Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Muna, you can’t change my mind.”

Daenerys was curled up in the back of a cab, knobby knees pressed to her chest, unwillingly speaking with Rhaella Targaryen on the phone. She had stopped to freshen up at her tiny studio apartment after another disastrous job interview and was now on her way to the pub. 

“Your uncle’s guest bedroom is still available. At least let him lighten the load.”

She rolled her eyes, dropping her feet to the floor. “I will not put Aemon out. I said I was going to have my own place and I will! Stop trying to fix this for me; failures are a part of life!”

Daenerys adored her great-uncle immensely, having visited him almost every day since moving to Winterfell. But this place was rapidly becoming a bust and she did not want to admit that to her favorite person in the world by moving into his extra room. She was going to give it “the good old college try”, as her big brother often touted.

“Lovey, you’re sure your kepa and I can’t send some money?”

Daenerys could not help but respond sarcastically. “I’m not destitute yet. I promise to let you know when I am. Bye!”

Pressing the red button on her screen, she dropped the phone into her purse and leaned against the window. The snowdrifts rushed past at breakneck speeds as the neon lights of B&T Corner Pub came bouncing into view. The driver braked abruptly at the sidewalk and Daenerys stumbled out of the backseat, wobbling on her charcoal wedge heels. Digging for her phone again, she tipped them on the CrowCab app: admittedly, the amount was a bit stingy, but under the current circumstances—she knew they had heard the entire conversation with her mother after all—Daenerys hoped they at least begrudgingly understood. Right inside the heavy oak doors, she threw down her faux-fur hood and unzipped the white wool coat before haphazardly hooking it onto a claw-foot rack. 

The North was a dreary place and in her short time there, she had found most of its residents wore muted colors, specifically black, on a daily basis, and tonight, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, originally of King’s Landing, was going with the grain: she donned a pair of black high-waisted leggings; a cropped, long-sleeved tee; and a matching lace bra, showcased not-so-mischievously through her sheer top. Silver-gold strands of hair completely unencumbered were falling down her spine in luscious waves. As a paralegal, she was almost never caught dead without the stereotypical pantsuit and its accompanying severe bun, but the situation called for a bit of intrigue. 

According to the messages from “The White Wolf” in the dating app on her phone, the only clue the man she planned to meet would give her of his identity was that he would be sporting a blue winter rose on his lapel. She matched with him a few hours ago, the guy insisting on an anonymous exchange: there were no pictures on his profile, only a rather direct tagline: Only naughty girls engage. Her alias on the app was simply “Dany”; only her niece and nephew were allowed to call her by the shortened version of her name. Like the White Wolf, she used the app exclusively for hook-ups: though at least in her case, it was because she had moved clear across the country to avoid her clingy ex-boyfriend and was not interested in actual dating in the interim.

A tall, athletic blonde woman stood behind the bar with a clipboard, arguing loudly with the scruffy, red-haired bartender who was filling two gigantic glasses with dark ale. 

“Tormund, you can’t give every pretty girl a free drink! And just because Edd and Grenn never seem to leave, doesn’t mean they never have to pay their tabs!”

In a flurry, Tormund spilled some foam from the glasses he held in each hand. “Do you expect me to steal from their wallets, woman?”

“I expect you to stop serving them!”

The two men at the end of the bar, who Daenerys assumed were the previously mentioned Edd and Grenn, groaned loudly for all to hear. The smaller one pounded on the surface of the bar and the tall woman rolled her eyes in response.

“I mean it! Pay your tabs or I’ll turn you away.”

Daenerys saw both grown men swallow in fear; she was sure the woman was strong enough to carry them out herself.

“Maybe I will continue to pour just so I can see you throw them in the snow,” Tormund purred, pulling her close and kissing her on the cheek. “Brienne, my beauty, forgive me.”

Brienne squirmed for a moment in Tormund’s arms before caressing his beard affectionately. “I’ll consider it. Now get back to work, handsome.”

Emerging from the coat check, Daenerys advanced towards the bar. Both Brienne and Tormund spotted her after a few seconds, and the former looked on sternly, most likely staying there to prevent him from giving away more free drinks.

Tormund winked almost imperceptibly at Daenerys. “Hello, little lady. What can I get you?”

“A Summer Island iced tea, please,” she answered demurely.

“Coming right up.”

It seemed that Brienne trusted her partner now, because she quickly swept away from the bar to the back room. Tormund mixed various types of liquor together before perching a small slice of grapefruit onto the rim and pressing a blue straw through the ice to the bottom of the glass.

“Three dragons, sweetling.”

Smirking, she handed him the bills; there was no way the cocktail was normally that cheap. Once she repositioned her purse on her shoulder, Daenerys scanned the bar’s main room for a man and his rare flower. There was a hallway leading towards an old pool table, where a few more booths were situated. In her haste to glimpse inside, Daenerys did not see the unlevel stone and rolled an ankle in her wedges. Before she knocked her skull on the metal doorframe, a hand caught her elbow and pulled her back to her feet.

A low, gravelly voice whispered directly in her ear, hot breath burning down her neck. “Careful there.”

Half her iced tea had spilled on the floor, but as soon as Daenerys faced her savior, all other thoughts flew from her head. He was absolutely glamorous: with long, black ringlet curls; plush, pouty lips underneath a neatly groomed, raven beard; thick, luxurious eyelashes; a pair of dark wash jeans that formed wonderfully around an arse to rival any supermodel’s; and a statement black velvet blazer, adorned with a single blue winter rose. Daenerys could not stop herself from running her fingers up and down the supple pleats of his jacket, while his own grip moved from her elbow to her lower back, tucked safely against her exposed skin. He smiled broadly at her forwardness, drinking her in with his dark pupils.

“Hello, White Wolf.”

“Hello, Dany.”

She seemed to melt into the floor when he said her name in that silky voice. Daenerys wanted her tongue in his mouth to discover every crevice, to perhaps go as far as to taste those vocal chords. His cloudy grey irises had nearly disappeared behind a pair of considerable pupils. She was so relieved she found him attractive: Daenerys had been afraid that the risk of anonymity would disappoint her. But she was happily surprised with the man standing in front of her: though he wasn’t much taller than she was, Daenerys was under his powerful spell immediately. The White Wolf had a singular goal and she would not stop him from achieving it.

“Did you want me to buy you another drink?” he husked, fingernails tracing around the bottom of her blouse as he glanced absently at her half-empty glass.

“I don’t need it.”

