The Lady of Casterly Rock stands in a thin nightshift, twisting a pair of silken scarves around her hands as she stares down at her husband. The light catches in Tywin’s gold-flecked eyes, and she watches his long fingers twitch- he itches to touch her, but she shakes her head.
And it is perfectly delicate, the way she wraps the silk around his wrists and ties him down to the chair. Perfectly ladylike, the way she lifts her knuckles to his lips before knotting yet another scarf around his head to cover his eyes.
His breathing grows heavy, and she leans in to press her ever-smiling mouth to the set line of his. His lips shift a bit beneath hers, and she can feel the corners turning up- he smiles only for her, and the thought sends a tingling sensation down between her legs.
“Joanna,” he whispers, his voice ragged- but it isn’t enough, and they both know it. She’ll have him begging properly first.
She just continues to smile, crossing to her vanity and removing a gold-and-ivory circle from a cushioned jewelry box. She takes her time returning to her bound husband- the sounds of his quickening breath combine with her gentle hum, which soon turns into a whistle- “The Rains of Castamere,” of course.
A markedly-small index finger traces his square jaw before trailing down his neck. His hands clench on the arms of the chair when she settles herself between his legs and kneels down. She skims her palm over him- he’s so hard already, and she quivers with anticipation. But patience, patience and discipline is their way...
He sucks in a sharp hiss through his teeth when she slides the ring over his cock, pushing it to the base. She watches him grow and swell, and she can’t help it- she leans down to flick her tongue over the head.
“Gods..” She licks him again, and she waits- he knows what he has to do...-
It’s barely above a whisper, but she catches every word just the same: “Please, Joanna...my Joanna...”
And Lady Lannister places her hands on her husband’s thighs and pushes herself up until she rests her forehead against his. “No. My Tywin.”
Joanna waits for him to nod his acquiescence before settling herself on his lap and removing the scarf that covers his eyes.
He’s burning, smoldering- she kisses him, harder this time, only pulling away when she feels him smile again.
And when she catches the reflection of her green eyes in his, she sees the proof again, sees what so many others cannot-
FILL: Tywin/Joanna, dominance - "The Flint and the Flame"; NC-17 (Part Two)
And it is perfectly delicate, the way she wraps the silk around his wrists and ties him down to the chair. Perfectly ladylike, the way she lifts her knuckles to his lips before knotting yet another scarf around his head to cover his eyes.
His breathing grows heavy, and she leans in to press her ever-smiling mouth to the set line of his. His lips shift a bit beneath hers, and she can feel the corners turning up- he smiles only for her, and the thought sends a tingling sensation down between her legs.
“Joanna,” he whispers, his voice ragged- but it isn’t enough, and they both know it. She’ll have him begging properly first.
She just continues to smile, crossing to her vanity and removing a gold-and-ivory circle from a cushioned jewelry box. She takes her time returning to her bound husband- the sounds of his quickening breath combine with her gentle hum, which soon turns into a whistle- “The Rains of Castamere,” of course.
A markedly-small index finger traces his square jaw before trailing down his neck. His hands clench on the arms of the chair when she settles herself between his legs and kneels down. She skims her palm over him- he’s so hard already, and she quivers with anticipation. But patience, patience and discipline is their way...
He sucks in a sharp hiss through his teeth when she slides the ring over his cock, pushing it to the base. She watches him grow and swell, and she can’t help it- she leans down to flick her tongue over the head.
“Gods..” She licks him again, and she waits- he knows what he has to do...-
It’s barely above a whisper, but she catches every word just the same: “Please, Joanna...my Joanna...”
And Lady Lannister places her hands on her husband’s thighs and pushes herself up until she rests her forehead against his. “No. My Tywin.”
Joanna waits for him to nod his acquiescence before settling herself on his lap and removing the scarf that covers his eyes.
He’s burning, smoldering- she kisses him, harder this time, only pulling away when she feels him smile again.
And when she catches the reflection of her green eyes in his, she sees the proof again, sees what so many others cannot-
The flame within him finds its fellow in me.