George Russell

 She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble. 

 She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead. 

 She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door. 

 She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame. 

 Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment. 

 She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds. 

 She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand. 

 “Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat. 

 “It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room. 

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

 And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest. 

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

 She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers. 

 It was typical. 

 It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count. 

 And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense. 

 But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds. 

 So she prayed. 

 Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry. 

 “Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

 She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that. 

 Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her. 

 He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.  

 They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire. 

 So, she prayed again. 

 “Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

 She doesn’t see him again for another two years. 

 But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky. 

 She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer. 

 His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real. 

 Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer. 

 “Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. 

 She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that. 

 But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her. 

 His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

 Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long. 

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

 When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries. 

 Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age. 

 Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis. 

 She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories. 

 She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing. 

 She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now. 

 She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different. 

 It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom. 

 It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him. 

 It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

 She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides. 

 She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans. 

 “What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone. 

 “Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

 She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

 Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

 She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. 

 “Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

 Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years. 

 She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone. 

 Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand. 

 She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s. 

 “Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way. 

 “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason. 

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

 Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister. 

 “Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own. 

 She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong. 

 “I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

 And there it is. 

 She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways. 

 “I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

 Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on. 

 “But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

 Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot. 

 She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress. 

 “Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

 She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

 She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker. 

 Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

 The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows. 

 The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same. 

 She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind. 

 Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night. 

 The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new. 

 But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard. 

 Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

 She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted. 

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

 She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long. 

 With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost. 

 Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him. 

 She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

 Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape. 

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

 She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears.  The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion. 

 The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving. 

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

 She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin. 

 “Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

 Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came. 

 And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides. 

 She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her. 

 A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier. 

 “Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

 She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile. 

 “I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe. 

 But even that is momentary. 

 “You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

 Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it. 

 Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

 How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground. 

 “Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right? 

 She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name. 

 Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them. 

 Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

 It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away. 

 Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

 She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter. 

 She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work. 

 “I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 And then, she bolts. 

 She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating. 

 With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead. 

 She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. 

 She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze. 

 She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why. 

 “Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

 The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body. 

 She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name. 

 It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real. 

 Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing. 

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing. 

 “Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye. 

 She does not move. 

 “I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

 She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

 Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

 It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow. 

 Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years. 

 She knows what is right. She knows what she should do. 

 But she’s frozen. 

 She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away. 

 She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was. 

 “Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt. 

 “Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows. 

 “Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features. 

 “This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

 Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement. 

 She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake. 

 He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

 “Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him. 

 This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out. 

 She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

 She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over. 

 Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away. 

 “Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?” 

 It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb. 

 And her time to detonate has come. 

 He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh. 

 “Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

 “My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

 Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now. 

 But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below. 

 Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her. 

 “Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears. 

 She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry. 

 “And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

 She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs. 

 She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has. 

 But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes. 

 “And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

 Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers. 

 “I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

 Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous. 

 “Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

 Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes. 

 She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire. 

 But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before. 

 He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be. 

 Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true. 

 Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution. 

 He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers. 

 “I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

 She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring. 

 “It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

 Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth. 

 “Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

 She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too. 

 She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows. 

 “I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

 Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady. 

 Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him. 

 His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one. 

 Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls. 

 Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

 Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right. 

 But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

 Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

 The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples. 

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

 His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more. 

 “Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground. 

 “Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

 Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green. 

 “Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm. 

 Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth. 

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

 She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other. 

 Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him. 

 Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it. 

 Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down. 

 “Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

 She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her. 

 A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center. 

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

 Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow. 

 “Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll. 

 “Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment. 

 So he doesn’t. 

 He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now. 

 She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again. 

 “No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

 He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit. 

 He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline. 

 Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 “Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

 His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind. 

 “Another finger. Please.”

 Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt. 

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

 So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips. 

 Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more. 

 It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new. 

 The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves. 

 “What is it?” He asks, searching her face. 

 She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

 She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

 She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

 Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it. 

 She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better. 

 Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece. 

 He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next. 

 Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

 She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside. 

 For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation. 

 And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

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@your-nanas-house

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Your moans echo through his study as he thrusts particularly deeply, punching the air from your lungs. You feel your walls flutter and a whimper follows. He growls, his hands slide up your thighs, digging into your flesh and leaving small crescent shaped marks, as firm as his grip on you. You take him deep, over and over again, and he moans with pleasure — taking him out, only to swallow him up and get his cock sucked right back in.

With every roll of your hips, you meet his thrusts and elicit broken sounds from him now — not a moan, it sounds more like a growl. Rough and unrestrained. His cock twitches violently inside you every time you roll your hips.

His hands tightens low at your back, grabbing you and suddenly you can’t move. A squeal escapes you as he holds you tight and just pounds into you.

His name leaves you, but whatever words were meant to follow vanish when he kisses you. You just cling to him for dear life.

It is not the gentle affection he offers in quiet corridors or behind watchful eyes. A battle for dominance breaks out — a battle you're happy to lose as your tongues dance wildly. His grip firms at your bottom, pulling you flush against him.

The ink bottles clink together due to the roughness of his violent thrusts, causing the desk to rattle. Somewhere behind you a book slips and falls shut with a dull sound. He does not seem to hear it.

For once, Baelor Targaryen is not thinking. He is fucking.

Your legs tremble uselessly around his waist, but your feet still dig into the flesh of his arse every time he's balls deep inside you.

Baelor growls, his hips won't stop, he only moves more violently to feel you fluttering around him. His thick cockhead kisses your cervix every time he slams into you — the slight sting it causes makes you whimper, but you want more.