Daenerys was already drunk on him, and thought she might pass out if he didn’t kiss her soon. Licking her lips, she bumped her nose against his. The White Wolf nipped at her ears in response and his calloused palms migrated to her arse, almost lifting her from the ground in the process. When he growled darkly under his breath, Daenerys nearly dropped the rest of her beverage.

“Oh gods,” she gasped and the White Wolf finally pressed his intoxicating lips to hers. 

Clawing at his beard, Daenerys allowed him to plunder her mouth, teeth scraping and tongue engulfing as he bit and snapped viciously. The pair of them were huddled in the corner of the room, wrapped in each other’s arms like reckless teenagers, pawing at anything and everything they could reach; the only bare skin Daenerys could find was right at his neckline and she wanted to bury herself there. The White Wolf scratched up and down her back and chest, dipping underneath her cropped shirt to graze the tips of his fingers over her breasts. When he briefly pulled away, Daenerys immediately missed his supple lips: thankfully, he was just moving down to kiss her chin and neck, as well as pull her pelvis flush against his own.

“Can I take you back to my place?” he asked directly into her ear.

Together, they flew from the pub, ramming jacket sleeves over their arms and finding his vehicle without taking their eyes off one another. The ride was brief and Daenerys was grateful for it: her leg wouldn’t stop shaking in anticipation. The White Wolf parked the car in an underground garage and after shifting into gear, he grabbed her chin to share a bruising kiss. The two of them rode the elevator all the way up to the penthouse in silence, pinky fingers linked at their sides.

The elevator doors opened and the White Wolf lifted Daenerys from the ground, where she wrapped her thighs easily around his waist. Tongues battling for dominance, the two of them ran their hands up and down any available skin or through strands of silken hair. He stumbled forward, balancing Daenerys carefully on his forearms as he moved in the direction of the bedroom. When he threw her atop the comforter, Daenerys felt her center gush with wetness, a gasp erupting from her at the same time. She felt so wanton and needy as she studied the richly decorated room and canopied bed, the White Wolf lighting a couple candles on the end table.

Distracting her from their surroundings, he tugged her leggings off and tucked his fingers beneath her panties to press calculated touches to her leaking folds. He hummed smugly at how soaked she was before dipping the tip of his finger within her; Daenerys choked back a moan, seemingly feeling every line and curve of him as he moved at a snail’s pace to sheath himself inside her heat.

“Fuck,” she whispered, actively trying not to clench her legs around his wrist. 

He strummed her sensitive flesh expertly and dug the nails of his other hand into her naked hip in his captivated concentration.

“So tight,” the White Wolf husked in her ear as he pulled his fingers painstakingly from between her folds, and then pushed back in, lewd noises echoing around the room.

She was on the edge of orgasm when he suddenly was gone from her cunt and Daenerys whimpered in agony. But instead of continuing, he ripped her panties from her body, the ruined fabric thrown out of sight in the partial darkness. He maneuvered off the bed and started unbuttoning his dress shirt, a pale, sculpted chest and stomach peeking out from behind the rose-adorned lapel. The White Wolf then shed both his jacket and shirt to reveal a muscular pair of arms, accompanied by toned shoulders; Daenerys knew he was strong, but it was quite a sight to see anyway. She quickly sat up to remove her crop-top and bra, breasts free from confinement. The White Wolf gazed resolutely into her eyes as he traced her areolas, the pads of his fingers cool to the touch. She leaned forward and sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, which caused a stifled grunt to escape his mouth; Daenerys wanted nothing more than to hear this response from him for the rest of the evening.

So she pressed her chest firmly against his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in order to straddle his waist and brush her center over the bulge in his pants. The two of them continued making out messily, tongues lashing and teeth nipping. The White Wolf’s hands mapped her back with reverence, soft mouth continuing to kiss her deftly, while Daenerys unbuckled his brass belt. After she jerked down his zipper, they watched together as his pants pooled at his feet: he was quick to remove his boxer briefs when he saw her lick her lips, the hungry look in his eyes surely mirrored in her own. Swollen pink, veined, and standing straight out, his cock was…significant, to say the least. He would fill her more than anyone else had previously and her mouth watered at the thought.

After unwrapping a condom and folding it over his member, she and the White Wolf returned to the mattress, nestling beside one another, not a single stitch between them. He brushed the tip of her nose with his, grabbed the back of her head, and then pecked her lips again. Daenerys was having trouble breathing. She was ripe for the taking and needed him more than anything, trembling with desperation. Moving one of her legs over his hip, she felt him, hard and throbbing, bump against her overly sensitive folds.

Between gasps, Daenerys pressed their lips together in a frantic kiss. “Inside me, White Wolf. Now.”

Thankfully, he did as he was told without hesitation. His cock was sheathed inside her warm channel, the pair of them fitting like two puzzle pieces. As she adjusted to his size, Daenerys could taste their combined sweat in the air before hauling herself closer to devour him. The White Wolf pulled out all the way only to push back in, his hips snapping briskly, and Daenerys moaned in response. His subsequent thrusts seemed to touch a secret spot and when she rocked along with him to find more friction, he grunted appreciatively, grasping her arse between both palms.

Daenerys wanted to burrow herself within his exquisite body, absorb his fiery heat for an eternity. She moved her hands into his plume of charcoal hair, weaving her fingers between each delicate curl as he claimed her over and over and over. The White Wolf rolled on top of Daenerys and bracketed his arms beside her head, pistoning in and out of her cunt like a man starved. She could see in his intoxicating eyes—a black, bottomless void ringed by a sliver of grey—that he was close to his climax. And she wanted to be right there with him. Daenerys moved to touch herself, but he swatted her hand away to take on the task. Pinching and rubbing her clitoris rapidly, he smirked down at her with pride as she trembled on the precipice of release.

“Dany, perfect Dany,” he murmured gruffly as he kissed his way from her chin to the space between her breasts; the White Wolf took her nipples into his mouth before she heard him speak again. “I want to see you come on my big, fat cock.”

She chuckled breathily and pulled his pelvis impossibly closer, a choked sound escaping through her teeth at the new angle they had found. Daenerys threw her head back shamelessly, baring her porcelain neck, while her poor clit pulsed from his attention. He continued pleasuring her with his nimble fingers until she came, riding out her prolonged orgasm before filling his condom mere seconds later.

The White Wolf pulled out with a low groan, threw away the spent latex, and collapsed on the other side of the bed, panting. Daenerys clutched her chest as her heartbeat thrummed and eventually slowed to a normal rate, listening as he stood and walked into the bathroom. The door slammed closed and her eyes found what remained of her panties, feeling an electrifying flush fill her cheeks. 

