Heated

8*

CW: Smut 

Time went by excruciatingly slow. I've been at this desk for hours. Everyone left already for dinner but I sat here, alone after hours, trying to get this stupid project done before my upcoming deadline. This project could really advance my career here and prove to everyone I was skilled and capable of being here. 

I have five days now to prepare my blueprints and develop a presentation and prototype to show the Starfighter Council, including Lord Vader. My ideas could benefit the empire. Yet here I sat at the work desk with my legs squeezed together, begging for some sort of relief.

I feel disdain towards my body for reacting this way, given the circumstances. The desk is plagued with memories of last night from Vader's outburst. But why does my body only remember the way his body pressed against mine on it. Or the fact he killed them for me.

No, I won't accept that. Murder is never justifiable.

Then what am I doing here? His whole mission is mass genocide. And I am contributing to that.

A sigh escapes me and I have to pinch the bridge of my nose to collect myself. This is my life now. 

Just don't think about the many people that will die thanks to your invention.

Instead, my brain drifts back to the only place they seem to go nowadays. To his hands. I am haunted by him and his actions. Good and bad. The way he spit on me, choked me, and the way he took so many people's lives so easily, and enjoyed it. 

My nose tickles at the phantom feeling of his breath hitting my face as he whispered his confession to me.

"If you're asking me If I enjoyed killing those men, as they thought of taking advantage of your body, then yes, I enjoyed it."

The memory only spurs on the intense throb between my legs. Ugh. I can't focus on my work. I slap my forehead. I feel so frustrated I'm letting these school-girl fantasies affect my work performance. I hate him. Not only for his behavior but his inability to leave me alone in my own head.

I am tormented.

The partially finished blueprint taunts me as it sits in front of me half-finished. But yet, I can't concentrate, when the sensations between my legs become border-line painful. Does Vader even get laid? I can't imagine he has the time when he's running an empire, nor the access to women around here. Maybe he's gay. That would honestly make sense and might even be the best case scenario for me. Maybe then, I won't be consumed by thoughts of seeing the most powerful man in the galaxy fall apart and lose control under the high of pleasure. Fuck, the thought alone caused my insides to clench on nothing. Please be gay.

Focus. You are so close to finishing the blueprints. Maybe if you do a good enough job Lord Vader can see how valuable you are, maybe he will even reward you.

The pencil in my hand snaps, snapping me from my thoughts. I didn't even realize I was holding it with such pressure. Gods, why couldn't he have looked like Jabba the hutt. That would make my job so much easier.

"How's the work coming along," A velvety voice startles me and I jump up and turn around to face the perpetrator, who's been invading my thoughts.

My heart drops at the devastating sight of him. Even with his hood on you can see his adonis-like features.

My brain short circuits and I can't find the right words for an excuse as to why the work was, in fact, not coming along. The reason why is standing right in front of me, but I couldn't tell the assailant that I am too busy fantasizing about him.