"Look at you... taking every inch like the good wife you are," he growls in your ear and you moan. Your arms around his neck tighten, pulling him closer to you. Your fingers slide into his short dark hair and you grab hold of it. Your body trembles, your cunt so wet around his shaft that slick noises fill the room, along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. You feel the desk move beneath you with every powerful thrust.

"Baelor... Baelor... I... I am..." you begin, but it ends in a scream as he pounds deeper inside you. And that’s it. You feel that pressure in your lower abdomen and suddenly it snaps. Your walls clench hard around his length, milking him as you drench his cock with your wetness. You press your face into the crook of his neck to stifle your moans. Baelor groans as he feels your walls massage his already throbbing cock.

"Gods," he groans, following you right after. He spills his seed deep inside you, painting your walls white. Flooding you with his seed, so much that it leaks out around his base, even while he’s still pulsing inside you. His slow grinding movements push every drop of his seed deeper, ensuring it stays where it belongs.

“You should visit my study more often,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice still unsteady. The admission draws a quiet laugh from you.

For a moment he simply keeps his arms around you, reluctant to move, as though breaking the stillness might also break whatever fragile peace has settled over him. Your breath is warm at his throat, slower now but not yet calm while your walls still fluttering around him. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before, with visible reluctance, letting you go. Slowly, he pulls his cock out of you, causing you to whimper softly as he grunts slightly at the sudden loss.

Baelor sits back down into his chair and leans back, exhaling deeply, one hand lingering at his temple as he tries to collect himself.

You watch him with an unabashed smile, bracing yourself on your hands as you catch your own breath. There is something endearingly human in the sight as he slowly tucks his cock back into his trousers —  the composed prince momentarily gone, replaced by a man flushed and disarmed. His dark beard… a few strands of silver catching the light, and for once he looks entirely unsure what to do next.

But you already have an idea.

Baelor remains where he is for a moment, elbows on his knees now, trying to gather something resembling composure. The chamber feels warmer than it has any right to, and somehow he likes that very much.

He hears soft footsteps across the rushes. When he looks up, you have already crossed the room, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his writing table as though you are inspecting it for flaws. There is a certain brightness in your expression that immediately reignites his desires.

“My lady,” Baelor says gently, rising at once, “I believe we have tested impropriety sufficiently for one evening.” But a smile twitches at his lips.

You turn toward the window rather than him, pushing the shutters open just enough to let in the evening air. Moonlight slips into the room, catching the silver in your hair, and you glance back over your shoulder with unmistakable mischief.

“It is only air, husband,” you say lightly.

Baelor stops a few steps behind you. “It is a window,” he corrects, already lowering his voice despite the corridor beyond being empty. The dark growl in his voice makes your cunt clench around nothing.  “Windows imply visibility. Visibility invites witnesses.”

Your smile widens.

Before he can decide whether dignity requires retreat or intervention, you settle casually against the sill, entirely too at ease with a risk he can already feel unfolding.

“So you believe this is wise?” he asks, his voice low, almost too calm for the question.

You do not answer at once. He comes closer, step by step, and you feel your resolve falter long before he actually reaches you. Your thighs press together slightly, almost involuntarily... You manage a small nod, unable to look anywhere but at him.

"The heir to the throne, fucking his wife at the window?" he growls, and the vulgarity of his words only makes the throbbing between your thighs worse.

When he stands before you, he lifts your chin lightly with one finger, not enough to force, only enough that you cannot lower your gaze.

“Yes?” he asks again, softer now.

You start to rise, wanting to kiss him, but he gives the faintest shake of his head — a quiet refusal rather than a command.

“No,” he murmurs. “You wished to be bold a moment ago.”

His hands settle carefully at your waist, steady and certain. With unhurried patience he turns you toward the window, guiding rather than pushing.

You brace yourself against the windowsill as you feel him press up against you from behind. His hands are still on your hips, pulling your skirt up slightly. You can't help it, but a soft moan escapes you as you press yourself against him and feel his already hard arousal again, followed by an almost immediate growl from him as his fingers slide along the inside of your thighs.

This sign is understood immediately by him, without any need for further words, as soon as you press the soft curves of you bottom against his fingers. Your folds are explored by his fingers, who hesitate not. You moan — the sight in front of you is suddenly completely forgotten.

Baelor moves his fingers up and down, spreading your wetness and the remains of his seed along your folds. Your legs spread further as he teases your sensitive pearl, coaxing out even more of your sweet juice.

"Baelor," you whimper, and he just chuckles in your ear before nibbling lightly on your earlobe. The faint rasp of his beard against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, leaving a warmth low between your thighs that makes you long for the feeling of his beard there.

His fingers slide upwards until they tease your opening. Your walls literally suck him in as he slowly presses his fingers against your entrance, and the resulting squelching sound is obscene… so obscene… but you can't help but moan again.

His fingers slide deeper, slowly sliding in and out, while he teases, "Sssh, sweet wife… someone might hear you”. You whimper as his fingers move faster while his palm slaps against your folds.

You want to say something back, something cheeky. But every word feels like it's stuck in your throat as he adds another finger. The following stretch feels incredible, making you forget everything else. At this moment, nothing could surpass the feeling you are experiencing… except for the feeling you would get if his cock were deep inside you. Then, you sense movement behind you. Other movements, unrelated to his fingers deep inside you.

With his free hand, he pulls his trousers back down, almost with the same urgency as before when you sat down on his desk.

His cock is already semi erect again, but as soon as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds, that quickly changes. He pulls his fingers out, causing you to whimper in protest. Your wetness soaks his shaft as he slides it up and down, and he growls repeatedly. His hand grabs your hips, draws you back until your soft curves are pressed firmly against him, his already hard and throbbing cock slides once, twice between your cheecks, smearing precum before it nudges your entrance.