Once in the back of a cab again—after another athletic round of lovemaking and an unforgettable session of mutally reciprocated oral sex—Daenerys could still feel the White Wolf claiming her cunt fiercely and smirked in satisfaction at the thought. She would dream of that beautiful body and thick cock for weeks to come, she had no doubt.

---

Her latest interview was the fifth potential position Daenerys was seriously considered for in the field of expertise she studied at university. She was not a good fit for Alliser Thorne and his unsmiling partners, Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck. This fracture was obvious immediately when she arrived in their office, but then yesterday morning, Mr. Thorne had doubled down and rejected her via email. There were only so many law offices in the greater Winterfell area and her options were rapidly dwindling. Daenerys would not tell her mother yet. No, she just needed some source of income in the meantime and if no one was going to hire her as a paralegal, then she would have to widen her horizons. 

She started by searching for job openings online and reading through the classifieds in the local paper, which was super old-school to her; but apparently people still paid to print their career openings there. After filling out twenty-five applications for a variety of different jobs, from data-entry to barista to dog-walker, Daenerys decided to reward herself with lunch at the sandwich shop across the street. Wrapped tightly into her parka, scarf, and mittens—and an enormous turkey sub in hand—she strolled leisurely down the block, past a pair of women chattering by a cork board outside city hall. She paused and took a huge bite of her sandwich, approaching the vast array of posters. At the forefront was a plea for help with childcare, the words “negotiable hours” in bolded letters and all removable tabs untouched. She tugged the phone number from the bottom of the piece of paper and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans as she moved to walk away again.

“Excuse me!”

One of the people Daenerys passed a few seconds earlier had called out to her. Swiveling around, mouth full of sandwich, she raised an eyebrow and watched an orange-haired woman jog over, holding out her expensive, leather-gloved hand.

“I’m Ygritte Snow. I placed the nanny advertisement you just showed interest in. Would you be available for an interview tomorrow afternoon? I’m desperate for someone to start right away.”

Bewildered, Daenerys swallowed and shook Ygritte’s outstretched hand. The two of them were close in age, she imagined, which was not at all an ego boost.

“Yeah, I could make that work. What time?”

The other woman exhaled in relief. “Oh thank the gods. My daughter has a playdate around two. Could you do two-thirty?”

Daenerys nodded and fumbled for her phone in her back pocket to set an alarm in her calendar.

“The address is 20 Weirwood Avenue. I insist on sending a car since it’s pretty last minute,” Ygritte also pulled out a phone and began typing furiously.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“What cross street should I request?”

Stammering, Daenerys blinked, suddenly tense. “Heart Street and Summer Boulevard, I think.”

Ygritte kissed her teeth in finality, frowning down at her screen. “Oh, I didn’t get your name.”

“Daenerys Targaryen,” she answered and bit her lip.

“See you tomorrow then, Daenerys.”

With that, Ygritte turned on her heel and fell back into step with her companion.

---

A chauffeur picked Daenerys up promptly at quarter after two, driving slowly through downtown Winterfell before finding themselves in the rich part of town. The historic brownstone architecture of the three-story townhouse was enviable; Daenerys’s mood drooped slightly at the thought of her pathetic studio and its lack of washer/dryer. Her great-uncle had formally offered to let her stay with him when she saw him earlier that morning, and this place was making her seriously consider taking him up on it for the first time. She chewed nervously on a piece of spearmint gum, clutching a folder containing her CV at her waist. Daenerys rang the bell and the sound of tiny thumping feet could be heard on the other side of the door. When the lock unlatched, a pudgy little arm poked out in the open space.

“Who is it?”

Daenerys felt a warm smile coming on. “I’m here to see Mrs. Snow. Is she home?”

“She’s in the kitchen. What’s your name?”

“I’m Dany. What’s yours?”

The door was then flung open to reveal Ygritte, a small girl Daenerys assumed to be her daughter, and a huge white dog, its long tail wagging back and forth across the pristine hardwood flooring.

The child spoke up again, dark eyes round and curious. “My name is Alysanne Melantha Snow, but everybody calls me ‘Aly’.”

“Nice to meet you, Aly,” Daenerys beamed, bending at the waist to shake the little girl’s hand.

Alysanne did not resemble Ygritte at all, with her dark brown corkscrew curls and heart-shaped face and mouth. Where she was soft, Ygritte was sharp with hard lines. The mother was striking in her own way, but her young daughter would eclipse her easily. The other woman looked on while Aly scratched the dog behind its ears and grabbed Daenerys’s empty hand to pet the animal’s head as well.

“This is my puppy, Ghost.”

There was no way he was truly a puppy; he was nearly as tall as his charge. Ygritte spoke then, tone serious:

“Come in, Daenerys. Thank you again for coming today.”

Stomping her foot, refusing to be ignored by the two adults, Aly cocked her head to the side. “‘Day-ner-is’? I thought you said your name was Dany!”

“Only my good friends call me Dany. Mrs. Snow is interviewing me for a job, so I thought I’d use the name my mother gave me.”

Aly grinned widely and pulled Daenerys carefully inside. “You’re much prettier than my last nanny, Miss Dany: she was really old and had this huge, weird mole with black hair growing out of it.”

Ygritte was unable to suppress a muffled snort at the hilariously frank statement. Once through the door, Daenerys nearly swallowed her gum at the sight of their imposing, extravagant home. She followed Aly and her mother through a sprawling foyer with a high ceiling, crystal chandelier, and what appeared to be an original Manfred Hightower still life. They quickly strolled through a short hallway to a pristine kitchen and adjoining dining room, with yet another elaborate light fixture. The enormous dog followed, tongue lolling lazily from his snout.

“Alysanne, go play with Little Sam now. I will find you in a bit,” Ygritte said in a monotone, not even looking at her daughter as she picked at her cuticles.

The young girl waved adorably at the two of them and clucked her tongue for Ghost to retreat with her. Daenerys winked in return, affection pervading her chest. Aly’s mother indicated that she could remove her jacket, perusing her CV while Daenerys did so, nose turned up. Ygritte’s eyes sped across the work experience, landing on a specific line.

“You have a degree from Dragonstone University?”

Alright, it seems the interview has started. Daenerys nodded slowly as she unraveled the scarf around her neck and intermingled her fingers at her waist:

“Yes, I attended Dragonstone for four years, and then moved back to King’s Landing for my graduate degree in legal studies.”

“What was your last job?”

