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It was a dark and stormy night....adgoaihdal;dknad

"Well that's complete trash."

Jon hit his head hard on his laptop, mumbling "ow" as he mentally berated himself for being the worst mystery author of all time. He was literally sitting in the middle of a place called "the Stormlands" and it was nighttime and there was thunder rumbling in the distance and he had the looming outline of the Storm's End ruins in the distance staring at him through his open windows.

What could be more aesthetically appropriate than all that to help him work on his newest novel?

A bit of writer's block, he figured, hitting Ctrl+A and then deleting the entire block of text he'd somehow shat out in the last hour. He groaned, hitting his head back down, this time on the edge of the battered desk in the tiny cottage he'd rented for the summer to help him. It had originally been for "research" since his book was set in this part of Westeros, but now it was becoming a pain in his ass.

Because it was fucking hot.

They always failed to mention that, when discussing the appeal of the Stormlands. Yes, it stormed, but it was more of a daily occurrence you prepared for and the mornings were always lovely and warm and you could frolic on the beach or go hiking or look for ancient ruins or whatever the fuck. Jon had zero idea, he'd been trying to write this whole time with occasional runs on the beach, wandering through the grass, and a few visits up to Storm's End to get the lay of the place for his book setting.

And in all of that it was hot. It was bloody hot but that wasn't the worst of it. It was the humidity. It was like a soaking wet blanket that someone shoved over your face and then wrapped you up in and tossed you into the ocean for good measure. Did you have a shower? Great, you'll never dry again while you're still standing there. Even if you're in the fucking sun.

This was why the air con was his friend and with such a tiny little one-bedroom cottage, it was working perfectly well. Until that morning when he'd heard a weird hiss, a bang, and then the entire thing shut down. He'd ignored it, sent a message to the rental company thinking they'd deal with it, but he hadn't heard a damn thing, and now it was midnight and even the nighttime didn't help.

He lit a cigarette, reminded himself to quit smoking, and after a deep drag, he reached for his glass of warm whisky. "All I need is my faithful hound and it's like I'm out of some teenage girl's mystery writer fantasy," he mumbled to himself, studying the shitty whisky.

At that, his faithful hound kicked at his feet, shoved under the small desk against the wall, trying to be as cool as possible. He glanced at the half-wolf, half-something dog and sighed, feeling awful. "I'm sorry," he apologized, yet again. "I didn't think it would be this bad." He opened up his phone, trying again to see if there were any available hotels nearby. Nope. None. Zilch.

This really fucking sucked.

He checked the weather app. It said it would be clear and cool. “Liar,” he muttered, even double checking to make sure it wasn’t still set to Winterfell. He tossed the phone onto the desk and stood, stretching up his arms and popping his back.

The shirt was long gone and he hated wandering around in just shorts. Made him feel like a trash person or some spring break frat boy. He stepped out into the night, on the small deck in front of his cottage. There was a sandy patch of grass and then a cliff, with stairs leading to the beach he shared with some of the other rental cottages.

There was only one that was close enough to call a neighbor. He’d seen the woman who was staying there a few times; she had Dragonstone license plates on her sporty little red car and some kind of black animal that was either a massive cat, small dog, or perhaps a species as yet to be determined. She was tiny, had silver hair, and kept to herself, waving hello to him once or twice but otherwise leaving him be.

As an antisocial introvert, he appreciated that. Points for her.

Thunder rumbled off over the sea, which raged against the beach below. He could hear the waves crashing. It was therapeutic, even though it wasn’t helping with the writer’s block. He wondered if going for a beach walk during the threat of getting struck by lightning would help with the block. Or perhaps it might cool Ghost down.

"Ghost," he said, preparing to turn to address his companion directly, but his wolf had other ideas. He bolted out, sensing the prospect of getting some wind in his fur, and leaped off the deck into the sand, trotting to the stairs towards the beach.

