GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa-Chapter 117 Margaery Tyrell [R-18]

Alaric held her gaze, his intense expression softening just a fraction. He didn’t laugh or brush off her nervousness. Instead, his hands slid slowly down the sides of her neck, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of her collarbones before he pushed the heavy, dark grey wool cloak from her shoulders.

"You won’t do anything wrong," he rumbled, the deep sound vibrating in the quiet room.

He leaned in, bypassing her lips to press his mouth directly against the pale skin of her neck. He found the frantic, fluttering pulse just below her ear. With deliberate gentleness, he bit down, sucking the tender flesh to leave a dark, blossoming bruise—a silent, undeniable claim.

Margaery let out a sharp, quiet gasp. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her fingers dug into the thick velvet of his shoulders as she tilted her head back, willingly offering him more access.

When he finally pulled back, Alaric’s eyes traced the dark reddish mark already blooming against her skin. His hands moved lower, sliding over the smooth green silk of her gown until they settled heavily on her waist. He easily spanned her sides, his thumbs pressing lightly through the fabric to feel the curve of her ribs.

"You’re so small right here," he murmured, his glowing eyes tracking back up to her flushed face. "And your lips are sweet."

Margaery opened her eyes. Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, but the tight knot of fear was finally melting away. A small, sharp smile tugged at the corners of her mouth—the confident, proud Tyrell heir stepping back into the light.

She slid her hands up his velvet doublet, resting her soft palms against the thick column of his neck. Looking up at him through her lashes, she let out a playful whisper.

"Only my waist and my lips?" she asked, a spark of familiar pride returning to her brown eyes. "I was always told everything about me was the absolute best."

Alaric let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest that might have been a laugh. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her completely flush against his solid frame.

"We have the whole night," he said flatly, though the heat in his eyes betrayed him. "I’ll let you know my final verdict when I’m done checking."

He reached around her, his thick fingers finding the laces at the back of her gown. As he gave them a tug, the tight green silk instantly gave way, loosening around her ribs.

Margaery let out a soft sigh of relief as the constricting fabric relaxed, but she quickly reached out to catch his hand.

"Wait," she whispered.

Turning slightly, she reached for the small wooden table beside the massive bed. Her fingers closed around a tiny, heavy crystal bottle. The liquid inside caught the dim candlelight, shimmering like liquid gold. She turned back and held it out to him, a furious blush painting her cheeks, though she kept her eyes bravely locked on his.

"My handmaidens left this for us," she said softly.

Alaric eyed the little bottle. "What is it?"

"Sweet almond oil, pressed with white roses," Margaery explained, her voice quiet but steady. "It’s meant to help. To make things... easier, and hurt less. Since it’s my first time."

Alaric was silent for a long moment. Then, he reached out, taking the delicate crystal from her fingers. With a flick of his thumb, he popped the small wooden cork free. The rich, sweet scent of crushed almonds and blooming roses instantly filled the space between them.

Tilting the bottle, Alaric poured a small pool of the thick, golden oil into the center of his rough palm, the liquid catching the flicker of the candles before he set the bottle aside. He rubbed the slick oil between his fingers, testing its weight, before looking back up into her anxious eyes.

"Turn around," he ordered gently, his voice dropping to a heavy rumble. "Let me finish the laces."

Margaery turned her back to him slowly. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, but the line of her bare shoulders was wire-tense.

Alaric reached out, his dry hand catching the loosened strings at the top of her gown. He pulled the rest of the laces free, hooking his fingers over the thick silk at her shoulders and pushing the heavy fabric down. The dress slipped effortlessly from her skin, sliding down her arms to gather in a rich pool of green silk around her waist. The cool air of the bedchamber washed over her bare back, and Margaery shivered, letting out a shaky breath.

Alaric didn’t leave her in the cold for long. He closed the distance, pressing his broad, velvet-clad chest flush against her bare back. Reaching around her sides, his large, rough hands—now slick and radiating heat from the almond oil—smoothed over her skin. He moved his hands upward, firmly and warmly cupping her bare breasts.

The sudden, intense heat of his hands combined with the slick glide of the oil made Margaery jolt. With a soft, vibrating moan deep in her throat, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as she reached up, her delicate fingers wrapping tightly around his thick wrists. She didn’t try to pull away; instead, she clung to him, leaning her entire weight back against his chest.

"Alaric..." she breathed, her voice shaky and completely breathless. "Your hands... they’re so warm."

He kept his grip firm and steady. As he slowly kneaded her soft flesh, the slick oil allowed his rough calluses to glide smoothly over her pale skin. He ducked his head, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear as his hands tightened their rhythm, pressing deeply into her curves.

Margaery gasped, her back arching completely away from his chest as a louder, sharper moan slipped past her parted lips.

"Ahhh... Alaric," she breathed, her voice fracturing. Her fingernails dug lightly into the thick muscle of his forearms, her breathing turning ragged and shallow.

Slowly, he slid his hands down the line of her ribs, leaving a slick, warm trail of oil in their wake. Gripping her bare waist, he firmly turned her around to face him.

The green silk remained pooled around her hips, leaving her completely exposed to his heavy gaze. Margaery looked up at him, her chest heaving. Her brown eyes were dark, hazy with a sudden, overwhelming heat. Every last ounce of her nervousness had completely burned away.