“I was a paralegal at Selmy, Mormont, & Plumm in the capital,” she swallowed down some bile, angry that she left such an amazing position in the only place she had ever called home, to now have to interview for odd jobs in the freezing, bitter North.
“And Jorah Mormont was your manager?”

Daenerys assumed Ygritte was indicating her references now: Jorah was her direct superior at the firm and he had nothing but kind things to say about her. He promised to give her a glowing recommendation; though it was probably because the middle-aged lawyer had an unrequited crush on her. She had never led him on in any way, but she also could admit she exploited his admiration of her slightly when she asked him to be a reference in the future.

“He was. Barristan Selmy was also a partner at my last job.”

Ygritte cleared her throat suddenly and placed the folder on the counter. “How much experience do you have taking care of children?”

Daenerys started playing with the hem of her shirt. “I used to babysit my niece and nephew all the time. They’re teenagers now, but I sort of helped raise them after their mother passed away. And I’ve always liked children.”

“Aly is very social and gregarious. Would you be willing to be out with her in public often? Be around other nannies and families?”

“Yes, I can definitely do that,” Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

When Ygritte beckoned her into the living area, she was once again astounded by the style of interior design and modern art surrounding her: white couches, armchairs, and footstools embroidered with blue flowers; a gold-encrusted glass coffee table; and an elegant marble fireplace, roaring with orange and red flames. She settled herself at the edge of one of the couch cushions as the other woman crossed her legs in front of her:

“I would like to offer you the job. Alysanne is an excellent judge of character and I trust her instincts when it comes to the people who surround her.”

Daenerys bit her lip and nodded slowly in response. Becoming a nanny definitely wasn’t on her bucket list, but she needed the money. Aly was a big plus too: it wasn’t often she bonded with children outside Aegon and Rhaenys, and she had always treasured being around the two of them, especially when they were small.

“I would be happy to take it, thank you. When do you need me to start?”

Ygritte wrung her hands and began twisting her enormous diamond wedding ring, which was the first time Daenerys had noticed it. “My husband and I have a charity gala tomorrow night. Would that be too soon?”

A fucking charity gala. Well, at least she was looking forward to their discussion of salary.

---

“Dany, I can’t find Maegelle’s sparkly sandals! Where are they?”

A week after the interview, she and Aly were in the latter’s bedroom, playing with her Barba dolls. Aly was rummaging around in what appeared to be a bottomless toy chest, trying to find something for her doll to wear to a birthday party being put on for Daenerys’s doll, Jocelyn. Apparently, Jocelyn was turning seven and ten and she was finally getting her driver’s license. Daenerys had loved playing with Barbas when she was younger, mostly doing elaborate fashion shows or weddings. With Aly, she had a story prepared beforehand: sometimes they would go downhill skiing or sledding—the dolls had a variety of winter gear, including earmuffs and kicky snowboots—host dinner parties, go dancing at the country club, or hang out with her male doll, who she called Daemon. Maegelle and Jocelyn never did anything romantic with Daemon: Aly wasn’t interested in stuff like that, therefore she usually had Daemon play tennis doubles with the other Barbas, or be a waiter at a restaurant. Daenerys laughed out loud when Aly announced today that Daemon’s job at the party was to make crème brûlées for all the guests.

Gripping poor Jocelyn by the legs, Daenerys stood from her seated position on the bottom bunk of Aly’s bed; Ghost perked up at her sudden movement. “Let me look, sweetling. Why don’t you get Jocelyn ready for the party? Which outfit should the birthday girl wear?”

“Thank you, Miss Dany! Don’t you think she should wear the purple dress?”

Alysanne had such good manners; in truth, she was much more polite than she expected most five-year-olds to be, which the girl couldn’t have inherited from her acrimonious mother. Daenerys had spent the last few days schlepping Aly to and from playdates, preschool, and parties, all on her own. Every morning when she arrived at the house, Ygritte would greet her with a permanent frown and then shove a packed schedule in her hands.

Sticking her head into the chest, Daenerys hoped to zero in on the elusive silver, albeit tiny, sandals. While she was elbow deep in toys, there was a loud thump of a door slamming closed and she heard Aly drop both dolls on the floor to run outside. Ever the obedient protector, the dog puffed faintly in her wake. Ygritte had texted after her spa treatment that her husband would be coming home from a business trip sometime in the afternoon; Daenerys had yet to meet Aly’s father, who she imagined the girl must greatly resemble. Her employer had told her next to nothing about the man—not even his name—beside the fact that he had founded his own construction business: though from process of elimination, Daenerys knew he was the sole breadwinner, since all Ygrritte seemed to do was go to brunch and drink too many mimosas, only to return home with an “incurable” hangover. Daenerys had made the decision to stay over the last three nights after helping Aly get ready for bed when her mother couldn’t be bothered to leave her room.

Following her charge silently, she peeked out from the hall to see Aly embracing a black-haired man in the foyer. When he stood to his full height, she almost smacked her head on the wall in shock. Daenerys tried to shrink back into the shadows, but instead Aly dashed towards her like a bolt of lightning and leapt into her arms, tubby little legs hitching at her waist.

“Dany! Daddy’s here!”

Daenerys gulped, anxious and embarrassed, stepping from around the corner to reveal herself to the White Wolf.

Chapter Text

“You must be Daenerys.”

She grimaced, nodding robotically as she lugged Alysanne back into the foyer. 

“I’m Jon Snow.”

“Nice to meet you, Jon,” Daenerys murmured, studying his neutral expression before quickly censoring herself. “Mr. Snow.”

“Daddy!” Aly exclaimed raucously and reached for him.

Jon rolled his eyes in a good-natured manner, and held out his hands to take his daughter from Daenerys. Their fingers brushed briefly, causing goosebumps to envelope her skin. Seemingly unaffected, he began walking into the kitchen, Aly on his hip, the two wearing identical grins on their faces. Ghost—the inspiration for his “White Wolf'” moniker, no doubt—loped behind them obediently.

“How was school today, my love?”

Aly attended preschool four days a week, for four hours in the morning, including a hearty lunch. Daenerys, as well as the family’s driver, Pyp, had picked her up right before they started playing Barbas that afternoon.

“Cregan and Benny brought chocolate chip cookies!” Aly giggled, arms encircling her father’s neck.

“You and your classmates sure are spoiled, aren’t you?”

Daenerys swallowed the enormous lump in her throat. That voice. She had dreamt of the White Wolf for weeks, orgasming more than once to her memories of him. Jon Snow had helped her through the many job rejections she’d had lately and he didn’t even know it. There was no way this was happening right now.