As he looks down and sees your folds spreading around his cockhead, he briefly holds his breath. Slowly, he pushes his hips forward, and you moan as he spreads you further, inch by inch. This pleasurable stretching that you can't get enough of.

Initially, he progresses at a leisurely pace, relishing the way your walls tighten around him before gradually easing back. Moans and growls are uttered by him — during your intimate moments, not much is said by him, but his grunts and growls are never ambiguous.

His fingers dig into your hips as he begins to thrust harder and faster, moving you with his hands. You cry out, not caring who might hear you. Baelor looks up, his labored breathing brushing your neck as his hand suddenly slides up and gently grips your throat. Your throat bobs against his palm and you gasp slightly, but you can't deny that your walls are now clenching even more tightly around his length.

He pants into your neck as he feeds you more and more, his body trembling with exertion. Each time his hips thrust forward, your cunt makes sticky sounds, and you can feel the drag of every vein against your inner walls. Your walls flutter as if you're trying to spit him out, but at the same time it pulls him deeper inside you. A slight cry follows as his hips thrust faster and his voice rumbles.

"You wanted to enjoy the view, didn't you? Well, how do you like it, my sweet wife?", he taunts breathlessly in your ear. Your hand reaches up and clings to his forearm — not because you want him to let go of your throat, but because you're seeking something to hold on to.

"Baelor," you whimper, unable to form coherent sentences as he thrusts deep inside you — your cunt pulses around him as you drip onto the hairy base of his cock. He utters a soft curse as your walls milk him, and he buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin there — without breaking it, just to mark his wife — as he grinds deeply, circling his hips so that his balls grind against your clit as you press back against him.

You feel the pressure in your abdomen again — only more intense than before. You're close. So close. Your vision blurs at the edges, and each breath becomes shallow, as if his hand on your throat is controlling it. Slick gushes out with every pull back, coating his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky rivulets. The squelching grows louder; your cunt begins to twitch as if it wants to suck him in for good.

Another growl sounds behind you as Baelor feels your walls begin to flutter uncontrollably. He doesn't let up, his hips thrusting forward and thrusting deeper into you as you desperately try to keep your balance. His free hand slides around your body to support you and tease your sensitive pearl with maddening circles while his cock punishes your walls.

You cry out again, the pressure becoming unbearable — until it becomes too much to bear and your head simply falls back against his shoulder. Your walls flutter and your juices soak his cock again as he growls into your neck.

But then the door to his study suddenly opens.

Before you can react, you hear your father's voice and a gasp escapes you, while you freeze. You glance over Baelor's shoulder and see your father standing there, your eyes wide in shock.

"Baelor, I've been thinking about it and..." he mutters but pauses when he takes in the ‘situation’. You and Baelor... at the window? Until he sees his brother's arse.

"Oh, seven fucking hells, will I never be spared anything?!" he suddenly exclaims. Baelor pulls you close at once, covering you with protective instinct rather than thought. Only then does he look back himself.

"Father..." you begin in a breathless and fragile voice, but Baelor's voice is louder.

"Maekar, I’ll talk to you later," says Baelor, also breathless. But Maekar has already turned away and is making his escape. After your father leaves Baelor’s study, there is silence... until you let out a breathless laugh. Baelor can’t quite suppress a grin but shakes his head.

"The things you always tempt me to do," he whispers, kissing your neck. Slowly, he pulls his still hard cock out of you and you gasp for air.

"What are you doing? You didn't come?" you whisper breathlessly. Baelor stands there, gently stroking his cock up and down, with precum dripping slowly from its tip, as he pants lightly.

"Yes, I don't think that's going to happen now," he murmurs. Before he has finished speaking, you turn to him and pull your skirt down. Looking up at him, you see his dark eyes meet yours. You just smile, which makes him raise his eyebrows slightly.

"Well, as a good wife, I can't let that happen," you say in your teasing tone before kneeling down. He looks down at you and the half smile you love so much graces his lips. You don't hesitate and wrap your fingers around his entire length before your lips follow and envelop his cockhead, while his hand slides into your silver hair. The precum tastes salty on your tongue as you take him deeper into your mouth, moaning as you try to take him all the way in.

In preparation for his long awaited return, you had closed the curtains and turned on the bedside lamps and got yourself propped up in bed to wait for him, slouched back against the pillows and headboard. He was a bit later than expected coming back to the hotel room but that wasn’t new - it was often that time got away from him and the team after a long day at the circuit, going over final details for the race weekend. You at least had the pleasure of joining him this time. 

Despite his busy schedule, he seemed to master the balance of work and pleasure as you never once felt like he was leaving you alone for too long. The quiet evenings were almost better than the busy evenings as he returned to the room and to your arms with nothing but the strongest desire to cuddle and nothing was better than that, you were sure. 

“How was today?” you asked, sliding your hand up his arm and into his soft brown waves, swept messily by the ocean breeze. 

“So good.” George mumbled into your chest as his eyes started to close from the first graze of your fingers in his hair. His lips were pouted sleepily and his cheek was squished against your body, muffling his added, “So promising.”

“I’m glad.” you praised gently. 

Your fingers scratched tenderly over his scalp, twirling his hair between them and combed the wavy strands back from his tired face. George hummed softly in appreciation and nuzzled into you more, tucked up between your legs on top of the fluffy hotel sheets. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and he smiled sleepily and tightened his arms around your middle. 

“Would you like me to say I missed you today or I didn’t miss you at all today?” you asked teasingly. Being a little joke between the two of you as you never wanted to make him feel badly for having to get his work done. 

“You missed me.” George mumbled. 

“Good, because that’s the truth.” you whispered and kissed his head again. 

