She is loathe to
wake and grunts in annoyance as she feels
the mattress depress under his weight. “Go
away,” she mumbles, rolling away from him while using her cloak to
shield her
eyes from the afternoon light.
“Feeling unwell,
my love?” he asks. Oddly enough, his tone is not unendurably
mocking.
“Tired, grouchy,
sick,” she mumbles.
“I suppose it’s
too much to expect you to do me the courtesy
of informing me you’re pregnant,” he says dryly, grabbing her arm and
rolling
her over to face him.
She looks up at
him, watching his face for any hint of feeling. She had no
illusions about keeping the
pregnancy a secret from him, but she didn’t expect him to realize quite
so
soon. She hasn’t even started showing
yet.
“It’s none of
your business,” she says, rolling away again.
“You are my
business,” he says imperiously.
She grunts in
disagreement but doesn’t have the energy to
actually argue with him. She isn’t sure
if it’s merely a difference in pregnancies or perhaps she blocked out
memories
of her first trimester with the twins, but she cannot remember ever
feeling so
exhausted in her entire life. Simply
making her way to the apartment sapped every bit of energy.
Between the exhaustion and the morning
sickness she isn’t certain she’ll make it to the birth.
He laughs again
and this time there is genuine humor. “You’ll live,” he says
dryly, obviously
sensing her emotions in the Force. “You
have no one to blame but yourself. I
trust you know how to avoid these inconveniences
if you truly wished.”
She wouldn’t
have answered him even if she possessed the
energy. He’s right, of course. She is quite capable of
using birth
control. But as he so aptly pointed out,
she didn’t. She could lie and pretend it
is because of Bail. Her guilt over his
rearing of another man's children is more than sufficient for her to
attempt to
present him with his own son or daughter.
However, after four years of never using any contraceptives with her
husband, she suspects it is never destined to happen.
And she wanted
another child. Another of his children. But
she will
die before she admits that.
“Bail wants more
children,” she says. It is both true and has the added bonus of
reminding him of her sex life with her husband.
She almost wishes she had the energy to roll over and watch the scowl
on
his face.
There is an
ominous silence.
“And which of
your lovers sired this parasite?” he finally demands.
His tone is
hard, biting and she regrets her provocative
comment, not least of all because he always knows when she’s lying.
Dammit, she’s so tired. She doesn’t have the energy to fight with
him. She searches for a politic answer
that doesn’t require her to lie.
“The same one
who fathered Luke and Leia,” she says.
He grunts in
reply and then falls silent. She has almost drifted off to sleep
when his
hand touches her hip. “Mine then,” he
says quietly, possessively.
She shivers
uncontrollably and he rolls her over at the same
time stretching out next to her on the bed.
She curls into his much larger form, nestling her head under his
chin. His arm wraps around her back,
drawing her near. “You thought I didn’t
know?” he asks quietly.
“I didn’t want
to know if you knew,” she answers honestly.
“Why do you
think I allow Bail Organa to live?” he asks
darkly. “You best pray he never succeeds
in getting you pregnant.”
She pulls her
head back far enough to look into his
eyes. “Bail is a good man,” she
says. “A good father.”
He flinches ever
so slightly at the implication that he, unlike
Bail, would not be a good father. “A
pity you can’t bring yourself to love him,” he says cruelly.
“I love Bail,”
she counters honestly.
“You aren’t in
love with him,” he replies. It is not a question, but a statement
of
fact.
She doesn’t
bother to deny it. He would know she was lying. She looks
away. Indeed it is a pity that Bail is such a good
man and yet she cannot bring herself to fall in love with him.
That sacred emotion is reserved for the vicious,
possessive creature in whose grasp she rests.
She blames her raging hormones for the single tear that streaks down
her
cheek.
He leans over
her, tracing the track of her tear with his
tongue. “My love,” he rasps, pulling her
closer. His teeth nip gently along the
line of her jaw and his hand finds its way beneath her cloak to gently
cup her
tender breast. His thumb flicks lightly
over her nipple and her breath hisses between her teeth as she arches
into his
touch.
"I hate you,"
she says. She means it.
She also means I love you. And he knows
it.
He opens her
cloak completely and quickly pulls the hem of
her skirt up to her waist. She shifts
restlessly, her thighs falling open as his fingertips graze her sex.
She is wet for him, empty and aching. "Ani," she whimpers, her
fingernails biting into his bicep.
