The garden held secrets even the palace couldn't guess. Stone walls wrapped it in silence, thick with climbing jasmine that spilled honey-sweet perfume into the evening air. Moonlight pooled on the marble bench where Anakin found me, my fingers tracing the cool edge of a fountain that hadn't flowed in years.
"Padme." His voice came from the shadows, low and rough. "I watched you slip away from the negotiations."
"You were supposed to be reviewing troop deployments."
"Deployments can wait." He stepped into the light, and the sight of him stole my breath the way it always did. Brown hair tousled by wind, Jedi robes loose around his shoulders, that intensity in his blue eyes that made me feel like the only person in the galaxy. "You've been avoiding me all day."
I rose, smoothing my gown. "I've been queen first, senator second, woman third. Tonight, I needed."
"Needed what?"
You. The word hung unspoken between us. His hand found my waist, and the warmth of his palm through silk made my pulse skip. I wanted to melt into him, to forget the weight of crowns and committees.
"You shouldn't be here," I whispered, even as my body leaned closer.
"Neither should you." His other hand cradled my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "But here we are. Secret garden. Moonlit night. No one watching."
The kiss began soft, tentative, like we were still learning each other. But I'd memorized the shape of his lips months ago, the way he tasted of caf and something wild. My fingers curled into his tunic, pulling him closer, and he groaned against my mouth.
"Padme," he breathed, the word half-prayer. "Every time I try to focus on the code, I see you. Hear your voice in my head."
"And here I thought Jedi mastered their attachments."
He laughed, a low sound that vibrated through my chest. "Master Obi-Wan would say I'm working on it. Badly."
His mouth found my throat, and I gasped as teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath my ear. The garden spun around us, jasmine and moonlight and the press of his body against mine. My hands worked free the knot of his belt, the leather sliding through my fingers, the fabric of his robes parting.
"I need you," he said, pulling back to meet my eyes. "Not as Senator Amidala. Just you. Padme."
"Then take me."
The command shifted something between us. His eyes darkened, that intensity sharpening into purpose. He swept me off my feet, and I laughed against his shoulder as he carried me deeper into the garden, past overgrown hedges and crumbling statues, until we reached the hidden alcove where I'd played as a girl.
A stone bench waited beneath a flowering vine, petals drifting down like snow. He laid me down gently, but his body covered mine with barely restrained hunger. The weight of him pressed me into the cool stone, and I arched up, craving more contact.
"Patience," he murmured, though his own hands trembled as they worked the clasp of my gown.
"Make me."
His grin flashed in the moonlight. "Careful what you ask for."
The gown parted, cool air kissing my skin. He took his time, his mouth tracing a path from my collarbone to my breast, and my fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue circled and teased. The night air carried my whimper, and he answered with a low hum of satisfaction.
"I've dreamed about this," he said, his lips brushing my nipple as he spoke. "About you. About being here."
"Just being here?"
He looked up at me through dark lashes. "About getting you out of those robes. Hearing those sounds you make. Finding out what you taste like."
My breath caught as he lowered his mouth to my belly, then lower still. His hands parted my thighs, and the cool air on my heated skin made me shiver. But his mouth was anything but cold, his tongue pressing against me through the thin fabric of my smallclothes.
"Anakin—"
"Let me worship you first."
He pulled the fabric aside, and the first touch of his tongue against me made my back arch off the stone. Stars scattered behind my eyes, the garden disappearing, the whole galaxy narrowing to the heat of his mouth and the rhythm of his tongue. My hips moved against him, chasing the pressure, and he groaned against me as if my pleasure was his own.
"Please," I gasped, not sure what I was asking for.
He gave me what I needed, his fingers joining his tongue, working me in perfect counterpoint until the world dissolved into sensation. The orgasm ripped through me like lightning, my cry swallowed by the darkness, my body trembling beneath his hands.
Before I could catch my breath, he was rising above me, his robes discarded, his skin golden in the moonlight. The sight of him — chest bare, muscles tensed, that hunger in his eyes — made my pulse quicken again.
"Now it's my turn," I said, pushing him onto the bench.
He went willingly, leaning back, watching me through half-lidded eyes. I straddled his lap, taking him in my hand, stroking slowly as his breath hitched. The length of him filled my palm, silken and scorching, and the way he bit his lip made me ache.
"Where did you learn—"
"I pay attention," I whispered, positioning myself above him. "And I've imagined this more times than you know."