“I missed you too.” George breathed, his voice soft and sweet.

The flutter in your heart was unmissable and you hid your cheesy grin into his messy hair that still smelt like the ocean breeze, “You’re so cute.” 

There was no reply so you leaned your head slightly to glance at his face only to see him already starting to drift to sleep in your arms and on top of the sheets. His body just grew heavier on top of you second by second as he eased out of consciousness and you rubbed his back a little and he moulded right into you. 

“Come on, sunshine,” you whispered and carefully started to push his light jacket from his shoulders, “come to bed.”

Stirring, George groaned gently, his voice thick, “I’m in bed.” 

He rotated between your legs slightly so you could pull his jacket off and although it took some effort on your end, it was soon tossed to the floor to be dealt with in the morning. Resting on his back against your chest, George let you do as you wished and you reached down to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans as his arms draped above his head to wrap his hands around the back of your neck. 

“Mm, buy me dinner first.” he mumbled sleepily, giggling softly at his own joke as you pushed his jeans down his thighs. 

“You’re so funny.” you humoured him quietly while you struggled to reach farther down to get his jeans off completely, “Kick them off, love.” 

George, eyes still closed with impending sleep, thrashed his feet around just enough to somehow manage to get his jeans off his calves and they dropped to the floor off the end of the bed. He sighed heavily and you shuffled the blankets down from underneath him as he shifted off of you to climb under the sheets at your side instead and you tucked them around him. 

“I’m big spoon.” he called sweetly as you reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. 

When you glanced back over at him, he was holding out his arm already, sheets raised for you, peeking at you through one half opened eye expectantly through the darkened hotel room. 

“Who says?” you retorted. 

“Me.” 

“What if I wanted to be big spoon?”

“You can tomorrow. It’s my turn tonight.” George whispered. 

“You’re always the big spoon.” you argued softly, shuffling closer towards him under the sheets and, in surrender, turned around so your back was to him. 

“So what?” George grumbled lightheartedly and wrapped his arm and the blankets around your body. “It’s my favourite.”

“You’re my favourite.” you whispered. 

He poked his head up over your shoulder and you looked up at him through the dark just long enough to see the hint of a smile on his face before he was nuzzling his face into your neck and kissed your skin, “I love you.”

“I love you, my sunshine.” you replied softly and let your fingers lace with his around your middle, falling once again into the comfort of his familiar warm embrace, “I’m so proud of you.”

Sometime in the night, you and George had rolled apart, occupying opposite sides of the king size bed without so much as touching each other one bit. That only meant that it was natural for you to feel a little empty when you rose into consciousness and didn’t have the blessing of your boyfriend’s arms around you. The sight of him was a reassuring treat though as you opened your eyes to the faintly lit hotel room to see the silhouetted form of George’s sleeping body just inches away from you. He had another busy day ahead of him but, selfishly, part of you wanted to just keep him to yourself and explore the area…the beaches…the city…anywhere together. He always worked so hard. 

You swam towards him through the vast expanse of white sheets, pulling yourself by the linens until you were at his side and your hand glided over the white material of his t-shirt still left over from the day before. His relaxed heartbeat thudded under your palm and you cuddled against his chest as he was facing towards you fast asleep. 

George’s soft sleepy hum made you smile and he draped an arm around your waist to pull you close until your bodies and limbs were tangled together and the sheets embraced you as one. You inhaled him deeply, nuzzling into his neck to feel him closer, surrounding yourself with the senses of his body that always felt like home to you. Like sunshine. 

His steady breaths were calming and you shut your eyes again in the safety of his embrace as if to expect to fall back asleep for the rest of the morning. Maybe if you stayed quiet you wouldn’t have to accept that there were things to do that day.

“Good morning, my love.” George whispered, his voice deep and thick with sleep and even though he cleared his throat gently, you just pulled your man closer. 

“Morning, sunshine.” you breathed. 

“I didn’t get a kiss last night.” he admitted quietly. 

You leaned your head back slightly to look at his face, processing the truth of his words, and then shuffled up a bit higher on the pillow to give yourself room to freely kiss his waiting lips. George smiled slightly, his pretty pink lips perking up in the corners, and he brushed the tip of his nose against yours before kissing your lips in return. The third time you both leaned in, you met a bit sharper than anticipated but you shared light laughter and your arm linked around the back of his neck and pulled his body closer as your lips locked like second nature. 

His fingers trailed down the bumps of your spine over your shirt and then slid underneath the hem at the bottom before moving back up the same path, leaving goosebumps over your bare skin in the process. You could taste the sleep on his tongue and the tiredness in his kisses but after being together for so long, sharing a bed, arguably sharing a life, nothing was to be fazed anymore. 

His messy brown hair called to your fingers and as you scratched gently along the soft hair at the nape of his neck, he moaned quietly into your kiss. George’s full hand was pressed against your back under your shirt as if to hold you close and as you shared long lingering kisses of lips and tongue, you tucked your leg around his two. It was the ideal way to greet the morning: to kiss yourselves awake. But it made the idea of having to get up feel even more than foreign. 

Under the sheets, George’s thigh nudged up between your legs a bit more almost like an open invitation and you shifted in his arms to take to rubbing yourself casually against his bare thigh. You held his lips on yours by the back of his neck and he let his tongue push against yours hungrily as your bodies moulded into one under the warm white bed sheets. The tight muscle of his thigh felt shamefully far too good under your clothed pussy that had missed the heat of his touch for a few days and you kept those small rotations of your hips against his leg. You both shared heavy breaths and trailing hands and you gripped onto the back of his white t-shirt to try and tug him even closer. 

“George.” you whispered into his mouth, as if keeping him present. 

