Braid | Obikin

3.

Flying to my other house, Obi-Wan's last words keep playing in my head.
I'm not following his advice, this time. He wouldn't do to Senator Amidala what I plan to.

The living room door hisses open.
Padme peeks above the incredible expanse of durasheets and holobooks covering the dining table. She squees, and springs from her chair into my arms.
I make her spin.
We kiss.
The whole thing.

My wife will never admit it, but she's been worried. We're not used to war yet, and she fears for my life even when I'm on a diplomatic mission, even when all I risked on Corellia was dying of boredom.
Force, I love being missed.

"You didn't tell me you were back!" She whines, shuffling back to her chair. "I'm drowning in work, Ani. My speech is due tomorrow, and it's not even halfway."

I turn the next chair around and straddle it, forearms on top of the backrest.

"I don't wish for anything better than watching you work," I assure.

Padme gives me an unconvinced side glare and resumes her writing.
Despite the evident tiredness, my wife looks as charming as ever. She was planning to work all night on her own, and still she's impeccable. Not once I've seen her hair tousled, her clothes rumpled, her make-up smudged.
I don't know how the kriff this woman does it.

"According to Bel Iblis, Corellia will join the war when it snows on Tatooine," I throw out after a while.

"Didn't expect anything different," Padme replies, eyes on her speech. "Obi-Wan must be annoyed his gab and charm didn't work, this time. Hope he hasn't been tormenting you too much."

"You have no idea," I sigh, idly wrapping one of her curls around my finger. When I release it, it bounces back into its shape.

"Hm-hm," my wife mumbles, miles away.

I slide her metal headband off. Dark locks fall all over her face and work.
Padme winces. The thick mass of hair is vexedly shifted back over her shoulders.

"Go to bed, Ani," she huffs. "Meditate or something. I'll come later."

I start regretting my Master's couch.

"Missed you," I whisper, and smoothly undo the tiny clasp on the back of her top. My light pecks on her naked shoulders make her shiver.

Padme shifts away, but I place my hands around her waist and sit her on the table, crumpling sheets.
An exasperated, defeated titter escapes her control. She lays down without a word, resignedly shaking her head.

I must go through hundreds of skirt layer to get to her legs. Then, I slide my hands under her knees and lift them up, as to set her feet on the table edge.
She docilely raises her bottom so that I can slide her underwear away.
My mouth sparsely trails from her ankle up her calf; then, down the inner of her thigh.

"Anakin," she coos, reaching out for my hair.

I seize her wrist and restrain it against the table-top.
Two fingers of my other hand carefully bare the tiny dot between her legs. Padme holds her breath.
I begin with slow, considerate laps. When the nub grows firmer, I gently suck it. Her sighs take a pained, irresistible note.

Suddenly, I'm aware of the growing discomfort in my groin. I free her arm to stroke its origin through my trousers. It doesn't make it any better.
My fingers dip inside her, bend up and down, a bit faster and deeper each time.
Providentially, it's not long before Padme abruptly jerks toward me, and stills. I sense her rhythmical contractions with my lips and fingers.

I don't even wait for her pants to slow down. Hands on her flanks, I turn her around, so roughly that she gasps. Then, I struggle with her annoying skirt again, collecting tons of crêpe on her back.
I place her hip where most convenient, hastily unbuckle and rub my tip against the soft slant. Her sex is flushed; so ready and wet it shines.
I stop just before entering her, unable to hold back a disgruntled groan.

The woman I worship and love is offering herself to me. She's beautiful, yearning and mine. Only a few months ago, not even in my wildest dreams I could've imagined it.
Yet, I'm restless, frustrated, ill.

My wife turns to me, her forehead wrinkling. She leans back against my groin but my gloved hand between her shoulder blades stills her against the table-top.

My flesh thumb glides into her once and gets out slick. I use it to probe the adjacent, smaller opening. When the tight ring softens, I slips it in and patiently draw circles until a second finger can join.
Padme's own finger-tips appear from below her belly to take care of what I'm neglecting.

Every other moment, she tenses. As soon as she realises it, she loudly exhales and relaxes again. Timing myself with one of those sighs, I support my weight with a hand on the small of her back and use the other to help myself inside her.
I'm too impatient to wait for her body to accept mine and her muffled cry only urges me. I grasp the flesh of her buttock with both hands and make it slap against my groin.

I close my eyes.
Without a doubt, her moans are not my Master's; is smooth, petite, soft Padme below me, with her girlish sobs, her flowery fragrance, her small hand reaching back to hold mine, affectionate and sweet, even now.

I sigh.
My thrusts get ruder.

Obi-Wan would feel what I feel now, inside me. The knowledge he's dominating me would give him this same frenzy. I see him quiver at my whines, that damn stray lock falling over his eye. Then, he loses control, the way I am. His fingers bruise my thighs as he takes from me what he needs.
I pull out with a growl to watch myself glaze Padme's back and dress, and he's doing the same with me. His and my heartbeats slow down together, the release brings us same hollowness and guilt.

Holy Sith.
I'm far worse off than I thought.

I relieve her of the weight of my body.
My wife briskly sets her dress in place and checks behind her shoulders how bad it is.

"What in Malachor was that?" She asks, rearranging her documents in neat piles.

I rub my neck. "I thought... Trying something new would've been nice. You should've stopped me if..."

"Be assured I would have, if that was the case." She rolls her eyes. "It's not that, laserbrain. Nice is not the word I'd use in this particular instance, but I don't mind experimenting. Even though, my husband has to be with me body and soul, next time, or there won't be one."

This woman must be a karking Force Sensitive.

"Dunno what you're talking about," I fumble, calling the Force to curb my blushing.

Padme scoffs. "You'll explain where your mind got lost tomorrow, after my speech - if even there will be one. You better go back to the Temple, now."