Chapter 1: The Return
Sansa hadn’t seen John in four agonizing months. The ache of his absence had carved a hollow space in her chest, one she tried to fill with work, wine, and late-night fantasies. But nothing could replace the heat of his presence. When he finally stumbled through her apartment door, exhaustion etched into every line of his rugged face, her heart leapt. His beard had grown wild, a dark scruff framing his sharp jaw, and his hands were marred with bruises—marks of whatever hell he’d been through. She didn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, she fed him a hearty meal, watching his tired eyes soften with gratitude. They retired to separate rooms in her sleek, modern apartment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken need. Sleep came fitfully for Sansa, her mind racing with the memory of his touch.
Morning light spilled through the curtains, and she found John in the kitchen, looking marginally more human after a night’s rest. His flannel shirt hung loose on his broad frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal those bruised forearms. He caught her gaze, and his eyes—those damn puppy-dog eyes—softened with a vulnerability that made her breath hitch.
‘Sansa,’ he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a low rumble. ‘I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.’
She froze as he leaned in, his lips brushing her bare shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘John, stop,’ she said, her tone sharp but wavering. ‘This isn’t right. If people find out—’
‘Screw what people think,’ he growled, his breath hot against her skin. ‘I’ve been dying for you. Every damn day out there, all I could think about was getting back to you.’
Her resolve faltered as his hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer. She pushed back, her eyes flashing with defiance. ‘You don’t get to just waltz in and—’
‘I’ve been watching you, Sansa,’ he interrupted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. ‘That night you came home drunk, staggering in that tight little dress, I was sitting in the dark. You didn’t even notice me. But I noticed you. Every curve, every move. I’ve been starving for you.’
Her cheeks flushed, a mix of anger and undeniable heat pooling in her core. ‘You’re a creep, you know that?’ she snapped, but her voice lacked conviction. His smirk was infuriatingly sexy.
‘Call me what you want, but you feel it too,’ he teased, his lips hovering over hers. ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t been aching for this.’
She hated how right he was. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him in despite herself. Their kiss was electric, a clash of pent-up longing and raw hunger. His beard scratched against her skin as their mouths devoured each other, tongues tangling in a desperate dance. Sansa’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her body pressing against his, feeling the hard lines of him through the thin fabric of her tank top.
‘God, you’re infuriating,’ she gasped between kisses, her voice dripping with both irritation and desire.
‘And you’re irresistible,’ he shot back, his hands roaming down to grip her ass, pulling her flush against him. She could feel how hard he was already, his cock straining against his jeans, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. Her pussy throbbed with need, wet and ready despite her protests.
They stumbled toward the counter, her back hitting the cool marble as he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist. ‘We shouldn’t,’ she panted, even as her nails raked down his back.
‘Then tell me to stop,’ he challenged, his voice a dare as he ground against her, the friction making her gasp. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, both of them sweating already, breaths coming in sharp, horny bursts. Her skin was slick with anticipation, dripping with want as his hands slid under her shirt, teasing the edge of her bra.
‘Fuck it,’ she hissed, her resolve shattering. ‘Don’t you dare stop now.’
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