Jon sighed, turning and closing the door. He paused and opened it again, stepping inside to grab a t-shirt. He pulled it on because he wasn't so much of a mountain person.

They went down to the beach, which didn't last long. The wind was kicking up and sand began to sting his eyes; somehow he felt grittier afterward and Ghost appeared even hotter, despite running quickly into the ocean and then back out. He sighed, gazing up at the sky. It wasn't quite storming yet, maybe he had a chance to at least see what the AC problem happened to be before he tried to work a little more on his book…

A crack of lightning over the sea had him jumping in place. “Fuck, never mind,” he muttered. He’d make do with the small fan he’d found in the closet, until the rental agency got back to him.

A few steps up the stairs from the beach, he paused, seeing his neighbor open her porch door, leaving it open and returning back into her house. Another night owl, he supposed, as it was nearing one in the morning. He got back up to his deck, going into the kitchen to dump ice in a bowl for Ghost.

Ghost was panting, his water bowl half drunk in front of him on the deck. "I know, I know," Jon apologized, setting the ice in front of him. He knelt, ruffling Ghost’s ears as the dog crunched on ice.

The storm seemed closer now, wind howling and thunder rumbling louder. No rain yet, but he hoped when it did it would cool off. He stood, preparing to go back inside, when he heard a loud crack, like a tree limb falling and somewhere in the distance there was a major boom. He yelped, falling backwards, in time to see sparks flying out of a transformer attached to a telephone pole on the other side of the thicket of trees separating the cottages and beach access from one of the roads.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, scrambling towards the deck railing. He whipped his head towards the cottage, noting the fan had stopped and the light over the stove was out. “Damnit.” He sighed, raking his hands through his hair. No fan now. "Ghost, sorry mate, but..."

Ghost was at alert, ignoring him. He frowned, following Ghost's line of sight, just in time to see the strange black creature that belonged to the neighbor bolting out from under the deck, streaking as fast– not very much actually– towards the open door of the pretty neighbor.

His wolf didn't hesitate, leaping again off the deck, and headed right to the house.

"Ghost!" Jon shouted, racing towards him. "Get back here!" Normally his wolf was much better behaved.

Not thinking-- that wasn't his strong suit this evening– he ran onto the neighbor's porch and was about a step into her house when he froze, realizing what he was about to do. "Um, hello?" he called, over the wind that had started to howl around the house.

The woman was laughing, standing in the kitchen as Ghost rubbed against her legs, the massive black thing sitting atop the cabinets and hissing. "Oh, hello, good evening to you! I guess you're the thing that Drogon has been trying to avoid these past couple weeks, huh?" She looked up, grinning at him, or at least, he thought it was a grin. It was super dark and the only light came from her phone's flashlight and the moon streaming in through the wide open windows and door. "Good evening! Guess you couldn't sleep either?"

"Ah...I was working," he said with a sheepish smile. He pointed to Ghost. "That's mine. He has no manners, I'm so sorry...."

"Don't be, Drogon needs the exercise, it's why I've been letting him out to wander." She walked out of the kitchen and he realized she was also holding a candle lighter in her hand. She lifted it up. "I guess that lightning struck a transformer. I was still going to check the fuses." She cocked her head. “Unless you want to? Are you checking up on the single lady in the bad storm?”

Another sheepish smile, this time his cheeks burned hot. "Um, I'm sorry...Ghost ran off…I honestly wasn’t checking…” he stuttered. “That’s to say, I could have been checking…."

"Relax, I’m kidding.” She chuckled, offering her free hand. "I should have introduced myself sooner. I'm Daenerys."

"Daenerys," he drawled. She was a funny one, this Daenerys. Quite a mouthful.

"Dany, if you want."

"Dany." He thought her hand was very small, fit perfectly in his. He let go, shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Um, I'm Jon."

"The writer."