There wasn’t any other place he would rather be, however. 

He shifted slightly beside you and leaned up on his arm to raise over top of you just enough to push his leg farther between yours and kiss you right down into the pillows. You moaned sweetly into his mouth, cupping his jaw with your other hand as you used your grip on his shirt to help pull you along on his thigh. Nothing but silence in the hotel room for two, you swore he was going to hear your thudding heartbeat behind the soft wet sounds of your passionate kisses and the discreet shuffle of sheets around your bodies. 

His hand slid down your back and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into your motions stronger and he shared in your soft groan. 

“Baby,” he breathed into your mouth between your deep kisses. His fingers pressed into your ass a little tighter and he almost started to grind right with you, smothering his growing urgency with another moan against your tongue. George gladly welcomed your pull at his shirt and the back of his neck, permitting you any part of him you desired in that moment as you were so obviously guided by lust; who was he to say no? 

He could nearly feel the warmth between your legs and how you slid your closed pussy against his thigh like you were going to make yourself cum from just that had him getting harder than he’d have liked to admit. And maybe your own thigh felt a bit too good against his crotch as he let himself rock his hips against yours a little and his movement had you biting down on his bottom lip with a moan. 

“Fuck, baby.” George pulled back from your kiss breathless.

Without wasting a moment, he pushed down the sheets around you both as the temperature rose between you. He let his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he watched you grind on his thigh and he danced his fingertip up over your hip and snapped the waistband of your panties back against your skin, urging a small gasp from your throat. Missing his lips, you took to his neck instead, trailing open mouthed lingering kisses over his warm skin and let your greedy hands glide all over him despite the shirt that he still wore, nearly begging for him to touch you. 

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.” George groaned lightly, “You’re so gorgeous…I’m already so fucking hard.” 

Your only reply was to grab his face and pull his lips back on yours, swallowing up his surprised moan with your lips and devouring them with your tongue. He let you push him flat onto his back and you shifted over top of him so you were draped over his chest to reach his lips as you grazed your hand over the front of his boxers. True to his word, he was already hard and his cock strained pathetically against the thin material of his underwear as you palmed him strongly just to taste more of his pretty low moans on your tongue. 

“Take these off.” you whispered, snapping his waistband in return against the skin of his waist and right away he was dropping a hand to slide his underwear down his legs and he kicked it to the floor. His lips barely left yours, even as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to give you room to do as you pleased before sliding his hand into the back of your hair. 

His other arm wrapped around your back and he held you close to his body as you kissed yourselves awake. The pair of you fell into your blissful routine of lingering hands and passionate kisses and shamelessly sharing little moans and groans in bliss even at only the slightest of touches. Your taunting hand resting still on his lower stomach was driving him crazy but he didn’t outright admit that, not until you gently scratched your fingers across the thin line of hair there and his muscles physically flinched. 

“Touch me.” George breathed into your mouth, chasing your kisses like alcohol when you tried to back up. 

“Okay…I gotta get the lube.” you whispered, anchoring yourself on his chest as he tried to hold you down for a moment longer. 

His lips smacked wetly with yours and his urgency had you grinning into his kiss as his hands rubbed up your back and he finally pulled back with an impatient sigh, “And open the curtains…I wanna watch you.”

Without another word, you shuffled off the end of the bed and tugged open the curtains that hid the view of the Miami beaches, sending warm tidal waves of sunlight into the once near dark hotel room. The both of you squinted slightly in the sudden light but there was nothing more inviting than the Sunshine State’s sunlight to greet the morning with. It only livened up the light painted hotel room and George pulled off his shirt excitedly as you stopped by your shared suitcase and snagged the half empty bottle of lube on the way back to bed. 

Now privy to him in the daylight, you knelt up on the king size bed with the sheets almost falling off the end around you, and took a second to just drink him up. You loved George in anything, but you especially loved him naked…waiting for you…that sweet smile of his on his pretty pink lips. With him like that, everything felt different, like you weren’t more than just a single entity of true humanistic desire of natural man and woman. The mere sight of him made you near primal, craving, indulging in the brightness that he brought to your life in every single way possible. 

George thrived in the sunlight, you swore, and as he laid draped out for you in the middle of the hotel bed, it was only a fact that there was nothing more breathtaking in the world. His dick was achingly hard and rested up almost against the skin of his stomach so you didn’t waste time as you popped the cap on the bottle of lube and poured some onto your hand while crawling on your knees across the mattress towards him. 

As you leaned over him to set the re-capped bottle on the nightstand, George leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple through the material of your shirt, tonguing at it for just a second before pulling back and looking up to your face, his arms snaking around your body once more. You dipped down to kiss him sloppily as you shifted back into the same position you were in before—right at his side—and his lips simply followed yours wherever you moved and you were cautious of the lube in your hand as you rubbed it between your fingers and palm. 

George’s arm tucked itself under your body and rested his hand on your shoulder as you shared passionate kisses and your fingers teased the tip of his dick. His heavy exhale had you giggling softly into your kiss and he pushed his lips harder on yours as if to distract himself from your teasing. You finally wrapped your hand around the base of his dick and slowly stroked upwards, pulling a deep groan from his chest that you swallowed up with kisses to his plush lips. 

With slow but strong pumps of your hand, your kisses only seemed to mould into that same speed and passion- slow and deep and purposeful. The lube squelched filthily under your hand and it only urged you to drape your leg over his and try to get some of the agonizing pressure lessened between your legs by finding that friction that had raised you into consciousness mere moments before. George’s arm slung around your shoulders to pull your body closer, his other hand sliding down your back to grope a handful of your ass as you started to grind against his thigh again, mirroring the speed of your hand almost perfectly. 