Aly had been rambling about preschool while Daenerys was lost in her thoughts. “And then Miss Dany rode home in the car with me!”

Jon glanced over at Daenerys for a moment and she met his eyes hesitantly. Cheeks burning red, she dug her nails into her palms in an attempt to control any inappropriate impulses.

Aly continued when her father did not respond, bouncing in his arms. “Daddy, we’re getting ready for Jocelyn’s birthday party. Daemon is making crème brûlées: come play!”

“You go ahead; Dany and I will join you in a minute,” he replied under his breath, placing Aly on the floor, an amused smirk flashing across his pale features.

Daenerys could feel her heart beating through her ribcage, while her stomach seemed to turn to stone. The little girl and her enormous snow-white dog ran back towards the bedroom, leaving the two of them alone.

“Seven!” she swore, releasing a suppressed breath, which caused Jon to glance at her curiously, as if this situation was perfectly normal. “I…I suppose I’m a bit speechless.”

Jon unclasped the button of his blue blazer and shook his head slowly. “My wife and I are not currently speaking.”

Perhaps that explained why there were no photos of him anywhere in the house. But Daenerys only gaped in shock, so he went on:

“We keep up appearances in public, but I rent the penthouse and sleep there most nights, coming to see Alysanne here during the day when Ygritte is out. We haven’t talked to our daughter about it yet, so since Old Nan retired, I’ve been on a ‘business trip’.”

Jon made quotation marks with his fingers to emphasize his point. Daenerys was a bit stuck on her predecessor being called “Old Nan”, but did not speak her thoughts aloud. The much-too-alluring man was gazing at her resolutely, not helping the overheated blood in her veins.

“Also, the B&T bartender is an old friend. He knows about Ygritte and I and has agreed not to broadcast my…exploits.”

She stared down at the floor, and Jon started talking again to fill the silence:

“Are you—?”

“I love Aly and I love being her nanny. More than I expected to, in truth,” Daenerys worried at her lip, avoiding Jon’s eyes.

“And she loves you in return,” he murmured, leaning on the marble counter. “You’re all she talked about when I called a couple days ago.”

It warmed her heart further to hear those words. Without a second thought, Daenerys stepped closer to Jon and placed her open palm on his chest, mapping the exposed skin below his neck, much like she had the night they met. He didn’t move away, instead tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Breathless, she responded in a soft tone:

“I’ve thought about you constantly since that night. I don’t think I can pretend nothing happened between us now that I know who you are. Maybe I should…I don’t know. I’m not an experienced nanny or anything, but Ygritte was so desperate for someone that she pays me really well.”

Jon chuffed. “You mean, I pay you really well.”

“Well, perhaps I should thank you properly,” Daenerys framed his face with her hands, stroking the soft tufts of his beard. 

Their mouths met in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth. Jon pressed her easily into his strong chest, combining their body heat and causing a surge of fire to engulf Daenerys in pleasure. His hands moved from her shoulders to squeeze her arsecheeks possessively. They pulled apart momentarily to take a much-needed breath, before going back in for more. Daenerys clamped down on his bottom lip and Jon moaned in the back of his throat.

He pecked her ravaged lips quickly and then touched her forehead with his own. “Dany…”

She ran her fingers through his beautiful charcoal locks, body buzzing with hunger.

---

Without further ado, she and Jon began sexting back and forth the filthiest messages and photos imaginable. Less than two hours after learning her last name, Jon sent Daenerys the address of his penthouse when things got heated: specifically, during Aly’s afternoon nap, she posed partially naked in the mirror of Ygritte’s boudoir. As soon as her employer got back from her errands and mental health day, Daenerys immediately called a rapid cab to Jon’s place.

She moaned around his erection, while Jon pressed his palm to the top of her head, guiding her movements feebly. Daenerys bounced up and down with almost practiced ease, covering the shaft with her saliva and scraping the edge of her teeth on the sensitive skin there. With a breathy grunt, Jon answered her careful ministrations by lacing his fingers in her ratty hair: she swallowed him down again, the head of his cock bumping against the back of her throat. A faint retching sound burst from her, but Daenerys dutifully continued her task by puckering her lips into a tight ring.

“Yes. Dany, perfect Dany. That’s it.”

Amongst the depraved praise and strategically-arranged nudes from their earlier exchange, Jon had told Daenerys that the anonymous one-night-stand scenario was his go-to outlet since the rift with his wife started almost a year ago; therefore Daenerys was the only person he had met a second time, per his self-imposed rule. The proclamation had earned him this enthusiastic blow-job.

He quivered with restrained anticipation before hauling her body upwards to kiss her thoroughly. Daenerys crumpled the silk neckline of his shirt as she sucked at Jon’s lips and tongue without abandon. When Jon battered desperately at the zipper of her jeans, she slipped her own hands beneath the denim fabric to rid herself of any barrier between them. As she did so, Jon fell stiffly onto the cushion of his leather couch to watch her modesty disappear, ridding himself of his shirt as well. Daenerys wasted no time in mounting Jon’s length when she was no longer burdened with paltry garments: legs spread wantonly and breasts pressed to his cool, muscular chest, she rode him like a dragonlord of old. He met her thrust for thrust, stimulating her clit all the while.

Jon then pinched her hips in warning; he had already been on the brink of climax mere seconds ago when she almost choked on his huge cock. “Dany, take it all. Oh, baby, I’m coming.”

He kneaded her arsecheeks and buried his beard into the crook of her neck, groaning through his release. Daenerys also felt his teeth nearly break the skin where her neck and shoulder met, and she squeezed the protruding tendons at his clavicle, trembling at the new sensation. Still inside her, Jon persistently flicked her throbbing nub. This was followed by a trail of searing kisses beginning behind her ear and across her chin. He then planted a final, tender peck to her red, ravaged lips. At this, an earth-shattering orgasm hit and Jon eagerly gorged himself on her screams as she came down.

“I am nowhere near done with you,” he licked and nipped at her earlobe as he spoke.

Daenerys slumped against his pectoral muscles and exhaled in weariness.

“Go to the bed and lie down on your stomach. I will meet you there momentarily.”

She felt his softened cock slide from between her folds, a certain emptiness burgeoning in her womb that she could not properly explain. Daenerys padded towards the bedroom, wearing nothing but a loose hair-tie, and gingerly settled on top of the sheets. Not a minute later, she heard Jon approaching and turned to see him shaking a bottle of massage oil. Opening the lid, he proceeded to pour a robust amount onto her exposed back; unfettered relief washed over her immediately, as the liquid spilled down her hip. Jon then straddled her thighs and began palpating at the base of her spine, palms smothered with hot, steaming oil. Cock nestled dangerously close to her entrance, Jon leaned forward to tease her further:

“Do not move a muscle. I have thought about having you like this for some time.”

