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You should get away from the city. Space would be good for you.
The Stepstones are nice this time of year.
Daemon's letter is been the perfect excuse for Rhaenyra to leave King's Landing and the inevitably insufferable presence of her father and his new wife. She sees them off on their honeymoon the morning after their wedding and leavew for the Stepstones that afternoon, a note left on her dressing table.
Daemon meets her at the airport, his silver hair shining in the sun as he drives them to his villa in his flashy convertible. He leads her upstairs to a room overlooking the sea, pointing to the door across from hers. "That's me," he says, "if you need anything."
The emphasis makes her shiver and look up through her lashes as she thanks him, and surely she doesn't imagine the sharp the inhale that causes? Her skin feels warm as his eyes linger before she disappears into her room, a shiver running down her spine.
They have dinner together every night, and every night she feels that pull she's always told herself she imagines. The way he watches her makes her skin hot and her thighs damp, but for the first few weeks that's all he does, and the tension makes her ache.
One night, after long looks and drawn out touches, door not quite shut and sheets kicked from her body, thinking of her uncle's head between her thighs she cries out his name, the shape of it echoing from the corners of her room as she sobs her pleasure, wishing more than anything that her fantasy was real.
The next morning, he's waiting for her by the stairs, a white shirt open over his chest and a swimsuit on. "Thought I'd join you, niece," is all he says, and all she can do is nod at him as he takes her hand and leads her to the private beach at the back of the villa, helps her spread her towel and removes his shirt, laying next to her in the sun as she picks up her book. Her heart pounds in her chest, so hard she's sure he can see her pulse jumping in her throat.
His hand slides onto her stomach, bunching thethe fabric of her shirt lightly. Her inhale is loud and sharp, obvious in the extreme. "Didn't I tell you to come to me if you needed something?" He murmurs, his long fingers pressing into her skin. All she can do is whimper, he body on fire. "You seemed very needy last night, Rhaenyra." She gasps as his hand moves lower, tracing the waistband of her shorts. "And now?"
She finally turns her head, and finds him watching her with hungry eyes. "Uncle," she moans, her hips jerking as he watches her. "I need you."
He doesn't make her ask twice before showing her that reality of him is far better than her fantasy (though he does make her ask permission, and isn't that a thing to discover can make her shiver and shake for him, too). As they lay together on the beach, sweaty and sated, she decides that Daemon is entirely correct.
The Stepstones are very nice this time of year.