A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

wrote,
a gate and a short flight of exterior steps.
He pushed through the gate and climbed the worn steps to an unmarked door.
Should I knock?
He pushed the door open instead, and found himself in a large, dim room with a low ceiling, lit by a pair of scented candles that flickered in niches cut from the thick earthen walls. He saw patterned Myrish carpets underneath his sandals, a tapestry upon one wall, a bed. “My lady?” he called. “Where are you?”
    â€œHere.” She stepped out from the shadow behind the door.
    An ornate snake coiled around her right forearm, its copper and gold scales glimmering when she moved. It was all she wore.
    No,
he meant to tell her,
I only came to tell you I must go,
but when he saw her shining in the candlelight he seemed to lose the power of speech. His throat felt as dry as the Dornish sands. Silent he stood, drinking in the glories of her body, the hollow of her throat, the round ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip. And then somehow he was holding her, and she was pulling off his robes. When she reached his undertunic she seized it by the shoulders and ripped the silk down to his navel, but Arys was past caring. Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers, as warm to the touch as sand baked by the Dornish sun. He raised her head and found her lips. Her mouth opened under his, and her breasts filled his hands. He felt her nipples stiffen as his thumbs brushed over them. Her hair was black and thick and smelled of orchids, a dark and earthy smell that made him so hard it almost hurt.
    â€œTouch me, ser,” the woman whispered in his ear. His hand slipped down her rounded belly to find the sweet wet place beneath the thicket of black hair. “Yes, there,” she murmured as he slipped a finger up inside her. She made a whimpering sound, drew him to the bed, and pushed him down. “More, oh more, yes, sweet, my knight, my knight, my sweet white knight, yes you, you, I want you.” Her hands guided him inside her, then slipped around his back to pull him closer. “Deeper,” she whispered. “Yes, oh.” When she wrapped her legs around him, they felt as strong as steel. Her nails raked his back as he drove into her, again and again and again, until she screamed and arched her back beneath him. As she did, her fingers found his nipples, pinching till he spent his seed within her.
I could die now, happy,
the knight thought, and for a dozen heartbeats at least he was at peace.
    He did not die.
    His desire was as deep and boundless as the sea, but when the tide receded, the rocks of shame and guilt thrust up as sharp as ever. Sometimes the waves would cover them, but they remained beneath the waters, hard and black and slimy.
What am I doing?
he asked himself.
I am a knight of the Kingsguard.
He rolled off of her to sprawl staring at the ceiling. A great crack ran across it, from one wall to the other. He had not noticed that before, no more than he had noticed the picture on the tapestry, a scene of Nymeria and her ten thousand ships.
I see only her. A dragon might have been peering in the window, and I would never have seen anything but her breasts, her face, her smile.
    â€œThere is wine,” she murmured against his neck. She slid a hand across his chest. “Are you thirsty?”
    â€œNo.” He rolled away, and sat on the edge of the bed. The room was hot, and yet he shivered.
    â€œYou bleed,” she said. “I scratched too hard.”
    When she touched his back, he flinched as if her fingers were afire. “Don’t.” Naked, he stood. “No more.”
    â€œI have balm. For the scratches.”
    But none for my shame.
“The scratches are nothing. Forgive me, my lady, I must go . . .”
    â€œSo soon?” She had a husky voice, a wide mouth made for whispers, full lips ripe for kissing. Her hair tumbled down across her bare shoulders to the tops of her full breasts, black and thick. It curled in big soft lazy ringlets. Even the hair upon her mound was soft and curly. “Stay with me tonight, ser. I still have much to teach you.”
    â€œI have learned too much from you already.”
    â€œYou seemed glad enough for the lessons at the time, ser. Are you certain you are not off to some other bed, some other woman? Tell me who she is. I will fight her for you, bare-breasted, knife to knife.” She smiled. “Unless she is a Sand Snake. If so,