He hesitates for
a moment and she looks at him, taking in
his tightly clenched jaw. He meets her
gaze. "Is it …" he says
quietly, searching for words. "I
don't want to hurt …"
She isn't sure
if she wants to laugh or cry. Of all the times for him to be
considerate. "It's fine," she
nearly growls, trying to tug him on top of her.
It is all the
encouragement he needs. He crawls over her body, supporting his
weight on his arms and knees. Part of
her wants to feel the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress
but she
is too amused by his care to push the issue.
He has her
stripped to her underwear in mere moments. Usually, if she is
going to see him, she
makes a point of wearing something provocative, typically of the black
silk
variety. But she was feeling so retched
earlier, she didn't bother. She is quite
certain he doesn't even notice.
He slides down
the bed until his mouth is even with her
navel. He presses a single, gentle kiss
to the warm skin of her still-flat abdomen.
She threads her fingers through his hair, urging him to look at
her. He does. His eyes are darker than usual, weighted with
a thousand emotions he will never voice.
He lowers his
head again, nipping at her hip as he pulls her
purely functional white panties down her legs, tossing them on the
floor. Looping one of her thighs over his shoulder,
he exposes her sex.
She rolls her
hips insistently and he smirks up at her with
a wicked grin. "Impatient?" he
asks.
She is on the
verge of telling him just how impatient she is
when he dips his head again and his lips find the wiry hair that covers
her
sex. Groaning in pleasure, she arches
into him. Despite her eagerness, he
takes his time, savoring her. Gently,
his fingers part the lips of her sex and his tongue plays along the
sensitive
bud of her clitoris.
"Ani!" she
yelps, her fingers curling tightly into
his hair, her perfectly manicured nails scratching his scalp.
He looks up at
her.
"A quick one to take the edge off?" he asks.
Biting down on
her bottom lip, she nods fervently.
He doesn't tease.
Sucking her slick bud between his teeth, he worries it with his
tongue. Two of his fingers curl inside
her, unerringly stroking the sensitive spot deep inside. Her hips
buck and she climaxes with
incredible force, hissing in pleasure.
She is still
shuddering, panting as he removes his own
clothes, kneeling at the foot of the bed.
He grabs her hips and guides her thighs over his own. He slides
smoothly inside her, his rigid
length filling her perfectly. He sits
there for a moment, eyes closed, rocking back and forth with tiny
movements. The head of his cock nudges her cervix and
there is an achy moment of pleasure-pain that makes her arch her back,
wrapping
her legs around his lean waist.
He leans
forward, bracing his palms on the bed on either
side of her shoulders as he pulls out and slides back into her in a
slow,
seamless rhythm. She groans, savoring
the feel of him inside her, around her.
Untwining her legs from his waist, she lets her thighs fall away from
him, at the same time rolling her hips to change the angle of his
penetration,
allowing him to go deeper.
His breath
hitches and his eyes screw shut as he bites down
on his bottom lip. Beads of perspiration
dot his forehead and upper lip and she knows he is fighting to keep
himself in
check, to keep himself from driving into her as forcefully as he wants.
Wickedly, she
snakes her hand down her torso, her bright red
nails a sharp counterpoint to her pale skin.
She sifts lightly through her nest of damp curls, fingering her
clit. His eyes snap open and his
attention is riveted on the movement of her fingers, though the
sustained
rhythm of his thrusting never falters.
He looks up, his
eyes locking with hers. She gives him a lusty, carnal grin
bordering
on evil. She licks her lips slowly as
she moves her fingers quicker, harder, groaning deep in her throat.
Inside her, she feels his cock expand
improbably harder, thicker. Intentionally,
she flexes her vaginal muscles tightly around him.
"Fuck,
Padmé," he curses breathlessly. And then his restraint is
gone. He drives into her, his hips slapping against
hers. She beats him to the finish by the
narrowest of margins, shuddering in pleasure as his body cords above
her, his
hips driving against her one final time.
He collapses
over her, panting, his weight braced on his
arms and knees. "I was trying to be
careful," he says in a tone that would sound suspiciously sullen if it
weren't so filled with self-satisfaction.
"You don't do
careful," she replies without pity,
biting down on his earlobe enjoying the salty taste of his skin.
He grunts,
flopping onto his side next to her, pulling her
with him and hitching her thigh high on his hip. He captures her
lips in a hard, demanding
kiss and she surrenders happily.
She finally
pulls away, burrowing against him. "I'm going to sleep now," she
mumbles.
He sighs deeply
and she feels him relax. As she fades into sleep, she hears him
say,
"Mine."
End
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