Damn. He figured he’d try his hand at leading though, trying to relax around her. He wasn’t great with women but damn she had him on edge. Probably because he’s run right into her damn house. He widened his eyes, feigning surprise. "Oh, sorry...I didn't think my angst was so loud."

That got him a laugh, high and bright. "It wasn't, but your furious typing is, when you're outside on your deck," she teased. She laughed when he closed his eyes, shuddering in humiliation. "Don't be sorry, I like watching artists at work. I'm one too." She threw her thumb over her shoulder, pointing towards an easel setup and a table filled with paints and brushes. "Came here for some inspiration, I seem to be getting it."

He sighed; he'd bothered her way too much already. Even though up close, in the pearly moonlight, finally with eyes on her, all he could think of was a sea nymph, or some fairy who'd come down from the moon. Her silver hair glowed, piled up on her head, and she wore a red tank with cutoff gym shorts, leaving a lot of creamy skin visible. She was small, but he could tell she was still solidly built, probably could pack a hard punch.

There were three tiny dragons tattooed on her wrist and when she leaned down to light a few candles on her coffee table, the armhole of her oversized tank shifted and he could see an outline of something-- maybe another dragon-- on her rib, just under her breast. The side of which he got a quick view of. He flushed, pinking again, feeling like a total creeper.

He had to get out of here.

He glared at Ghost, who had made himself comfortable on the floor underneath a battered wooden table in the kitchen, snapping his fingers and pointing towards the open door. “Get up you rude beast, we are leaving and you apologize for barging in.”

Ghost harrumphed, getting to his feet. He stared back, his red eyes burning, and stretched his front paws. Then the mangy animal turned in a circle and settled back down, his giant butt facing Jon in a dog version of “Fuck off.”

Jon closed his eyes. “Seven hells.”

Dany laughed again, this time from the edge of the table where she was still lighting candles. There had to be over two dozen of them in the small cottage living room and kitchen. “It’s midnight and storming and there’s no power. You’re not going to write and you could sit there alone or hang out with me, I don’t bite.”

She flashed a smile, holding a candle in front of her face, which cast her in glowing relief. He noted that her eyes were sparkling and an odd color— purple? Couldn’t be, no one had purple eyes. “Usually, that is.”

Well fuck.

“I imagine as a Northerner you prefer whisky but all I have is…” she trailed off, picking up one of a couple bottles sitting on the kitchen counter. “Tequila and gin. Also some lovely wine from Highgarden.”

Might as well just wipe this evening away, he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the storm. “Gin,” he said, at the same time a clap of thunder and bolt of lightning struck, lighting and shaking the small cottage.

Rain let loose, sheets of it battering the cottage’s clapboard sides. “Shit,” Dany muttered. “This one seems bad.”

“It’s a summer storm, we just haven’t had one this bad yet.” He stood in the doorway, glancing at his cottage. He winced. “Be right back.” He had to shut the windows, else his living room would be floating away.

It fucking sucked, bolting through the rain, and being soaked to the bone when he got to his place. He shut the windows, grabbed a fresh t-shirt, and then bolted straight back to Dany’s cottage, where she was waiting on the couch, a glass of gin in hand and another on the side table waiting for him.

She grinned. “You came prepared.”

“Huh?”

“The shirt. Feel free to toss the wet one in the laundry room, it’s off the kitchen.”

“Oh, right.” He felt so stupid, seven hells, would this night end? He held up the shirt. It wasn’t quite dry but definitely not as bad as the one he was wearing. “Be right back.”

“I’ll get you some towels.”

“It’s really fine,” he protested. He was going to kill his dog. Ghost rolled into his side, wagging his tail lazily when Jon walked by. “Traitor,” he muttered.

A few minutes later he was on the couch, his shirt dry, his hair damp, and thankfully a towel used to mop up his face. He took a long pull of gin, coughing slightly as it burned his throat. He studied the glass. “That’s good.”

“It’s from Dragonstone.”

“Ah, your license plates.”

