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Robb would be lying if he said he hadn't seen beautiful women. Winterfell was filled with them, on the streets, in taverns and bars. He'd even learned that the more intoxicated a man was, the more beautiful women became.
But she had become a different calibre of beautiful. The kind that made men gaped and gawked at. Robb was sure jaws now dropped wherever Hermione walked and the only thing that ran through his head was: mine.
"You know." Hermione turned to see Robb's watching at her, untamed ocean waves sweeping her under. "If you keep staring at me like that, your eyes will fall out of your head."
His rose petal lips curved into an enticing smile.
Hermione swallowed the urge to fall into old habits. Instead, she took two steps backwards. "If that were true they would've fallen out long ago," he smirked. "When you step out of that carriage."
"We can't," she could see the disappointment in Robb's features. "How are you supposed to become a great warrior, if you keep getting distracted all the bloody time." He tried again, this time pinning Hermione's body to the trunk of a tree.
"Do you know who I am now?" Robb whispered against her lips.
"Robb," Hermione said, her heart palpitating. "I am Lady of Camelot, and as such I have duties... and so do you. Besides, Sansa and your mother are waiting for me."
His nose brushed against hers twice before their lips met. In her time back in Winterfell, Robb Stark had become an all-consuming thought. Evading every centimetre of her mind.
Before she knew it, their kiss was uncontrollable, like a forest fire, licking and eating away at everything in sight. "Robb," she pleaded, her fingers grappling at his collar, even she wasn't sure if she were pushing him away or pulling him closer.
Robb pressed into her, again and again. Hands tugging at her dress, smoothing across her skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He didn't want to stop.
He wouldn't stop.
He wanted her.
Just her.
Only her.
Now and forever.
It was only when he felt the thin metal against his neck did his lips come to a halt. He watched her raw lips, a fire raging inside her eyes that he had lit. Then to his own dagger set against his Adam's apple. "I have to go now," Hermione whispered, pecking his lips once more before slipping from his grasp and fleeing back to Winterfell.
He watched as her dress swam behind her, her sandy hair dancing in the wind. Watched as she stopped suddenly, only for a second to stare back at him.
And it only took that second before he broke away from the tree, she had been pressed against just seconds ago to give chase to her.
