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The rain had been coming down all morning, turning the path to mud. You were stirring a pot on the stove, boiling a thick stew with venison and root vegetables, the steam warming your face in the cozy kitchen of the cottage.
Heavy steps sounded from the doorway, and Sandor filled the frame with his massive, broad figure. He was carrying a bundle of firewood, and his boots…
"Sandor Clegane!" you said, your voice sharp and frustrated, gesturing with your wooden spoon at the fresh trail of earth and water already marking the clean wooden floor. "I’ve just cleaned the floors!"
He just grunted, dropping the wood with a loud clatter into the box by the hearth, clearly unbothered. "It’s just mud. It cleans." He muttered, even though he knew damn well how upset you could get.
"Don’t track it further!"
He crossed the room anyway, coming up behind you, smelling of wood, pine, and rain. He ignored the stew for a moment, simply wrapping his huge hands around you, his thumbs hooking into your apron ties, pulling you back against his chest with rough affection. He was always like this, always handsy, needing to know where you were, needing to feel you against him. You welcomed it by resting your head on him, his small gestures of affection always warmed your heart.
"What you doing?" he mumbled into your hair, the stubble on his cheek rough against your temple.
"Dinner. And I need the dried thyme." you replied, tipping your head back to look at the unreachable jar. Sandor let go of your waist just long enough to reach up effortlessly. His fingers wrapped around the jar and soon he dropped it into your waiting hand.
You turned back to face him, tiptoeing to press a quick, soft peck to his lips, hand on his jawline. "Thanks, babe."
He didn’t answer, just watched you measure the thyme into the pot.
"Now, go clean that mess you made. And leave those boots outside!"
He glowered, but the protest died on his lips. He shuffled back toward the doorway, taking off his boots and quickly started scraping the worst of the mud off the boots before doing the same with the floor, his movements clumsy but effective. He wiped the floors with a wet rag. He tossed the muddy rag into a bucket by the door. You watched him as he carefully placed the boots outside before stepping back inside, barefoot and quiet.
"There," he grumbled, wiping his hands on his breeches. "Done."
He hated being told what to do, yet he did it for you. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his thick waist, pulling him close for a proper hug.
"Such a good boy." you murmured, resting your cheek against his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
He stiffened immediately, rigid in your embrace. He grunted, a frown on his face.
“Piss off, woman.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes, knowing this was exactly what would get a rise out of him. "Why? Don’t get sour with me.” You giggled, as he unwrapped your arms from him. “You cleaned up the mess like I asked. Good boy." You mocked, with another quick peck on his jaw.
He scowled at you, but you could see a faint but unmistakable flush creeping up his neck and dusting the tips of his ears a light shade of pink. He quickly looked away, turning around to go get himself clean shoes.
You knew exactly what you would call him in bed, later that night.
...
The fire in the hearth was banked low, and the rain had softened to a persistent drumming on the roof, as you took off your hairpins and got ready for bed. Sandor sat on the edge of the bed, eying you, waiting for the moment he’d get to hold you as he always did.
“You should take that off.” You say, pointing at his shirt. He didn’t bother answering, just looked up at you, inquisitive. “You know I don’t like how it feels. Makes my back itchy.”
Knowing the spoiled thing you were, Sandor didn’t complain, just quietly unbuttoned his shirt, watching as you massaged your scalp. “Good boy.”
“Quit that.”
“Why? It bothers you?” You asked, coming closer, already knowing the answer by the familiar way he rubbed his hands together uncomfortably right on top of his crotch.
“The fuck you think?” He bristled. “I ain’t a bloody boy.” He spit out the words, and you chuckled again. As much as he claimed he hated it, everytime you’d say those words and his cheeks turned pink, you felt a familiar warmth in your lower belly.
You walked over to him, standing in between his legs, giggling as you brushed his hair out of his face.
“I can see you blushing.”
He huffed, hands gripping your hips. “I ain’t blushing.”
You squealed when he threw you on the bed, your body bouncing on the mattress. As your husband climbed on top of you, letting some of his weight on you, you laughed and begged him to get off.
“Woman…” His voice was muffled against your neck. “You’ve been a brat.” You knew he wanted to make you pay for it, and you’d do it willingly if only there wasn’t that weird yet intriguing feeling in your core.
“Wait, babe…- wait.” You cupped his face and pulled his head up, forcing his eyes to lock on yours. “What if I reward you instead?”
“What you mean?”
You leaned down, your breath hot against his ear, and whispered in a teasing tone "You’ve been so good for me, you deserve to feel good."
When you pushed him to the side to straddle him, you could see in his eyes he wasn’t sure about this. Of course you’d be on top every now and then, but you were never in charge. You didn’t give him time to think, kissing him, your hands travelling down his chest, feeling his muscles all over.
You knew just how to break his resolve.
You sat up on top of him, your thighs bracketing his hips as you sat up and looked down at him. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes glinted with a mix of arouse and shame. Even if you both knew you were not quite sure how to take the lead, it didn’t make him any less hard. His huge, calloused hands, bunched in the sheets beside your hips, knuckles white. His eyes, usually guarded and cynical, were hazy with arousal, fixed on your face as you rocked your hips slowly, deliberately.
He shuddered, a raw, deep noise catching in his throat. His hands twitched, starting to rise, fingers splaying as if to grab hold of you, to control the rocking motion or perhaps just to feel the heat of your skin.