She smiled. “Yes. And yours are King’s Landing despite the Northern accent, the wolf dog and the bumper sticker pass for Northern parks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Moved down there after the military.” He didn’t feel like talking about himself, glancing at her easel, the paintings stacked all around and into the adjacent sunroom. “Artist, huh?”

“Yes, mostly oils.” She stretched back into the couch, drawing her feet under her. He felt her intense gaze on his, and she had to speak up over the sound of the rain and thunder. She waved at the easels. “You’re welcome to take a look if you want.”

He glanced at the paintings, figuring ‘what the hell’, and finished his gin before he got up to wander to the paintings. “These are really cool,” he murmured, taking note of the first one. She had an abstract way, huge sweeping strokes with multiple colors in each.

“Refill?”

Another glass appeared in front of him and he took it wordlessly. “You came here for inspiration?” He paused at a painting of what was unquestionably Dragonstone at dusk, the wide paint strokes giving the illusion of smoke over the sun, the dragons carved into the stone the appearance their eyes were glowing, that the castle was alive.

His skin chilled, not from any temperature change, but the feeling it evoked in him. Like he was there.

Shit, she was really good.

Dany leaned her hip against the paint table. He glanced in her direction. She smiled quickly over the glass. “I’ve been watching you, you know.”

“Oh?” His heart began to race. He wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Yeah. You’re so caught up in your writing I wondered sometimes if I needed to come over and tell you to eat or something.”

He sighed. “That was clearly before the writer’s block.”

“Maybe the storm will inspire you.”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure. He made a face. “It doesn’t happen often but when it does…”

“Takes some time to go away?”

He nodded, sure she understood, being a creator herself. “Sometimes. Needed out of Kings Landing anyway.”

Now it was her turn to make a face. “I hate that place. Fucking hot.”

“Pretty hot here now.” He glanced sideways at the storm, shrugging. “Hopefully they’ll fix the power soon.” What was he talking about? The power!?

Dany chuckled, her voice soft. “Oh I kind of like it off. Mysterious.”

They met each other’s gaze again. He bit his bottom lip and broke away quickly. This was more than he’d said to her total in weeks. He felt…dumb. Unsure. Gods Jon, get it together. She was just a woman.

A beautiful woman.

He tried to look back at her paintings, but wasn’t focusing on them because she was standing close. “You’re so focused on your work. I’ve tried to say hello a few times. Wasn’t sure if I was disturbing you.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face. He flushed a little. “I did want to say hello a few times but…wasn’t sure you wanted visitors.”

“Not most.” Dany tapped her finger on his chest, quiet. “But you? I think I’d make an exception.”

Huh?

He whipped his head to the paintings, wondering what happened next. Did he stand there like a dork? Loudly start talking about the weather? Fuck, he hated doing this sort of thing. He thought of his usual icebreaker, blurting out. “Ghost.”

“Hmm?”

“Ghost, my dog.” He eyed and Ghost, who was laying happily on his side under the table, tail thumping because he knew they were talking about him. “I’m still sorry he ran in here…barging in like that.”

She waved her hand, dismissing the apology. “Poor baby was hot.” She made a face, plucking the front of her tank top. “Damn, you’d think a storm would cool it off a bit. It’s still so hot.”

And then she reached down to the bottom of her tank, crossed her arms and peeled it up and over her head, leaving her in a skimpy red lace bra that left very little to the imagination.

As a writer, Jon had a big imagination.

So this was…unexpected.

He blinked, stupidly staring at her with his jaw slightly slack. A right prat, his cousin and almost sister would have said, before slapping him upside the head. He snapped his jaw shut and swallowed hard. “So…how…how long are you staying in the Stormlands?”

Dany blinked at him owlishly. A lightning flash illuminated the room and he could see her eyes really were purple. She stepped towards him and reached for the front of his shirt, her small fingers closing around a hank of the soft fabric, forcing him to step towards her. He did his best to keep his hands to himself.

