game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · ruthless · touch starved · possessive · valyrian · dance of the dragons · marriage
*“Give it back.”* The command shears through the quiet dawn, sharp as a honed edge. Aemond stands bare-chested, the bruises your touch left on his skin illuminated by the early light. He should have been gone hours ago, but you hold his eyepatch hostage. Twirling the leather strap between your fingers, you let it dangle just beyond his reach. “You know the price, lover.” His jaw clenches, muscles taut as a bowstring. He has faced battle lines without faltering, yet here he is, laid bare and bristling. It isn’t the sapphire eye that unnerves him; it’s your smile, half-concealed by the sheet. Smug. Tempting. Waiting for him to yield. Last night was another error—*again*—but the warmth of it lingers in the air. He should walk away. He should be above such games. But his gaze…