Daenerys shivered and closed her eyes, determined to enjoy every second of his tireless attention.

---

Less than a week later, Daenerys left her first interview with Eddard and Robb Stark twenty minutes before she was due to collect Alysanne Snow from school. She texted Pyp her location and he soon skidded to a stop in front of the modest law firm in his sleek, black ride.

“Hello, Miss Dany,” he greeted her with a droll wink.

“Stop it,” she said without any venom. 

As “the help”, Daenerys and Pyp—as well as the cook and maid—had a certain rapport because of their relationship to each other and the family they worked for on a daily basis. Because of this, Pyp did not mention that she was actively looking for another job and using his services to get to and from all the meetings.

She quickly shed her suit jacket and unraveled her hair from its confining bun. Leaning forward to address the driver again, Daenerys said in a monotone:

“We have a playdate today, according to Ygritte’s schedule. With Cregan and Benny, I believe.”

“Ah, Aly’s cousins.”

“They’re her cousins? How has she never mentioned that to me?” she blinked deliberately. 

Pyp smirked in the rearview mirror at her. “She talks a lot. Maybe you weren’t listening?”

Daenerys laughed outright and swatted his bony shoulder. “You might be right. Gods, I love that girl to death, but her stories can get a bit long-winded.”

Pyp parked carefully at the curb of the Winterfell Day School, where a crowd of various youth were gathered behind a wrought-iron fence at recess. Daenerys slipped from the car and jogged towards the assembled faculty and parents inside the visitor’s entrance, printing her name on the sign-out sheet to indicate her arrival to the preschool aides. Ygritte’s name was also on this list, but today, she was feigning some sickness to stay in bed. Daenerys did not know why Jon Snow was not included as one of Aly’s designated adults; though the unofficial separation was most likely a factor. An errant thought flashed through her mind: what if he had slept with one of the teachers? Or another parent? How awkward would that be, if it were true? She hoped it wouldn’t get someone banned from getting their child from school, but nothing could be ruled out when it came to these posh, exclusive private schools.

After enjoying a rather inappropriate fantasy involving Jon, a rope swing, and a silk blindfold, Daenerys blinked back to reality. Through the window, she spotted Alysanne at the jungle gym, feet dangling off the ground as she swung by her mitten-enclosed hands; she was half-monkey, that girl.

A tall, elegant woman wearing a beige coat and a pink silk scarf strolled to the table, a crooked smirk on her heart-shaped face as she read over Daenerys’s shoulder. They had seen each other a few times before at pick-up; all the other parents and nannies seemed to be absolutely enamored by the other woman, flocking around as if she were one of the Seven Gods. There was a pretty good chance she was just the chair of the parent-teacher association.

“Are you Daenerys?”

She swallowed nervously after being addressed by the Maiden herself. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

The dark-haired beauty held out her hand confidently. “I’m Margaery Stark, Cregan and Benjen’s mum.”

Seven, was everyone related in this town? Jon Snow or his estranged wife were probably connected to Eddard and/or Robb Stark somehow; and the world was getting smaller by the minute.

“Hi! I’ve heard Aly has a playdate with your sons today,” Daenerys shook the other woman’s hand firmly. “I have yet to meet them.”

Margaery turned slightly and pointed outside, where a pair of clones, auburn-haired and skinny, were shouting at each other as they played four-square near the swingset. “Benny is on the left and Cregan’s on the right.”

Daenerys would bet a million dragons that their father was Robb Stark. “Oh, wow. How do you tell them apart?”

Margaery chuckled darkly, sultry eyes landing on her as she flipped her waist-length chocolate locks. “Well, I gave birth to them, of course.”

She paused to sign her name on the sheet. “You can also see that Benny is wearing a cast and sling for his broken arm and dislocated shoulder. Makes it a bit easier for everyone, including me. Though I’m a terrible mother for being grateful for the broken bones of a child.”

Daenerys laughed as the bell rang loudly above the double doors. She immediately found Aly again, who was ambling to the single-file line led by her teacher, Miss Mormont. Daenerys was used to the routine by now: the preschool aide would supervise the sign-out until the bell, then they would bring Miss Mormont the updated list so she could read aloud the names of the students and their respective parent/caregiver/other designated adult who was there to collect them. From inside the building, Daenerys could just barely hear the teacher’s voice:

“Kyrah, your dad is here. And Edwyn, Grandma came to get you today. See you next week!”

Aly hopped out of line momentarily to wave at Daenerys through the window, bouncing back into place right afterwards. An involuntary smile filled her face at this. If the Stark law firm offered her the paralegal position, she would be devastated to leave this perfect child who she adored more than anyone else.

“Cregan and Benjen: Mum is here,” Miss Mormont held up her hand as the twins pushed forward, jostling the other kids around them. “Oi, be careful.”

The boys did as they were told, Benjen’s sling protruding from underneath his partially unzipped jacket as he toddled inside behind his brother. Reaching Margaery, Cregan grabbed her hand protectively. Seeing them from this close, Daenerys knew she never would have been able to tell them apart if one didn’t have an obvious injury.

“Alysanne, go find your nanny.”

Daenerys watched Aly walk respectfully past the teacher, and then as soon as she was no longer in Miss Mormont’s sightline, started sprinting until she could leap into her nanny’s open arms.

“Hi, sweetling. How are you?” Daenerys asked, kissing Aly on the brow.

“Good! I missed you.”

She twined her fingers through Aly’s corkscrew curls affectionately. “I missed you too. Are you ready for the playdate with your cousins?”

“Can Cregan and Benny ride in the car with us, Aunt Margy?”

A stern expression on her face, Margaery Stark answered evenly. “The boys have to be in their carseats, just like you. So we’ll have to meet you at your house. Is that alright?”

Alysanne nodded, a dramatic sigh passing her lips. Cregan and Benjen protested as they made their way towards the car, clearly not as patient as their cousin.

---

“I did not beg you to come over. I wish you wouldn’t accuse me of that.”

Daenerys used the spare key to enter the Snow residence and tiptoed through the foyer, past the kitchen, and into the hall leading to the bedrooms. She had hoped to avoid whatever was going on, but Daenerys heard her name being called in that sharp voice of Ygritte’s, forcing her to present herself to the people in the living room.

