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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 147/853
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"
You
can
put
it
in
me
again
,
if
it
please
you
,
"
she
whispered
in
his
ear
as
he
sucked
.
When
he
raised
his
head
from
her
breast
,
the
skin
was
dark
red
where
his
mouth
had
marked
her
.
"
It
would
please
me
to
teach
you
something
new
.
Unlace
me
and
pleasure
me
with
your
mouth
.
"
"
With
my
mouth
?
"
His
thumb
brushed
lightly
over
her
full
lips
.
"
It
’
s
what
those
lips
were
made
for
,
sweetling
.
If
you
were
my
salt
wife
,
you
’
d
do
as
I
command
.
"
She
was
timid
at
first
,
but
learned
quickly
for
such
a
stupid
girl
,
which
pleased
him
.
Her
mouth
was
as
wet
and
sweet
as
her
cunt
,
and
this
way
he
did
not
have
to
listen
to
her
mindless
prattle
.
Once
I
would
have
kept
her
as
a
salt
wife
in
truth
,
he
thought
to
himself
as
he
slid
his
fingers
through
her
tangled
hair
.
Once
.
When
we
still
kept
the
Old
Way
,
lived
by
the
axe
instead
of
the
pick
,
taking
what
we
would
,
be
it
wealth
,
women
,
or
glory
.
In
those
days
,
the
ironborn
did
not
work
mines
;
that
was
labor
for
the
captives
brought
back
from
the
hostings
,
and
so
too
the
sorry
business
of
farming
and
tending
goats
and
sheep
.
War
was
an
ironman
’
s
proper
trade
.
The
Drowned
God
had
made
them
to
reave
and
rape
,
to
carve
out
kingdoms
and
write
their
names
in
fire
and
blood
and
song
.
Aegon
the
Dragon
had
destroyed
the
Old
Way
when
he
burned
Black
Harren
,
gave
Harren
’
s
kingdom
back
to
the
weakling
rivermen
,
and
reduced
the
Iron
Islands
to
an
insignificant
backwater
of
a
much
greater
realm
.
Yet
the
old
red
tales
were
still
told
around
driftwood
fires
and
smoky
hearths
all
across
the
islands
,
even
behind
the
high
stone
halls
of
Pyke
.
Theon
’
s
father
numbered
among
his
titles
the
style
of
Lord
Reaper
,
and
the
Greyjoy
words
boasted
that
We
Do
Not
Sow
.
It
had
been
to
bring
back
the
Old
Way
more
than
for
the
empty
vanity
of
a
crown
that
Lord
Balon
had
staged
his
great
rebellion
.
Robert
Baratheon
had
written
a
bloody
end
to
that
hope
,
with
the
help
of
his
friend
Eddard
Stark
,
but
both
men
were
dead
now
.
Mere
boys
ruled
in
their
stead
,
and
the
realm
that
Aegon
the
Conqueror
had
forged
was
smashed
and
sundered
.
This
is
the
season
,
Theon
thought
as
the
captain
’
s
daughter
slid
her
lips
up
and
down
the
length
of
him
,
the
season
,
the
year
,
the
day
,
and
I
am
the
man
.
He
smiled
crookedly
,
wondering
what
his
father
would
say
when
Theon
told
him
that
he
,
the
last
-
born
,
babe
and
hostage
,
he
had
succeeded
where
Lord
Balon
himself
had
failed
.
His
climax
came
on
him
sudden
as
a
storm
,
and
he
filled
the
girl
’
s
mouth
with
his
seed
.
Startled
,
she
tried
to
pull
away
,
but
Theon
held
her
tight
by
the
hair
.
Afterward
,
she
crawled
up
beside
him
.
"
Did
I
please
milord
?
"
"
Well
enough
,
"
he
told
her
.
