This nibbling was an entirely new experience for Carhaise's former princess, and it tickled just enough to make her giggle, which resulted in the smooth slide of Jon's tongue between her lips, and this time, Guinevere moaned instead of laughed, for he tasted so very sweet, and her free hand fisted in his tunic, all the better not to topple off of the couch right onto the floor. She'd just touched his tongue with hers when she felt the weight of his hand against her breast, and that made her startle slightly, gasping when he pulled away to stare at her with heat in dark eyes, searching hers earnestly.

It was rote for her to reply that it was his right to have everything; she belonged to him and no other, she was his to do with as he wished. But she sensed that Jon wasn't that sort of man, and he'd proved it, had he not? In that she was still fully clothed and not face-down on yon bed while her lord and husband pillaged her like a smuggler's treasure trove. But a lifetime of curiosity was actually working in Jon's favor, that and the reverse expectations he seemed to have washing over her like a warm wave.

So she let her hand cup his cheek, leaned her forehead against his, and sighed softly. "I don't want to be afraid," she whispered, speaking her heart's truth. "But I...out of all the men I have met, Jon Snow, I would, truly, give myself to you, and you alone." She touched her nose to his, sincere. "I trust you."

Then Guinevere pulled out of his embrace and stood, giving him her back and pulling aside the long, thick rope of scarlet hair to reveal the dress's fastenings. "Untie them, my lord, if you please."