruises he still sported from Jon's last heavy-handed strapping. The pain was gone, and it was only on rare occasions when he'd slumped heavily into his chair did a slight pang of tenderness give Ramsay recognition that there was still any evidence remaining that it had transpired at all. His pale flesh on the other hand told a very different account holding the imprints of faded lines here and there where the strap had etched a lasting impression into his skin. To Ramsay's credit, it had been a few days after Sansa's departure and a little over a week prior to her return since the incident had occurred, and for Ramsay, the slow crawl that his days had turned into, a week ago seemed quite a bit longer than it actually was. It honestly hadn't occurred to Ramsay that Sansa would not have already spoken to Jon and garnered such information already. In part, he'd assumed that her knowing and still being slightly miffed was the reasoning for her brusque response regarding his questions about the Umbers when they'd first been reunited in the dungeon.
Sansa sat up rigidly, and before Ramsay could dally further with his response to her question, she clipped out, "I see. That's unfortunate, Ramsay. I had hoped for us to share a pleasant evening together after hearing Jon speak so highly of your progress while I was away. Now I will have to punish you for your disobedience."
Ramsay felt a lump forming in his throat as he dipped his head losing eye contact from the immediate shame he now felt run through him. The knowledge that Jon had only said good things about him to Sansa made his chest tighten in appreciation that the man had been kind enough to have given him such a good report regardless of the misery he'd originally caused him at the onset of their budding relationship. Ramsay found himself flushing in heated embarrassment as he rotated back to face his ass away from Sansa's purview (as if taking the evidence of what she'd already seen out of sight would somehow make her un-see it.) Her implied threat had goosebumps ripple across his skin and a sinking feeling build in his gut immediately fearing what punishment would arise from his insubordination. Sansa had been kind to him their past few encounters, but this did not erase how unkind she could be.
His stomach tightened to think on what she had done to get him in line already, and Ramsay found his thoughts tumbling over the worst possibilities now as his eyes drifted up to meet hers carrying a silent apprehension. He heard the words come out of his mouth in a defensive blur before he'd realized he'd shouted them, "It's… Jon addressed my transgressions against him already. For him not to have reported it to you shows he's forgiven me! Can we not just put this behind us as well? There's no need to rehash what has already been worked out between he and I is there?" It sounded justifiable to his own ears, but the glare she penetrated him with made Ramsay wish that he'd just remained silent.
Sansa fumed for long minutes just staring angrily at Ramsay; he stiffened in response straightening rigidly to clasp his hands in front of him like a soldier coming to attention except her ire left him to look elsewhere as his head slumped and his eyes bore into the floor to occasionally flick up nervously and take her expression in before lowering his gaze once more. She could tell her fury had Ramsay frightened, and a small part of her wanted to see that reaction in him, but another part of her didn't want to ruin the entirety of their evening either. She sighed heavily, "I gave you fair warning what I expected from you, and your disappointing behavior I will take you to task for, but it is something we can address later. For now, let's appreciate the relaxation of a hot bath together."
Swirling banter to come back at Sansa on unfair expectations under the conditions he was being forced to endure formulated in his mind, but seeing Sansa was not in a hurry to punish him, Ramsay steeled himself to try and calculate a more tactful approach to avoid any more horrible pain and suffering. His nervousness displayed itself in Ramsay's jerky movements as his hands grasped the stool fumbling it into place beside the tub. He quickly plucked one of the sea sponges from the inline brow drawing down in contemplative thought as his eyes darted about the supplies. A small frown embedded itself on his face unable not to think on the looming threat as he stared back hotly at Sansa, "I've suffered for what I did; why must you make me do so again? You're beating a dead horse!"
Sansa took in the fact that Ramsay's knee shook violently as his fingers kneaded into the sponge to a point that if it were alive, he would have squeezed the life out of it. She laid a hand on his knee, and Ramsay instantly stopped his nervous twitch fixing her with a pout that was a mix of anxiety, resentment, and uncertainty. Sansa only remained staring at Ramsay silently until she was sure that she had his full attention before she began again, "I can't let go the fact that you defied my wishes, Ramsay. It's not what you were punished for that I find a need to discipline you for now but the fact that it had to happen at all. I've only been gone for ten days! You couldn't keep yourself in check, with Jon of all people, for less than two weeks? You've embarrassed me, and I intend to repay you in kind."
Ramsay's body undulated taking in Sansa's statement; Sansa watched him progress through the internal motions of processing her words, and when he'd opened his mouth to protest further, Sansa stood as she interjected sharply, "This isn't up for further discussion, Ramsay, unless you wish for me attend you now! I assure you my wrath for interrupting what could be a most enjoyable bath shared by the two of us will be far worse than if you let me simmer my annoyance away in the heat of these waters below. It's your choice, which do you prefer, Ramsay?"
Ramsay's eyes widened and his mouth parted in awe to take her in the sudden swell of fear that she erected in him. What had he been about to say? The argument was lost to the wind as he took in her dark glare descending powerfully down on him. To enrage her was definitely not what he wished, and the thought of a nice hot bath with her bathing him after he'd had the chance to run his own hands over her body sounded a much better alternative to a compounded punishment, so Ramsay found himself numbly shaking his head no, "I'd… I'd rather not…" Ramsay's mouth clamped closed, and he turned away from her demanding gaze before continuing, "The bath. I wish for us… please, we can continue as we were."
Sansa was satisfied that Ramsay had stopped resisting her; she'd grown worried that the direction their conversation had been headed that she was going to have to make a point of her authority over him if for nothing more than to ensure her own safety with him. Ramsay was still a dangerous man, and if he smelled weakness in her, this journey they were taking could be easily derailed. He needed to continue to respect her, and unfortunately that encompassed a healthy dose of fear for reprisal of poor behavior. Ramsay hadn't looked up since his last statement seemingly subdued by her threat, so Sansa quietly lowered herself back into the bath waters.
She didn't like seeing Ramsay so obviously conflicted and prodded gently, "I've been looking forward to sharing this bath with you. If you like, you can climb in the tub with me now. I'd like it if we could mutually enjoy each other in close proximity; this bathtub was made for two after all, so there's really no need for you to bathe me from outside of it. Would you like to join me, Ramsay?"
Ramsay did want to join her, but some part of him wanted to tell her to go fuck herself too. His eyes lifted, and he did not see a jeering smirk to which his pride had convinced him would be present; instead, Ramsay took in the concern for him that radiated from her person. She cared for him, to feel that now sent a jolt of turmoil to once again question his own burgeoning sentiments he couldn't help but to feel for Sansa. He wanted her in all ways, ways he'd never wanted to share with another person and was terrified to share now. Ramsay shook his head yes, and a blooming desire coursed through him when her smiled broadened sweetly to his agreeance of her request.
Sansa rose to her knees small rivulets of water spattering to the floor as she leaned over to grab the bathing supplies and line them along the bath's edge. As she did this, Ramsay stood from the stool and carefully maneuvered into the tub lowering himself to sit across from her. He let go a contented groan as he sank into the tub's depths; washing one's self with a bucket and a rag was in no way comparable to the enjoyable sensation of being enveloped in a pool of water hot enough to numb the flesh and loosen the muscles. Ramsay sat back against the sanded headboard and Sansa joined him as both just soaked silently for a few moments enjoying the relaxation such an experience permitted. Even if what was to come would be unpleasant, Ramsay decided that at least now he could relish the present.