She smiled, long and slow, her eyebrow arching. “You’re such a gentleman, Mr. Snow.”

Now he was trying not to think of what lay under the bra and the short shorts. God, it was incredibly difficult not to just gape at her. It had been awhile for him and well she was bloody gorgeous…it was also hotter than the seven hells and he was sure he was having a stroke…

He closed his eyes, whispering, “I really wish I wasn’t right now.”

“Oh? Why?”

Fuck! “Because if I wasn't…” he opened his eyes, meeting hers as another lightning flash. He took a deep breath, exhaling it shakily. here it goes…

Another rumble of thunder. A flash, crossing over her face, her clear arousal alight.

“You’d be naked by now.”

A clap of thunder shook the house, but he paid no attention, because in that moment he grabbed her small waist in his large hands, which spanned almost the width of her, and crashed his mouth onto hers.

She met him halfway, on the tips of her toes, fingers tearing at his shirt. The instant his mouth touched hers, he felt like the lightning had come straight through the window and struck him. It shocked him, how much he bloody needed this woman. It should have terrified him, he didn’t know her, he didn’t do this sort of thing but gods, he had to have her. To feel her and taste her.

This woman was like the rain falling outside, drumming straight into his skin. She was everywhere, her soft hands dragging the shirt up and over his head. They broke their kiss for her to toss it aside and he took the opportunity to lift her easily into his arms, her legs snapping around his hips.

She dug her nails into the back of his scalp, pulling his hair in the messy, damp bun, her lips soft and giving, as he speared his tongue into her mouth, scraping along her palate. She tasted like the gin they’d be drinking but also lemons. He wanted to get drunk on her, his head already dizzy from it.

If her cottage had the same layout, he suspected he knew where the bedroom was, but he was losing all control. The heat made his limbs slow and jerky, and he stumbled backwards, both of them falling onto the couch, with her still over him.

He broke the kiss long enough to glance down and watch her unclasp her bra, shrug it off and reveal to him the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen. He wanted no time, diving down and closing his lips over one rosy, pearled nipple, as his other hand slipped into the back of her shorts, finding she had no panties and he was cupping a smooth, tight ass.

“Oh,” she moaned softly, muttering something in a language he didn’t understand that sounded a little like a curse. One hand stayed in his hair, tearing into the curls and the other she was skimming over his chest and soon it was his turn to curse, when said hand moved into his gym shorts and closed around his cock, which had been hardening to steel from the moment she’d smiled at him.

He choked out a muffled “Fuck” against her breast, pulling from it long enough to find the other, while she continued to press her hips into his, rubbing over his cock, which was still inside his shorts. He had to get rid of them– immediately– while also wondering how he could still keep touching and kissing every bit of her. Gods, her skin was like velvet, rippling under his touch and he found the dragon tattoo under the slight curve of her breast, his tongue tracing the inked skin there.

She shivered, releasing his cock, pushing at his shoulders just enough to place a bit more space than he wanted between them, her gaze meeting his. He couldn’t see the violet irises; her pupils had blown them out and her lips were parted, kiss swollen and damp. Her chest rose and fell quickly with each sucking breath. He needed the moment too; he was losing control.

The storm raged outside; he hardly noticed that the filmy curtains in her windows were whipping against the walls, the wind outside swirling around the cottage, rain entering the cottage, filling the air with a heavy sweetness. She smiled again, this time a bit shier. It lasted a second, before she pushed off him completely and he shouted in protest. Except, she was shucking off her little shorts, revealing her entire naked body to his gaze.

Fucking hells

“You’re gorgeous,” he blurted, eyes wide, like a green boy seeing his first woman. “Fuck.”

She giggled, climbing back atop him, pushing him sideways onto the couch so they could settle easier against each other. “Thanks. You’re not half bad for yourself.”