Jon was standing by the roaring fireplace, tending to the flames with a poker. While Ghost napped at Ygritte’s feet, neither she nor her husband addressed their employee when Daenerys padded towards the sofa. Arm sheltering her eyes, Ygritte sipped a green drink through a straw: based on the other woman’s behavior, she guessed it was some sort of hangover cure.

“Hello, Daenerys. Did you read the schedule for today?” Ygritte’s mouth was severely downturned.

Saturdays usually consisted of trips to the movie theater, or the indoor waterpark, or playdates at the homes of various children from school. The point was, she and Aly were always out of the house; Ygritte apparently needed to be alone without a five-year-old bothering her constantly. Daenerys imagined Aly was so attached to her nannies because her mother neglected her more often than not. She was a wonderful little girl and deserved to be cherished by Ygritte, no matter how Daenerys felt about the woman. But some people were not meant to have children.

“I have not. I was going to find Alysanne first. Is there something you wished to tell me, Mrs. Snow?”

At her question, Jon finally faced the main part of the room. He did not look particularly happy to be there. Ygritte surprisingly stood and approached him, looping her arm through his bent elbow. Jon’s subsequent cutting glare sliced through his porcelain brow; it was clear he was unable to hide his true feelings, even in front of strangers, as far as his wife knew.

“Mr. Snow and I have made plans to spend the afternoon together,” she smiled proudly at her husband: a smile he did not return. “So I called Aly’s grandparents and they are expecting you. Pyp knows the address.”

Ygritte was even keeping up appearances in front of the nanny. Which was useless, because the driver, maid, and part-time cook knew she and Jon were not on good terms. Pyp certainly knew Jon was having an affair; thankfully, whoever his mistress actually was, was beyond his scope. Daenerys also believed she would have figured out the truth sooner or later since Jon obviously did not live with his wife. Nodding at Ygritte’s words, she locked eyes with her lover. Jon’s grey irises were rimmed with flame as he stared her down studiously. Daenerys swallowed back a moan and suddenly clutched her churning abdomen. He was brazen and she wasn’t at all expecting it. As she nestled closer into Jon’s hip, Ygritte did not seem to notice either of them exchanging seductive looks, besides the nanny’s prolonged presence.

“Is there anything else you needed, Daenerys?” her employer asked pointedly.

Stammering, she bit her lip and took a single step on wobbly knees. “No, Mrs. Snow. Aly and I will get going then.”

Daenerys felt Jon’s scorching stare on her back as she walked into the kitchen, Ghost’s nails clicking on the floor as he followed.

By the time Aly and Daenerys were ready to leave the house, Jon was nowhere to be seen. Ygritte, on the other hand, was still nursing her green drink, prostrate on the couch. Daenerys buckled Aly into the car and proceeded to hold her hand tightly while Pyp wove in and out of the atrocious weekend traffic until they arrived at a modest two-story home right outside of town. Daenerys peeked down at her phone before moving to get out of the car; Jon had sent her a text, the words “White Wolf” flashing at the top of the notification.

How dare you tease me in those overalls! I will tear them from your body tonight.

Daenerys quirked an eyebrow before she answered. Will you? As long as you promise not to ruin yet another of my outfits.

His reply was immediate. I do not believe I can promise that, my dragon.

A mute scoff escaped her lips at the adorable endearment. My dragon. She desperately wanted to be his. And any scraps he could give her were cherished more than he probably ever intended. Daenerys sent a final message, letting Jon know that she would keep him updated on today’s activities. She then ran around the vehicle, spotting two people in the yard who appeared to be play-fighting with three, what only could be described as, wolves. Another boy was on the sidelines, leaning on a pair of forearm crutches and cheering on the others. 

Daenerys lifted a squirming and whining Alysanne from the backseat. The little girl then screamed inexplicably and waddled away in her pink trainers:

“Auntie Arya!” 

One of the people roughhousing turned at the outcry, dark brown hair short and messy. She looked exactly like Jon Snow. Again, Daenerys had a creeping feeling who Aly’s grandfather was.

“Aly!” the three people in the yard exclaimed simultaneously.

Arya, she assumed, lifted her niece from the ground and twirled her around three times, while the enormous animals joined in with enthusiastic barks and tail-wagging. Daenerys stayed behind in the driveway, watching the two boys embrace Aly affectionately. 

Pyp rolled down his window. “When should I return, milady?”

“The schedule says ‘after dinner’. It seems Ygritte expects her in-laws to feed us two entire meals,” Daenerys rolled her eyes. “I’ll text you; Aly will probably be asleep when you get here.”

She waved as Pyp shifted the car into reverse and accelerated down the expressway again. Tucking her hands into her pockets, Daenerys ambled slowly towards the house, head bowed.

“Dany!” Aly pulled her to her side, swinging their hands back and forth. “These are my uncles, Bran and Rickon, and my auntie, Arya.”

Arya couldn’t be much younger than Daenerys, while Bran was probably still in university. Rickon, though, had barely finished puberty, based on the unfortunate cystic acne coating his jawline: he was seventeen, she guessed. The more Daenerys saw of them, the more reality was setting in: Jon was Robb Stark’s brother and by extension, Ned Stark’s son. Bran and Rickon resembled Robb, unlike Arya, who was a dead-ringer for Ned, if she ever saw one. And if Daenerys was right, she would have to ask someone why Jon did not share their surname.

“I’m the new nanny,” she smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Bran flashed her a kind smile, taking a single step towards her on his crutches. “Nice to meet you, Dany. The last nanny was about two hundred years old; Aly finally has someone to keep up with her.”

The group giggled together, Rickon elbowing his older brother in the arm affably. They were about to go inside, but Aly was not done with her introductions, it seemed. Standing between two of the huge dogs, she said:

“And this is Nymeria, and Summer, and Shaggydog!”

Nymeria, surely named for the warrior princess of the Rhoynar, flaunted a dark grey coat of soft fur and sparkling golden eyes; Summer was lighter in color and leaner of muscle than his sister; and Shaggydog had silky black hair and piercing green eyes, the largest of the three.

“They look like direwolves,” she mumbled to herself, letting Nymeria urgently nose her palm.

“They are direwolves,” Arya cocked her hip to the side. “Have you met Ghost yet? He’s the runt of the litter. And albino, of course.”

No wonder Ghost was so enormous. He was a freaking direwolf .

Daenerys pinched and tickled Aly’s plump cheeks, which caused a loud laugh to erupt from the little girl’s throat. “You called him a puppy! A puppy!”