As taunting as it was for him, it was for you too, as the replication of what could be a proper morning hookup was resorted down to a hand-job and thigh grinding. George nibbled at your bottom lip a little between messy kisses and you pushed your tongue eagerly into his mouth, dying to taste more of his soft moans in the morning sunlight. His fingertips danced across your waist and your hip and the bottom of your spine, inching up the hem of your shirt before tracing the curve of your ass. Kisses only seemed to grow louder as the seconds passed and soon George was linking a finger in the back of your panties and tugging them to the side.

“Oh my God.” you mumbled into his mouth, muffled by his tongue, and you took your hand from his dick to help tug your panties to the side completely, letting your damp skin touch his thigh without barriers. But right away you were back to your slow twisting strokes, slicking him up in lube until he was dripping precum and groaning into your mouth. His fingers only slipped themselves between your cheeks and right down to your pussy just to feel how wet you were. The fact that you were completely soaked only had his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer. 

Both of you could hardly breathe between your passionate kisses but neither of you wanted to stop, too hung up on each other’s lips to even think about choosing air as the priority. You just linked your leg tighter around his and ground on him harder, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of your aching clit rubbing freely against his warm muscular thigh. You were a mess of limbs side by side, half intertwined, and George teased his fingertips around your pussy to slick them up in your arousal a little more before he wiggled one inside you. 

You swore breathily into his mouth and finally pulled back from his lips with one more wet kiss as your eyes met. You both bit your lips at the same time, sparking soft laughter between you as you each lazily used your hands on each other in the Florida sunshine that flooded the hotel room. 

“You’re so pretty.” you whispered. 

“You’re beautiful.” George whispered back. 

You both leaned in for a few more quick kisses until you were shifting impatiently at his side and his finger slipped out of you before he could even attempt to add a second. He seemed to read your mind as he let you push off your panties completely and then right away reached for your thigh and helped to swing your leg over his body. As you adjusted yourself onto your feet to squat over him, he shuffled farther down the mattress so he was laying flat once more and his careful hands helped to keep you balanced on top of him. 

“This,” you said softly, hands holding steady on his chest as he kept his fingers wrapped around your forearms, “is my happy place.” 

George smiled up at you, egging you on, “Where?” 

“On top of you.” you admitted and slowly leaned down to kiss his lips. 

You shared soft giggles together between gentle kisses before you were straightening up again and reached between your parted legs to grab hold of his dick. You stroked him slowly but strongly with your hand still coated in lube and then brushed the tip of his cock between your wet folds. George’s deep anticipatory groan felt warm all over you but he let you take your time to guide him inside you. 

The moment the head of his cock pushed past the entrance of your tight pussy, the two of you shared soft gasps and instant eye contact, lingering on that ever present connection of love that flowed between you. George’s hands found the bottom of your shirt and he lifted it up and over your head to discard the last piece of clothing to the floor, giving his eyes and his hands ample room to admire your breasts. He groped them in his palms as you kept yourself lowering down on his large cock but his eyes stayed locked on your face. 

“Good girl.” George whispered. “God, you feel so incredible.” 

Easing down on him, you were quiet for a moment in near concentration, hands pressed down against his chest for stability and your eyes dropped between you to watch yourself take him inside little by little. The sting over your hips was familiar and agonizingly perfect and to permit yourself deeper, you stopped about halfway to give him a few tiny bounces. 

“Mm, fuck.” George huffed out, his hands moving to drape behind his head and let you do all the work for the both of you. 

It was a responsibility you took proudly. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear when you looked back up to meet his gaze, “you’re huge.” 

“You can take it.” he said sweetly yet laced with an obvious cockiness at your statement and reached out a hand to stroke your cheek. “Come on, baby girl.”

With a gentle swivel of your hips, your ass finally met his thighs, welcoming his dick completely inside you. You hummed softly at the warm stretch across your hips and as you squared your shoulders again, hand sliding down his chest and eyes falling closed, you took a moment to bask in the morning Florida sun and the fullness that he pushed deep within you. The ache slowly melted away into that familiar blissful sensation of pleasure from being stretched and filled and you could cross your heart that no feeling was better in the world. 

“I swear you’re made for me.” you breathed into the air as your head fell back in the streaks of morning sun. 

George laughed softly and slid his hands up your arms that stemmed from their anchoring on his chest and he grabbed onto your biceps gently, “I think I am.” 

You raised your head up again to meet his gaze, “Made for me?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you feel that warmth too?”

“I feel everything.”

You smiled down at him and pet a hand through his hair and across his cheek and back to his chest adoringly, taking in the rays of morning sun that blessed his golden skin. You stayed perfectly still for a moment, just staring at him and each slight curve of his face that formed him into the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. There was no one else for you. Why would there be when you had George all to yourself? He was the equivalent to your Florida sunshine. 

“My love,” George gave your hips a little squeeze, “I love watching you take it all in but I’m gonna go fucking crazy if you don’t start moving soon.” 

You smiled sweetly at him, sharing a silent apology by the caress of your hands down his chest, and then slowly pushed yourself up just to sink back down on him. George’s teeth captured his bottom lip through a soft groan as he stared up at you, letting you set the pace yourself. His arms tucked behind his head again casually, leaving himself spread for you to do with as you pleased. 

You moved in slow shallow bounces, taking his cock as deep as it could go every time you bottomed out until you were both sharing soft moans and heavy breaths, only growing with time. It was easier to move while crouched over him on your feet and with your hands pressed to his abs and chest for stability, you could really start to get a rhythm going. As your intensity grew, so did the volume of your slick skin meeting on each downstroke and George’s deep groan filled your heart with warmth as he watched your every move. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that.” he praised lowly. 