He chuckled, his hands spanning her back, bringing her down to him so her breasts pillowed to his chest, her body flush to him. He kissed her, sliding his hand over her thigh, hiking her up against him and arching his hips to rub his erection against her bare cunt, which he could feet hot against him. She whimpered, arching closer, and he took the opportunity to drag her other thigh higher, giving him room to slip his fingers underneath her arse to her cleft, finding her open slit, drenched for him, and sunk his fingers into the heat he found, groaning against her from the pulse around his fingers.

She broke their kiss this time, pressing her forehead to his neck, her skin feverishly hot, and nails curving hard into his shoulders, holding on as he thrust one finger and then another into her. She bowed her back, thrusting her breasts up to his mouth, giving him greater room for his hand between her legs. He slipped it out just enough to move between them again, circling his thumb over her clit. “Fuck, yes,” she panted, her skin developing a fine sheen of sweat from the humidity drowning them.

He groaned, his throat parched, wanting to taste her, but gods, he knew she was close and if he didn’t bury himself inside her soon, he was going to explode, and probably then just die. “Jon,” she cried, her body tensing. “I’m going…”

She didn’t have an opportunity to finish her warning, because he thrust his fingers into her again, curving them just enough inside her tight pussy to trigger the release. She screamed, muffled, into his shoulder, and he kept stroking her, dragging out the pleasure as long as he could.

Bloody hells

He had to be inside of her; his cock was hard and heavy, painfully so, nestled against her cunt and belly, and still in his gym shorts. He removed his fingers from her still pulsing cunt, a soft protesting moan sounding from her. He sat up, as best he could, and she moved carefully over him, rising to her knees.

Her cheeks were flushed, rosy pink, and her eyes hazy, drugged from sex and pleasure. She didn’t let him speak, her arms tight around his neck as she crushed her lips against his again, their kiss open-mouthed and needy. He pushed her back against the couch pillows on the opposite end and sat back to shakily shove his running shorts down far enough to let his cock spring forth.

“Condom?” he gasped. He left his fucking keys in the cottage he definitely didn’t bring a condom.

She chuckled, licking her lips. Lying back, her legs spread to give him a gorgeous view of her slicked, swollen cunt, her breasts rising and falling with each shaky breath, she resembled a sea nymph, or a siren, calling him to his doom.

What a way to go.

He was so close, all he had to do was grab her legs and shove forward, his cock so close. It was painful at this rate. “Dany,” he whispered, whining.

“I want to feel you. I’m on birth control.”

He blinked. “You sure?”

“Yes, please, fuck me,” she almost begged, kissing him again, her knees folding back to allow him greater access.

This was insane, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly all evening. It was the storm, he thought, nodding and trying not to die in anticipation of what her cunt felt like around his cock, if the teaser of her body around his fingers was any indication.

She reached around him, digging her fingers into his ass. She laughed, throaty and longing, “I wondered what this felt like. I’ve been watching you…such a perfect ass.”

Damn, that was…He felt kind of shy, feeling his cheeks warm. “Oh well…”

“Don’t go shy on me now Jon.”

No, no fucking way, he agreed. He lifted himself over her, one hand braced to the side of her head on the couch armrest, his muscles cording in tension, and he kissed her hard, at the same time he aligned his cock to her entrance, pushing in with one swift move, almost lifting her clear off the couch with the movement. Her head knocked back against the armrest and she broke the kiss, crying out. “Oh fuck!”

Jon wondered if he was having a stroke. His eyes rolled back in his head and he felt his entire body kind of collapse on itself in pleasure. It was all it took to keep from pulling out and slamming back into her without care. He took a few steadying breaths, muttering, “Shit Dany…” He blinked a few times, feeling dizzy. He’s bottomed out inside of her, hee heat pulsing around him, tightening and locking him in closer. It felt amazing.

He kept himself braces over her, so as not to crush her small frame, and pulled out, groaning at the drag of her cunt around his cock. “Fuck,” he moaned, his breathing growing erratic. He moved again and again, starting slow and picking up speed as Dany began to choke out words in Valyrian. He had no idea what she was saying but he recognized the word “Yes” at one point.