Gathering Aly up, she carried her charge upside-down through the front door and into a neat living room, while the wolves stayed outside. An older auburn-haired woman was standing at the counter with a substantial tray of snacks and juice.

“Grandma!” Aly cried from her lopsided position in Daenerys’s arms.

A warm smile on her face, Aly’s grandmother walked around the kitchen island and framed the girl’s face in her hands, kissing her on the nose. “Alysanne, child.”

She looked up at Daenerys then. “I’m Catelyn Stark. You must be Miss Dany; we’ve heard a lot about you from this one. Haven’t we?”

Aly laughed adorably once again, raising her arms to be held. After Daenerys turned the little girl upright, Catelyn lifted her underneath the armpits and placed the kid easily on her strategically-angled hip. She then brought Aly over to the spread she had been preparing when they came inside. Bran and Rickon were not far behind.

“Daenerys Targaryen!”

She whirled around at the sound of her name, spotting none other than Ned Stark at the foot of the stairs.

---

As suspected, Eddard Stark was indeed Jon’s father, though from a relationship prior to his marriage. The woman calling herself Aly’s grandmother was not biologically related to Jon Snow, but had raised him since he was four years old, after his true mother died of a wasting illness. He came to live with the Starks, accepted Catelyn as mother and Robb as brother, but kept the Snow surname to honor the woman who birthed him. Daenerys could not lie and say this information did not endear her more to Jon.

She spent the majority of her time at the house gossiping and joking with the family, when she wasn’t running around the backyard with Aly. Ned briefly mentioned the vacant position that she had interviewed for at his firm, but only to explain how they already knew each other. By the end of the night, Aly was occupied with fruit snacks and an array of different toys, while Daenerys, Arya, Catelyn, Bran, Rickon, and Ned sat around her and chatted about Daenerys’s time as a nanny for the Snows. No one said it out loud in front of Aly, but she surmised they all knew Jon and Ygritte were by all accounts separated. And Arya was by no means subtle about it during lunch either.

That night, after putting Aly to bed, Daenerys rushed to the penthouse, where she was properly fucked into oblivion by Ygritte’s husband. Daenerys did not expect to be such a willing, active participant in blatant adultery, but she would have only lowered her standards for Jon Snow. He was quite skilled at pleasuring her into a deranged state of euphoria: though following their last love-making session, the two of them had talked for over an hour about themselves, revealing things Daenerys did not expect them to ever know about the other. She thought about how normally at this point in a relationship, she would ask the guy to define what they were together. But Daenerys obviously couldn’t do that in this particular situation. She wasn’t afraid to admit she loved Alysanne more than anything; Jon, on the other hand, was a different story.

“Aly, darling! Where are you?” Daenerys shouted from the foyer, as she wiped her boots on the rug. “We’re going to be late!”

She and Pyp had been stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for over twenty minutes, trying to get from one side of downtown Winterfell to the other. Jogging into the bedroom, she did not see Aly putting on a mismatched pair of socks or wrestling with Ghost on the floor. Weirdly enough, the direwolf was alone at the foot of the bed. Daenerys speed-walked into the kitchen, where she found Jon seated at the counter, typing on his laptop with a pair of glasses propped on the end of his nose. She did not see Ygritte there, but wouldn’t be taking any chances to prick her ire.

“I’m here to bring Alysanne to school, Mr. Snow.”

Jon gazed at her over his spectacles, a whimsical glint in his eye. “Already on her way there. Today, my wife got a wild hair to do the bare minimum.”

Daenerys felt her jaw sink open. “Well, no one bothered to tell me that.”

“How is it you always look so delectable?”

A single eyebrow raised, Jon removed the black-rimmed glasses from his face and walked casually into her orbit.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me on purpose. Playing with fire, Jon Snow.”

His eyes were hooded with desire. “Say my name again.”

Daenerys stepped forward, inhaling his woodsy scent and allowing a hot puff of air on her cheek. Every morning when she dressed for the day, she would choose her outfit with the intention of making Jon notice her: he didn’t come to the brownstone as often as she hoped, but when he did, it was always worth the work. Today, it was a scarlet, sarong-type maxi skirt and a black, long-sleeved blouse. Lashes fluttering closed, Daenerys kissed his pulse lightly and wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders. He felt like a safe haven, unlike anyone else in her life had ever been.

“Say it, my dragon.”

I adore you. “Jon Snow…kiss me.”

He wet his lips in preparation and then crushed his mouth to hers, a moan reverberating in his throat. Daenerys loved the way he licked and lapped at her mouth, as if to taste every bit of her that he possibly could. Jon untied her skirt effortlessly, leaving her bare, save a lacy g-string.

“We shouldn’t,” she whined, rubbing against the clothed erection notched splendidly at her center. “She could be home any minute.”

“We’ll be quick.”

Daenerys would have never been able to say no anyway. After an affectionate smooch to her bottom lip, Jon bent down to lift her beneath the knees and carry her to the beautifully embroidered sofa. Admittedly, she had dreamed of being with him in front of the roaring fireplace more than once. When he placed her on the soft cushion, his eyes dark with lust, Daenerys wasted no time and unzipped his fly.

“I need you now,” she breathed directly into his mouth as she tugged at his cock.

Growling, Jon bared his teeth. Daenerys purred in response and then the White Wolf pounced. He pushed her sorry excuse for panties to the side and drove between her soaked folds ferociously. Her answering moan was shrill, but Jon put a stop to that by nearly inhaling her lips in an intoxicating kiss.

“You’re mine, Dany,” he husked into her ear as he moved inside her deliciously. “Mine.”

She clung to him, nails digging into his scalp. “Yes! Oh, Jon, just like that.”

Seeing the ecstasy on her face, Jon attempted to change the angle of his thrusts, hips snapping clumsily in the process, and teeth and tongue devouring, but instead he rolled the two of them off the couch completely. She landed on top of Jon rather hard, which elicited a loud, pained groan from him and then a wheezing chuckle. Bewildered a bit herself, Daenerys devolved into hysterical giggles. Jon smiled widely at this and angled his head to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“You have done something to me,” he whispered, eyes shining.

“Indeed. My body weight has flattened you, White Wolf.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Daenerys began rolling her hips again, reawakening his member that was still tucked inside her slick channel. Jon chanted her name repeatedly, as they chased their individual orgasms. They kissed, they murmured encouragement, and they pleasured each other until both of them were throbbing in rapture. Lost in his eyes—those dark, soulful pools of grey—she did not hear the front door slamming or the distinct clatter of stiletto heels walking through the kitchen and into the living room.