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Sansa's blue eyes met Daenerys's violet ones the moment the alpha entered the room. She glanced briefly at Lord Baelish outside, behind Daenerys, but paid him no mind.
Instinctively, her legs spread wider, inviting her alpha closer as the door closed. The Targaryen's pupils dilated as she approached, as if in a trance, her knees hitting the bed frame before she collapsed, straddling the omega.
"Lady Stark—" Sansa didn't let her finish. Her small hands rose to grasp the fabric of the queen's dress, pulling it down as she pressed her lips to hers, devouring her with the fervor of a lost soul in the desert.
Her hands tangled in the silver-haired woman's hair, parting her lips as she pulled her head down, toward her neck, toward her mating mark. It hurt so much, burning, purple, and bleeding. According to her mother, after a mating bite, the alpha should use their tongue to soothe the wound, the barbs on the alpha's tongue providing the necessary relief from the pain. Obviously, Daenerys couldn't do that after the way she'd branded her.
Daenerys's tongue felt so good against her mark. Sansa's eyes rolled back as she relished the sensation of her alpha's tongue barbs. Her hips lifted, seeking relief from the dull ache in her flower. She didn't know what to say, but her omega did.
"Please, alpha," he purred against Daenerys's ear, nipping lightly as his tongue moved from her lobe to her ervix. "Mate with me." Her clouded mind couldn't process his words; she didn't know what he was asking, only that he needed it. "Make sure everyone in this castle knows what you make me."
Sansa felt Daenerys' shoulders tense and her tongue stop moving. Without warning, Daenerys' hands were on the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up. Instinctively, Sansa raised her arms so her alpha could remove the only garment she wore.
Daenerys took a moment to admire her body. Sansa hoped she liked what she saw. Quickly, Daenerys lowered her head to suckle her budding breasts, nibbling at the nipple of her left breast as she moved it from side to side with her tongue. Sansa sobbed. No one had ever touched her like this. Her mind momentarily went to Tyrion, but it wasn't the same. Daenerys didn't seem to want to touch her to satisfy her own sick desire, but to give her pleasure.
Before Daenerys could continue, the omega took her by the shoulders, pulling her away until the alpha had to sit on the bed, on the opposite side from Sansa. The omega's dilated pupils almost covered the Tully blue of her eyes, her gaze fixed on the prominent bulge at the bottom of the queen's dress.
"You know I can write poetry?" She felt her inner omega take over again. Daenerys looked at her, puzzled; she too had been confused by her own words.
"I'm...pleased?" The Targaryen's voice sounded as confused as it was eager, her eyes fixed on the dampness that covered the inside of the omega's pale, slender thighs.
"My septas said I was very good with my tongue," she murmured as Sansa's small hands lifted the hem of the silver-haired woman's dress. "Want to find out?"
Sansa could see the muscles in Daenerys's throat tense as she swallowed hard.
《¤》
"Daenerys?" Sansa asked, her voice more fragile than it should have been. Her throat burned, and her cunt dripped uncontrollably, staining her sheets—a real mess.
Her eyes scanned the room, searching for something, someone. They settled on the silhouette near the door. It wasn't her alpha.
Baelish's eyes focused on her. He didn't approach her; he wasn't stupid enough to try while Sansa was in this state. His gaze seemed to harden for a second, as if he were using all his willpower to hold back.
"Daenerys Targaryen has marked you," Baelish declared, as if Sansa hadn't been there when the queen had pounced on her, in front of all the Lords of the Vale. Instinctively, at the mention of Daenerys, Sansa tilted her head, exposing her neck, the side where the bite was. She could see Baelish's jaw tighten even further. "This has caused us several problems, my Lady, among them, well, your heat has started prematurely."
Ah, so that explains the burning sensation, Sansa thought.
"The mark can still be removed if we act quickly," Baelish spoke again. Sansa let him; if there's one thing this man enjoys, it's the sound of himself talking. Perhaps that will make him leave more quickly. "So, you'll have to stay away from the queen for the entire duration of your heat. That way we'll have a chance to—"
"Bring her to me." Her voice sounded more like a groan of pain than the firm command Sansa had wanted to. But her voice was loud enough for Baelish to hear.
"Pardon?" he asked, his eyebrows rising before furrowing, his teeth chattering with each syllable. It seemed that what Sansa had said had upset him; Sansa could understand why.
"Bring me Daenerys," her voice cracked as the burning between her legs became so insistent that she had to squeeze her thighs together to stop herself from touching herself in front of this man. "Please, I need her."
The man closed his eyes, as if fed up with the situation, his hand gripping the bridge of his nose.
"I already told you why I can't," his voice was irritated, with annoyance so barely concealed that if Sansa had been in her right mind, she would have shrunk back and lowered her head. "If you listened to me, you'd know I can't—"
"Please, I need her," she begged. She hadn't begged for anything in her life since her father's death. The bitter memory made her close her eyes before opening them again instantly as the wetness in her cunt became so intense she could feel it clinging to her legs. "Please, bring me Daenerys, please."
The girl began to babble incessantly, her voice rising with each passing second. Sansa was certain the guards outside the room could hear her babbling, calling for the queen, for Daenerys, for her alpha.
When she saw Baelish leave the room, resigned, muttering something about going to find someone, Sansa realized she didn't really care if they heard her.
《¤》
Sansa awoke on the morning of the eighth day since her heat began, feeling the body beneath her writhe. Her mind was no longer clouded by desire or lust, but she was still acutely aware of her alpha's cock inside her cunt.
Her heat had passed, which was a good thing, better than she'd thought. It didn't change the fact that she'd spent a whole week just fucking Daenerys. If this resulted in a pregnancy, Sansa wouldn't know what to do.
She realized she wasn't in her room. The blurred memories of how she and her alpha had broken her bedposts flooded her mind. She remembered how she'd complained when Daenerys made her wear a robe to cover her body, saying she wouldn't let anyone see more of her queen than necessary. She remembered how they'd had to go to Daenerys's chambers to continue what they'd been doing, amidst laughter and the stares of some servants.
Perhaps it hadn't been so bad after all, she thought, as she looked up to meet Daenerys's violet eyes, gazing at her with a warmth that bordered on adoration. Her gaze softened as she saw Sansa had woken up.
"Good morning," she murmured, raising her hand to stroke the omega's cheek. "I hope you slept well."
The younger woman simply nodded as she snuggled back into her alpha's neck, where her own bite mark adorned her pale skin. She heard Daenerys chuckle softly.
"Someone's tired, it seems," she said playfully, placing her hands on her mate's back to hold her there, comfortable, protected.
Sansa huffed as she settled more snugly in her alpha's embrace, listening to the steady beat of Daenerys's heart as she stroked her hair, occasionally giving her small kisses.
A smile spread across her face. Yes, perhaps this could work after all.