Margaery kept up her agonizingly slow pace. The hot water rushing between them only made the friction worse, amplifying every movement.
Alaric didn't stay still like she'd asked. His hands slid up her waist, finding her beneath the bubbling water. He pulled her closer, his touch firm and rhythmic, matching her movements. The overwhelming sensation finally broke Margaery's composure.
A desperate whine caught in her throat. If she wasn't careful, the sound would bounce right off the walls and wake the other women resting at the far end of the pool.
Remembering her own warning to keep quiet, Margaery glanced toward the edge of the water.
Her discarded green silk undergarment lay right there on the marble. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the damp fabric and bit down hard on it to muffle herself.
Burying her face against Alaric's shoulder, she finally gave up on taking it slow. Her pace quickened into something fierce and desperate, pushing herself to the absolute limit.
Alaric also had enough of letting her set the pace. In one smooth motion, he stood up, lifting Margaery completely out of the water. She let out a muffled gasp against the silk, instinctively wrapping her legs tight around his waist to hold on. He took two steps to the edge of the spring and set her down gently against the warm marble edge.
The air in the pavilion felt freezing compared to the scalding water. Margaery shivered as the moisture evaporated off her skin in the light of the silver braziers. Behind her, the ruins of the Red Keep and the army's campfires dotted the horizon, but Alaric wasn't looking at the city.
Margaery spat the damp silk onto the stone with a wet smack. She was breathing hard, her eyes dark as she looked up at him.
"The view... is better from up here," she whispered, her voice rough.
She leaned back on her elbows, her wet hair spilling across the pale stone. Slowly, she unhooked her legs from his waist and let her knees fall open, making her intentions perfectly clear. The blue light of the pool lit her flushed skin as she looked up at him, her gaze a daring invitation, waiting for him to close the distance.
Alaric didn't move right away. He rested his hands on the marble on either side of her. Before taking what she offered, he glanced over his shoulder, peering through the heavy steam.
Sansa and Roslin were still out cold, leaning against the far edge of the pool with their eyes closed. The sound of the stone waterfall easily covered the noise. They had absolutely no idea what was happening just a few yards away.
Satisfied, Alaric turned his attention back to Margaery. He settled between her knees, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cool stone at her back. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.
"A beautiful display," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "But tell me... how exactly do you plan to stay quiet like this?"
He dragged his nose lightly along her jaw. "You know as well as I do that you lose your mind at this angle. One real push, and you'll wake everyone."
Margaery's breath hitched. Her eyes darkened with a mix of want and wicked calculation. She reached up, trailing her fingers down his chest, and grabbed the back of his neck to pull him an inch closer.
"I suppose I'm at a disadvantage without my silk," she murmured, a daring smile touching her lips. "Which means you'll just have to keep me quiet yourself." She tilted her head back, exposing her throat.
"Cover my mouth," she challenged, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Press down hard. And if I still try to make a sound... wrap your hand around my throat. Don't let me breathe until you're done."
Even for a man like Alaric, Margaery's sheer audacity was something else. The smirk vanished from his face.
He swallowed hard, a sudden spike of adrenaline hitting his bloodstream. He'd expected her to be bold, but the complete surrender in her voice caught him off guard.
He searched her eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that she was just playing a game. There was none. She lay there, chest heaving, waiting for him to take her up on it.
Alaric let out a ragged breath and leaned in. "You said it," he growled, his usual control completely gone. "Don't forget that."
Margaery gave a frantic nod, her hips arching upward to close the gap.
He shifted his weight forward, moving with agonizing slowness. He didn't rush, pressing in just enough to let her feel him before taking it any further. Margaery let out a soft, shuddering gasp, her eyes fluttering shut.
The overwhelming rush of feeling shattered whatever restraint she had left.
A sharp, high sound tore from her throat.
Instantly, Alaric's hand clamped down hard over her mouth.
His palm swallowed the sound entirely, turning her scream into a muffled vibration against his skin.
Margaery's eyes went wide, her nails digging into his forearms as the reality of her request set in. He pressed down firmly, keeping her head against the marble, holding her completely still beneath him.
"Quiet," Alaric breathed against her ear, his voice low. "We wouldn't want to wake the others."
He didn't pull back. Instead, he started to move.
The first few movements were slow and deliberate, dragging out the friction. The slickness of the warm mineral water only amplified the feeling.
Beneath his hand, Margaery's muffled whimpers grew frantic. She arched her back, lifting her hips off the stone to meet him, her wet hair sliding against the marble.
Seeing how desperate she was, Alaric stopped holding back.
His pace sped up, shifting from a slow grind to a driving, relentless rhythm. The sound of the waterfall covered the noise of their bodies meeting.
He anchored his free hand on her hip, holding her firmly in place. Every deep push forced the air from Margaery's lungs. Unable to scream or catch her breath properly, she was completely at his mercy.
All she could focus on was the heavy grip over her mouth, the heat of the fire on her skin, and the overwhelming friction pushing her to the edge.
The sound of their movements grew louder, echoing slightly despite the rushing water. Beneath his hand, Margaery's moans turned into breathless, frantic whimpers. She bucked against him, abandoning any attempt at grace as she chased the feeling.
Remembering exactly what she had asked for, Alaric shifted his grip.
He let go of her hip, sliding his hand up her stomach and chest. His fingers found her throat and wrapped firmly around it. He didn't cut off her air, but he squeezed with a heavy, steady pressure, trapping her frantic pulse beneath his palm.
The weight of his hand on her neck, combined with his palm sealing her lips, was the breaking point.