Her knee was hitting his shoulder and he sat up, angle changing and hooked them both under his elbows, pushing hard into her again. “Faster, gods, it’s soooo good,” she sobbed. Her nails dug into his arse and shoulder, her skin slick against his.

The couch didn’t give a lot of room but he didn’t need much. Using the leverage he got from holding onto the couch armrest above her head, her legs locked over his arms, he sped up his thrusts, the sounds of their coupling mingling with the thunder and rain outside the small cottage.

Underneath him, she arched up, her body tensing, squeezing him harder as he thrust inside of her. His sanity was at the top of a cliff and he was about to fall straight down to the other side. Judging from the way her Valyrian words and her moans were coming, short and gasping she was too.

“Jon,” she sobbed. She dug her nails hard into his shoulder and arse no doubt leaving marks. The idea made him pound harder into her, a sudden possessive need taking him. “Fuck!”

He dropped one of his arms from holding her leg up, pushing it clear out of the way, and used the fact he was closer to snag her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue to ensnare hers, while his now free arm moved down and he swirled his fingers around her clit, her cunt drenched.

It triggered her release, her neck bowing and her eyes slamming closed, mouth ipen in silent scream. He pushed hard into her, angling her leg that was free of his arm farther up and to the side. He choked her name, unable to see straight when he somehow pushed deeper into her. It triggered another orgasm from her and she was shivering around him.

“Fuck Dany,” he panted, his spine tingling. He was mindless, chasing his own release and it came hard and fast, slamming into his body so hard he groaned her name again, a prayer and a curse in one, spilling inside of her, unable to stop.

Fuck, it felt like he was coming forever. His heart was racing, threatening to explode out of his chest. He lost his balance, collapsing over her. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him close. His forehead pressed to her neck, her pulse racing in tandem with his. “Fuck,” he muttered, his cock still twitching inside of her. She weakly laughed underneath him, kissing his temple.

He carefully hoisted himself up, both of them groaning when he slipped from inside of her. He sat backwards and she pushed up and over him, their bodies still connected through sweat and their mingling fluids. He pulled lightly on one of her braids, staring up at the ceiling. The storm outside was fading, thunder muffled and the rain lessening to a lazy fall.

She tilted her face up and smiled loopily, her violet eyes sleepy. “Wow.”

He laughed, breaking any tension or awkwardness. “Thanks?”

She giggled. “Not what I was expecting but I really am appreciative.” She tapped her finger on his collarbone. “I have to say, I was going to ask if you wanted a drink at some point. Your dog got ahead of me though.”

He shook his head, making a mental note to kill Ghost and then give him a $500 steak for dinner in thanks. “The power is still out.”

She pushed herself up and off of him, her muscles flexing. She offered her hand. “Come on, let’s get a shower before the next round of lightning.”

He hopped off the couch with her, hoisting her up into his arms and carrying her to the shower, her mouth covering his, sending him into another round of dizzying spirals.

A burst of cold air woke Jon up, and he blinked a few times, confused at where he was. The bed wasn’t his twisted mass of sheets from the few naps he took in between writing, but a soft cloud of white linen and pale purple. He scrubbed his face with his palms, sitting up and realizing the AC was back on.

“Good morning sleepyhead.”

Huh?

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a massive black thing with yellow eyes watching him from atop a dresser. It hissed and jumped down with a floor shaking thud and waddled off. He blinked a few times and the night before flooded back to him.

The storm, no power, Ghost running off…

The best fucking sex of his entire life.

Ah yes, it was real and not some strange dream. He had not in fact been struck by lightning.

Jon twisted, the linen sheet pulling with him, and he took in the sight of his companion, who was sitting up against the iron headboard. She was wearing his shirt from last night, her legs tucked comfortably underneath her and her silver hair knotted in a pile of braids pulled from her head. She was also reading a book, which she set aside after tucking a bookmark into the pages. He blinked, studying the title.

