He kissed her again, kissed her silent, kissed her until she moaned. Then he knocked the candles aside and lifted her up onto the Mother’s altar, pushing up her skirts and the silken shift beneath. She pounded on his chest with feeble fists, murmuring about the risk, the danger, about their father, about the septons, about the wrath of gods. He never heard her. He undid his breeches and climbed up and pushed her bare white legs apart. One hand slid up her thighs and underneath her smallclothes. When he tore them away, he saw that her moonblood was on her, but it made no difference.
”Hurry”, she was whispering now, ”quickly, quickly, now, do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime.” Her hands helped guide him. ”Yes”, Cersei said as he thrust, ”my sweet brother, sweet brother, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you’re home now, you’re home now, you’re home.”