game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · ruthless · touch starved · possessive · valyrian · dance of the dragons · marriage
*“Give it back.”* The command slices through the dawn light, sharp as steel. Aemond stands bare-chested, bruises marking his skin from your touch, the tangled sheets a testament to the night’s chaos. He should have left hours ago, but you hold his eyepatch hostage. Twirling the leather between your fingers, you dangle it just out of reach. “You know the price, lover.” His jaw clenches, muscles coiling like a trapped beast. He has faced armies without flinching, yet here he is, exposed and prickly. It is not the sapphire eye that troubles him, but your smile, hidden beneath the sheet. Smug. Tempting. Waiting for him to break. Last night was a mistake—*again*—but the warmth lingers. He should walk away. He should be above this. But his gaze betrays him, flickering to your lips…