She smirked, following his gaze to the book. "I had it in my bag, figured I might as well read it, if the author himself was in my bed."

"I hated that book." It was one of his first ones. He'd written it after his breakup with his longtime girlfriend and the very existence of it pissed him off. Mostly because he'd made one of his characters resemble her and every time he saw it he got angry that his publisher wouldn't let him just rewrite it. Now she was forever immortalized in fiction.

She picked it up and shrugged. "It's pretty good. Although the main female character is..."

"A shrill piece of work who you want to smack?"

"How did you know?"

"Because she's my ex." He stretched, not wanting to talk about his past while he was curled up in this very comfortable and very cool bed with such a beautiful woman, who was certainly nothing like his ex and one he very much wanted to spend time with. He smiled, kind of loopy, still a little drugged after the night before. "The AC is back."

"Hmm, it kicked on at some point, I closed the windows and things. Your dog also made a pass at me when I gave him some water too."

"Did he stick his nose up your arse?"

"He did."

"Aye, he's a pervert." He peered out the bedroom door and could see a fluffy white tail thumping against the hardwood. He rolled his eyes; that dog was in for it, although he couldn't be too angry with him. Ghost had dragged him into this place and brought him face to face with Dany.

He shifted, a little self concious. If the power was back, probably should head to his cottage. See what fresh hell it resembled being locked up without AC all night. Probably had to throw everything from the fridge. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He glanced sideways again. The sun was barely peeking through the filmy curtains in the bedroom, clouds still obscuring the light and any view of Storm's End.

Guess it would storm again. He shifted, moving to sit up. “I should go…”

“Why?” She turned a page in the book, continuing to read, unbothered. “I have A/C, lots of liquor and I’ve run out of clean underwear.”

He frowned. “And?”

“Well it means easy access because I don’t wear any.”

Well shit then. He felt his cheeks warm. “Dany…”

She looked down at him, a little exasperated. “If you say we barely know each other, that is true but I want you to stay and your dog too.” She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “I want to know what other talents your tongue has.”

That was true, he didn’t get a chance to show her. If she insisted. He smiled, a little less shy now. “In that case…” he trailed off. He rolled onto his side, reaching for the book she was still holding and tossed it over the edge of the bed.

She made a face. "Why'd you do that?" She didn't seem too concerned, sliding down the headboard and back into the bed, her arms snaking up around his neck.

"Because it's a shitty book."

"You're writing a new one."

He grinned. The writer's block was definitely gone; he had a whole host of ideas filling his mind now. "Aye, that's true. I'll have to go back and get my laptop before the power goes out again." As if on cue, there was a rumble of thunder from the ominous black clouds heading their direction.

Dany glanced at the window, shrugging her shoulder, and rocked up against him. "Hmm, a bit of rain never hurt anyone."

No, definitely not, he thought, lowering his lips to hers. He murmured, "And if the power goes out again?"

"We'll make do, like we did before....but first...." She kissed him hard, giggling and ducking under his shoulder, leaping off the bed and swatting at his arse. She stuck her tongue out. "I have to paint and feed my Drogon, not necessarily in that order. You stay there and think of how you're going to write me in your book."

He hit his head back on the pillows, his mind racing. He already had some ideas. Another rumble of thunder warned ominously from outside. He kicked his feet up and hopped out of the bed, swiping his shorts and tugging them on.

Several hours later he’d relocated his computer, some of Ghost’s food— since the power was still out in his cottage—and his notes into Dany’s sunroom as she swiped paint over a canvas and a shape began to form of something that looked remarkably like him.

He began to type, smirking to himself.

The night was hot, heavy with unshed rain, filling her lungs with the moisture from the air. The woman was new to the area, eager for the solitude the rocky shores would provide. Or so she thought, one morning, when a big white wolf appeared, running into her house….