Before he could, you reacted, pinning his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head with surprising strength.
"Hold still." you tried to sound firm, but the words were a low purr. He grumbled, a frustrated sound, but didn’t fight the restraint. You smiled, a slow, predatory curve of your lips, and resumed your pace, driving him deeper into the promise of a reward.
When you leaned forward again, you saw his eyelids flutter closed, seeking relief from the intensity.
"Look at me" you commanded instantly, your voice flat, leaving no room for argument. His eyes snapped open, a flicker of irritation mixing with the desire. He kept them fixed on you, the veins in his neck standing out as he swallowed hard. The control was yours, and you knew he hated, but his body complied either way. “Good boy”
“Woman-” He was about to curse you, you knew it, so pressed his wrists harder against the mattress.
“Hush” Your voice was firm and steady, and you surprised yourself to find you had it in you. You felt the tension building inside him, the low growl starting again in his chest. He wanted to pin you down and fuck you like a beast, but he hushed, and you felt his cock twitch.
"Too much for you, Clegane?" you teased, dipping down to rake your teeth gently over his shoulder.
He bucked beneath you, needing much more than you were giving him. "Now, gods’ sake-"
You pressed a gentle, silencing finger to his lips. "Shhh. Be patient, be good for me, hm?"
He nodded and you wondered if he had even realized he did. You held back a moan, biting your lower lip, and decided you both needed more. You rose on your feet to take off your underwear and Sandor sat up to ogle shamelessly, so you left your chemise on. You wanted him to feel you more than see you.
You climbed back into the bed, on top of him, and pushed his chest down to the mattress then adjusted yourself on top of his cock, not to put it inside but to sit on it. A shaky exhale escaped Sandor's lips when your wetness met his length and you rolled your hips again, going from the base of his dick to the head of it.
A pathetic moan left your lips and you let your head fall back for a moment. When you looked back at your husband, his eyes were glued to the spot between your legs where your chemise had ridden up, now bunched around your waist.
“Want a taste, boy?” You asked, spreading your lips to give him a better view. His answer was a loud curse, and he tried to sit up again, licking lips. He was a munch. But you had other plans now, so you pushed him back on the bed and he cursed again. “Be a good boy and I might let you.”
You continued the slow, grinding pace until it was too much for you as well. You needed more, so you guided his cock aligned to your entrance, his tip brushing against it before you lowered your hips to finally have him stretch your insides. Sandor groaned, bucking his hips almost involuntarily. “You're so good, baby..”
You had forgotten that taking Sandor like this could be a bit of a struggle. His size and width were far above average, so usually your legs tired quickly, but you weren’t about to give up on having him under you so fast.
“You’ close?” You asked when Sandor's breath hitched and his eyes closed. “Look at me!” His chest rose with each breath, heavier and hollower each time, but he obeyed. His forehead was damp and his neck was red, but his eyes didn't leave yours. “You'll come when I let you, hear me?” He nodded, letting out a whimpering “yes”.
You wouldn’t follow your own rules, though. Having your man submit to you, looking so deliciously surrendered to you, it was… Gods, it was hot. You muttered praises to him mindlessly while you came on his cock.
Sandor was on the edge. He was being tortured, deliciously so, but hearing you call him a good boy was the only thing that kept him holding back. He wanted more. More praises, more torture, more rewards. So he held back, like the good boy he was, and waited for you.
It took a moment for you to properly regain control of yourself. When you did, you rose on your knees, the feeling of Sandor’s cock leaving your sensitive pussy made you shiver. But you didn't stop. You took his dick in your hand, squeezing it the tiniest bit as you jerked him off, making his breath hiss a bit.
You looked deep into his eyes, your own burning with possessiveness. "Tell me, good boy," you whispered, half purred, the commanding tone still there "where do you want to come?"
Sandor’s eyes were on yours, but he couldn't seem to think straight. You squeezed his cock harder, making him groan loudly and shut his eyes, then stopped completely, edging him. “Look at me!” He had no alternative but to comply, and he loved doing so. “Now tell me, where do you want to cum, boy? My hands? My mouth? My cunt?”
It really felt like he was about to come on your hands. He was strained in every way possible, taut and tense, cock twitching, and it didn't help when you leaned down to lick his balls. “Answer me.”
“Your tits” He breathed out. Of course. Sandor loved cumming on your tits. You took off your chemise and didn't try to stop him when he sat up and kneeled, just sat in front of him and went back to stroking his dick till he spilled on your breasts with a groan.
He slumped back down on the bed, breathless, his chest rising and falling heavily. Your boobs were coated in his sticky cum, but you didn't move to wipe it away, instead running your hands over his chest and shoulders, also taking deep breaths before you laid down by his side.
A moment passed before Sandor got up. He pulled on his pants and walked out of the room, coming back shortly later with a wet cloth. He wiped your sweaty forehead and neck, then in between your thighs before he cleaned your breasts with gentle hands.
"You are really a very good boy." you murmured, teasing, and kissed the back of his hand.
"Shut your mouth, woman." he grumbled, the words having lost all their sting. He folded the cloth and placed it on the ground, then let you pull him down to your side. He reached up, his massive hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.
You just chuckled, settling comfortably onto his side, pulling the thick furs up over both of you. Sandor wrapped a protective arm around you, pulling you in close until your head rested over his heart.
“You better know you’ll pay me for this.” He promised. You laughed, holding back the girly urge to kick your feet, ever so happy to be in debt.