[ His eyes close and that's a kind of victory, however small. In this game — and it is a game, anyone who says otherwise is full of shit — it's every man for himself and Uncle Petyr's not the type to give anyone the edge. Not even Sansa.
The magazine gives a soft slap as she drops is abruptly onto the table. It reveals a smile and flushed cheeks. (The wronger the act, the hotter she gets. That's one of the first discovers he ever made about his sweet little niece.)
She's a little breathless already, a free hand drifting down between her own thighs: ] You seem pretty on the clock to me.
no subject
The magazine gives a soft slap as she drops is abruptly onto the table. It reveals a smile and flushed cheeks. (The wronger the act, the hotter she gets. That's one of the first discovers he ever made about his sweet little niece.)
She's a little breathless already, a free hand drifting down between her own thighs: ] You seem pretty on the clock to me.