( As the second son to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond could have any woman within the realm that he desires as his wife or paramour, so why — why does he want and desire her so?
To hear him correct her and reaffirm his want for her — his mother — and not just the pleasures and release she can give brings everything around her to a standstill as she looks down at him. She has always been thankful that he doesn't share the same carnal appetites as his brother, and on occasion, she wondered what made her son tick. Never would she have imagined they were carnal in a darker way that goes beyond what is tradition for his ancestral Targaryen blood.
If she had known sooner, would she have acted differently? Perhaps she could have sent him away to Oldtown instead of Daeron to serve as a cupbearer and squire for her cousin or matched him with one of the simple-minded young women of the court or a Northern house to help strengthen their ties.
No, she wouldn't have wanted things to change, even if she had down. It would have been a shock, nothing that she would have acted on, but she knows without him, her life within the walls of the Red Keep would have been unbearable. For so long, it feels as though he has been the only one to see her and the strife she ensures. He always makes an effort to do whatever is within his power to make her happy, which is what this is — another way for him to bring her happiness. To show her that she's wanted, needed, and loved in a way that no one else can; something that can only be shared between them.
The warmth of his hands feels like fire atop the skin, thumbs grazing over the inner part of her thighs, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, and the mask she tries to wear almost breaks as she looks down at him still — straightening her back to move her face further away from him, even though he cannot reach her with her fingers right around his hair to keep him anchored.
It all comes tumbling down when his hand leaves her thigh, and his fingers drag against her. Alicent hisses, ) Aemond.
( While it might not be a prayer, it is enough to hear and see his mother fracturing before him — the poised, polished, pious woman of faith no longer there, and all that is left is a woman who has needed someone to want and need her for so long. She whimpers as his fingers sink into her warmth, one after the other. Her grip tightens on her hair as her hips roll forward, desperate for more of his touch. )
I cannot remember the last time anyone made me feel this way, ( she admits, and by anyone, she means his father, as she has been a faithful and dutiful wife up until now.
No longer wanting to tease him, the fingers on his stomach lift, moving down to pluck at the fastenings of his breeches and pulling his waistband to the side to open them wider. Her hand finds his stomach again, but she does not hesitate this time. Deft fingers wrapped around the girth of him, stroking upward to free him before sliding her fingers back down to the base of the shaft. )
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To hear him correct her and reaffirm his want for her — his mother — and not just the pleasures and release she can give brings everything around her to a standstill as she looks down at him. She has always been thankful that he doesn't share the same carnal appetites as his brother, and on occasion, she wondered what made her son tick. Never would she have imagined they were carnal in a darker way that goes beyond what is tradition for his ancestral Targaryen blood.
If she had known sooner, would she have acted differently? Perhaps she could have sent him away to Oldtown instead of Daeron to serve as a cupbearer and squire for her cousin or matched him with one of the simple-minded young women of the court or a Northern house to help strengthen their ties.
No, she wouldn't have wanted things to change, even if she had down. It would have been a shock, nothing that she would have acted on, but she knows without him, her life within the walls of the Red Keep would have been unbearable. For so long, it feels as though he has been the only one to see her and the strife she ensures. He always makes an effort to do whatever is within his power to make her happy, which is what this is — another way for him to bring her happiness. To show her that she's wanted, needed, and loved in a way that no one else can; something that can only be shared between them.
The warmth of his hands feels like fire atop the skin, thumbs grazing over the inner part of her thighs, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, and the mask she tries to wear almost breaks as she looks down at him still — straightening her back to move her face further away from him, even though he cannot reach her with her fingers right around his hair to keep him anchored.
It all comes tumbling down when his hand leaves her thigh, and his fingers drag against her. Alicent hisses, ) Aemond.
( While it might not be a prayer, it is enough to hear and see his mother fracturing before him — the poised, polished, pious woman of faith no longer there, and all that is left is a woman who has needed someone to want and need her for so long. She whimpers as his fingers sink into her warmth, one after the other. Her grip tightens on her hair as her hips roll forward, desperate for more of his touch. )
I cannot remember the last time anyone made me feel this way, ( she admits, and by anyone, she means his father, as she has been a faithful and dutiful wife up until now.
No longer wanting to tease him, the fingers on his stomach lift, moving down to pluck at the fastenings of his breeches and pulling his waistband to the side to open them wider. Her hand finds his stomach again, but she does not hesitate this time. Deft fingers wrapped around the girth of him, stroking upward to free him before sliding her fingers back down to the base of the shaft. )