You flicked your hair over your shoulder to give you space to stare down at his body greedily, soaking him up with your hands as you rode him almost gracefully, slowly, precisely. With the sheets pushed to the end of the bed, you were nothing but two naked forms joined together in the sunlight of the open curtains, given privacy by the height of the hotel floor you inhabited for the weekend. Despite the heightened view of the beaches just beyond your window, your gaze was drawn to nothing else but the man beneath you and his own hint of the ocean that lived in his eyes and the sunlight that made up his soul. 

You shared soft moans together, hands tracing skin and eyes following curves of bodies. George reached out to touch you again, using one careful hand to trace your collarbones and down to your chest and he gently pinched one of your nipples between his fingers. 

“Oh my God.” you breathed softly. 

Your audible praise had George propping himself up on his other hand to lean forward and wrap his lips around your nipple instead. His shift beneath you had his cock nudging deeper inside you and you shuttered softly as you gripped onto his shoulders, stalling for a moment. 

George pulled back from your breast with a small pop and his arm around your back tried to pull you into your motions again, “Keep going, baby.” 

You slumped to your knees from your feet on either side of his lap and right away started to roll your hips against his in strong purposeful circles that had you rising up and lowering down slightly in the same motion. George’s pleased moan reverberated against your breast as he sucked on your flesh and tongued at your nipple, only harmonizing perfectly with your own sweet moans and whimpers. 

His mouth felt good on your chest but you craved his lips on yours more and you set a hand under his chin to tilt his head up and you dipped down to kiss him hungrily. George’s deep groan at the surprise of your kiss only had your hips grinding down harder on him, addicted to that friction of his skin against yours. You pushed your tongue against his, urging his hand to the back of your neck to keep you there as your passion flowed into your kisses just as strongly as it flowed between you. 

Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, clutching onto him as you swirled your hips faster down on him, desperate for more, moaning shamelessly into his mouth. George kept his hand on the back of your neck so as he gently laid down again, you were forced to follow him, your lips locked in sloppy breathless kisses and your bodies pressed together warmly. 

Now laying on top of him, knees pressed on either side, you started to rock back and forth on him, tumbling whimpers into his mouth as the new angle had the tip of his dick pressing into perfect spots deep inside you. Driven by lust, you only forced yourself faster, barely kissing him anymore as your desire for cock out weighed the sweet bliss of his lips and you merely breathed into his mouth as you fucked yourself back on him. 

“Fuck yeah.” you whined softly, fingers tangling in the fabric of the pillow case on either side of his head. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” George whispered tauntingly to you with his hands rubbing across your hips and ass as if to guide your movements back onto him, “Just wanna ride my dick like a pretty fucking whore?”

“Oh, God, please, sir.” you breathed desperately. 

“Yeah, you look like a fucking goddess.” George complimented lowly, pausing just long enough to spank you, “So fucking beautiful.” 

You moved one hand back to his chest as if to give yourself more leverage to try and bounce your hips on his in that flat position but the amount that you wanted didn’t seem to be met by anything that you were trying. George leaned up just slightly to get his lips back on yours, distracting you with his kiss as he slowed you down with his hands on your ass and then shifted underneath you to get his feet planted flat on the mattress. His hands held tightly to your hips and he gently pushed up into you. 

Your gasp broke your kiss with a pleading, “Please, George.” 

George’s soft grunt fell against your cheek as he thrusted up into you again and you gripped both hands down into the pillows beside him in anticipation for more. He took it slow, taunting you with a few slow thrusts up into your dripping pussy until you could hear him holding himself back with strained breaths against your skin. 

With a final spank to your ass, he was gripping your hips again and starting to pound you from below. Your squealing gasp had him groaning deeply as he held you tightly in place and his skin slapped filthily with yours, wetter and wetter with lube and your plentiful arousal welcoming him in.

“Yes!” you cried out, “Yes! Fuck, baby!”

The securely built bed barely made a single noise beneath you no matter how hard George was taking it but all you could focus on was the incredible feeling of him fucking you hard. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed his touch after a few busy days but it seemed as though you missed him taking over and fucking you much more. 

George only pushed himself faster, grunting softly against your ear as he rammed up into you greedily, forcing a pitchy blissful chant to tumble from your mouth, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

It was like he was fucking the words from your mouth, turning you into a messy uncontrollable mumble of random words and sounds of pleasure in steady time with the clap of his skin against yours and the thick wet sound of your pussy sucking him in again and again. With your forearms pressed to the pillow on either side of him, you tangled your fingers in his hair as if to cradle his head and let your eyes burn into his. 

“Good girl.” George praised through his teeth, his breath falling shallow quickly. “Take it.”

“Don’t stop!” you cried out softly. “Fuck!”

His loud groan was incredible and you swore you felt it in every inch of your body, your fingers gripping tighter to his hair which only made him louder. You were each other’s perfect match in volume, nothing too loud as to disturb neighbouring rooms but just loud enough to help edge each other on a little more. 

“Fuckin’ love this pussy.” George groaned, still pounding up into you carnally as his fingers pressed into the flesh of your hips. He was nearly tugging you into each thrust, harder and faster, until he was tossing one arm around your shoulders to hold your body right down on his. 

“George!” you sobbed out, dropping your face into his neck. “Fuck! Yes!”

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he spoke lowly against your ear. “You gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Please!” you moaned loudly, tugging at his hair strongly, “Please make me cum!” 

“Okay. Come on.” George mumbled, almost just to himself, and shifted your bent legs higher up on either side of him as he thrusted up into you. The lewd wet sound of your bodies together was nearly making you dizzy and you arched down on him slightly to feel more of him, clutching onto his brown hair and whimpering loudly into his neck. 

