“On my honor as a Lannister,” the Imp said, “I will not touch you until you want me to.”
It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, “And if I never want you to, my lord?”
His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. “Never?”
Her neck was so tight she could scarcely nod.
“Why,” he said, “that is why the gods made whore for imps like me.” He closed his short blunt fingers into a fist, and climbed down off the bed.
Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily, she did everything prettily.