“Oh, fuck! Right there!” you gasped out. 

“Feel it.” George ordered against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, “Feel how fucking big I am inside you? Reaching all the right spots? Like I’m made for you? That’s what you said. Yeah. This dick is yours.”

“Fuck, I’m so close.” you whimpered. 

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” George whispered, “I want you to fucking cum. I want you to cum so fucking hard for me that you physically hold me inside you.”

“Oh my God-“ you cried. 

“Yeah, you want that? I can feel your pussy gripping down already.” George groaned, his words strained through his exertion but he didn’t dare stop his forceful pounding, “Want me to cum inside you? Fucking knock you up?”

“George-“

“Better cum for me.”

“Sir-“

“Cum.”

One hand flew out to the headboard and you gripped the top in a tight fist as you fell under his control, your body easily falling into his demands as you reached that blissful peak. George held you down against his chest, still thrusting up into you even when you tried to shift away in rising overwhelm. 

“Fuck!” you gasped through it, rocking back on him a little as your body tensed and you kept your hands laced in the back of his hair, breath falling against his cheek. “George-” 

“Good girl.” he praised through his teeth, “Shit, I’m gonna cum-” 

“Gimme it.” you pleaded softly, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm clenching down around his throbbing cock. 

Only seconds later, and a few more thrusts, George was gripping your hips and holding you flush down on his lap as he came, tossing his head back against the sun soaked pillows with a loud moan, eyes screwed shut. You ground down on him in tight circles to work him through it despite the sensitivity of your entire tingling body as the feeling of that first warm spurt releasing inside you was far more addicting. 

“Fuck.” George groaned, his heels pressing into the mattress as he came and he bucked up sloppily and pathetically into your body a few more times, just to feel you all as he finished. 

You nearly cradled his head in your hands, blessed with the sight of his orgasm that spread across his flushed cheeks and swollen lips. When he eased out of it, his eyes found yours and right away he was leaning up just enough to kiss you, sliding his hand up your back to grab you by the back of your neck again. You shared pleasurable moans and heavy breaths into your kisses and your hands cascaded down his chest as you sat back from him. 

George hummed softly as he watched you sit up straight and he tucked his arms behind his head again, following your every movement as you secured your balance by your hands on his abs and slowly started to rise up. Trickles of thick white cream slipped down his softening cock as he slipped out of you and a little squeak of air followed. You shared light laughter at the sound and you knelt up over his lap and spread your pussy open between two fingers to let his cum drip back out of you and onto his warm skin, dotting that thin line of hair that dipped down from his navel to the base of his cock. 

George dropped a hand down to smear his fingers between your legs and pushed three inside you just to hear that filthy wet squelch again. He wiggled them deeper and you hummed flatly at the feeling, letting him do as he wished and when he pulled them back out seconds later, another little squeak of air slipped out. 

“Stop making me do that, it’s embarrassing.” you mumbled shyly, pushing his hand away.

“Just means we did a good job.” George tisked sweetly and slid his fingers into your mouth. 

You moaned quietly around them and he hooked his finger in your cheek to pull you down onto the mattress beside him. You pulled off his fingers with a greedy slurp and then cuddled up at his side, letting him wrap that arm around your shoulders instead and he pressed a kiss to your hair as he pulled you closer. 

“I love you.” you whispered. 

“I love you so much more.” George replied. 

“No you don’t.” you corrected as your eyes closed and you wrapped your arm around his middle and tucked one ankle around his. 

He kissed your head again and spoke into your hair, his fingers trailing over your back and shoulders, “Yes, I do.” 

“Prove it.” You merely giggled proudly and leaned in for a kiss but before your lips could meet, his phone rang. 

You sighed but hidden behind your still blissed out smile and George gently nudged your arm and leg from around his naked body so he could go retrieve his phone from his bag from the night before. Without the cover of sheets, you were still comfortable enough in his familiar presence to drape yourself out naked on the king size bed, watching him hop quickly across the hotel room floor to grab his phone. 

George raised it to his ear as his other hand pushed his hair out of his face, “Hey, Alex.”

You couldn’t hear what the conversation on the other side was about but you were too focused on your boyfriend’s beautifully sculpted body in the sunlight that streamed through the window; something about the Florida sky that seemed to have him shimmering in his element. He came around to sit on your side of the bed as he listened to his best friend’s concerns through the phone. 

“Yeah, we’re still meeting after lunch. I only have a quick debrief after practice this morning. Should be ready by 2:30 at the latest.” George answered. 

He leaned in to press a silent kiss to your neck, sliding his arm around your middle to pull your body closer and you giggled quietly at his touch. 

“No, you didn’t wake me. Was up for a while.” George continued, sending you a cheeky little smile and you leaned in to kiss his lips as quietly as you could. He angled his phone so the microphone was farther away as he moved down your neck again and turned to lean his body right over top of yours, falling on top of you right back down against the bed. 

“Working.” George answered his friend into your neck, “Very important work.”

With him so close, you could barely make out Alex’s repeated disbelieving, “Very important work?” through the phone. 

“Mhm. It’s a beautiful day. Had to get started as soon as possible.” George answered as he lifted his head up from your neck again to stare right into your eyes. 

You pressed your hand to his cheek adoringly and he leaned into your touch, sharing smiles together. 

“Now I gotta shower. I’ll see you at the track later.” George hurried out and then shoved the phone at you, “Say bye.”

You called out a far too loud, “Bye Alex!” right into the receiver.

George hung up and then tossed his phone across the mattress to give all his attention to tackling you back down on the bed in a shower of kisses and shared blissful laughter. 

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