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto him. The stretch made us both gasp, his hands gripping my hips as I adjusted to the fullness of him. Condensation gathered on the stone beneath us, mixing with the fallen petals.
"So tight," he groaned, his head falling back.
I began to move, rocking against him, finding my rhythm. The garden became our temple, the moonlight our witness. Each roll of my hips drew a new sound from him, and I drank in every groan, every gasp, every whispered prayer of my name.
"You feel—" he started, then broke off as I tightened around him.
"Like what?"
"Like home." His hands found my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, and he leaned forward to take one in his mouth. I cried out, the sensation arcing through me, my movements becoming erratic.
He took control then, gripping my hips and setting a faster pace. The bench scraped against the ground, petals scattered around us, and I gripped his shoulders as he drove into me with desperate rhythm.
"I want to taste you," I managed, the thought breaking through the haze of pleasure.
He understood immediately. A shared breath, a shift of positions, and I was on my knees before him, his length heavy on my tongue. The taste was salt and musk and Anakin, and I savored every inch as I took him deep.
His fingers threaded through my hair, not directing, just holding. "Force, Padme. Your mouth is—"
I looked up at him, and whatever he saw in my eyes stole the words from his lips. I moved with purpose, drawing him to the edge, feeling the tension coil through his thighs.
Then he pulled me up, turning me around, pressing me against the cool stone wall of the alcove. His body covered mine from behind, his mouth at my ear, his hand sliding between my legs.
"My turn to be inside you again," he said, his breath ragged. "This time, I'm going to make you forget every other touch you've ever had."
He entered me from behind, and the angle made me gasp, deeper than before, hitting places that made my knees weak. His fingers worked my clit shaft as he thrust, a rhythm born of desperation and desire.
"You feel that?" he asked, his voice wrecked. "That's just the beginning."
The first release caught me by surprise, my body clenching around him as I sobbed his name. But he didn't stop, didn't slow, chasing his own pleasure with single-minded focus.
"Not yet," he breathed against my neck. "I'm going to fill you until you drip with me."
The words sent another wave through me, and I felt him swell, felt his control snap. With a final thrust, he groaned into my shoulder, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me, warmth flooding my depths.
We stayed like that, pressed together, panting into the darkness. The scent of sex and jasmine tangled in the air around us.
When we finally pulled apart, he turned me to face him, his hands cradling my face. "We should go back before they notice we're both gone."
"I know."
But neither of us moved. His thumb traced my lower lip, and something flickered in his eyes. Something I couldn't quite name.
"Stay with me," he said quietly. "Another hour."
I was about to answer when a voice drifted through the garden, distant but unmistakable. The sound of someone approaching, footsteps crunching on the gravel path.
Anakin's eyes met mine, and we both froze.
The footsteps grew closer, and Anakin moved with the silent grace the Jedi had drilled into him for years. He swept my gown from the stones, pressing it into my hands, his eyes never leaving the gap in the hedges where the sound emerged.
"Obi-Wan," he breathed. "I'd recognize that stride anywhere."
My fingers flew over the clasps of my gown, but the silk tangled, damp with our exertions. Anakin dressed with mechanical efficiency, his robes settling around him as if they'd never been disturbed. He reached for my hands, stilling them.
"Let me."
His fingers worked the clasps with practiced ease, and a moment later the fabric fell properly around me. My smallclothes were ruined, but I tucked them into my sleeve and smoothed my hair as best I could. The flush on my cheeks would take longer to fade.
"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice carried through the hedges, measured, calm. "I sensed you left the negotiations."
Anakin stepped through the foliage, all composure, as if he hadn't been buried inside me moments ago. "I needed air. The garden helps me clear my head."
I followed a heartbeat later, adding, "I was showing him the old fountain. It's a relic of the original palace."
Obi-Wan's sharp blue eyes flicked between us, lingering on my flushed face, on the way Anakin stood just a shade too close to me. But he said nothing, only nodded once.
"The delegation reconvenes in twenty minutes. Senator Amidala, your presence is required." A pause. "Anakin, I'll expect you in my quarters afterward. We should discuss your new assignment."
Something sparked in Anakin's expression — frustration, maybe, or defiance. But he schooled it away. "Of course, Master."
Obi-Wan walked ahead, and I felt Anakin's hand brush mine for the briefest second. "Tonight," he whispered. "Your chambers. I'll find a way."
The delegation swallowed me whole for another three hours. I listened to trade agreements and security protocols while the ghost of his touch lingered on my skin, each word from my lips tasting like a lie. When the last councilor finally departed, I excused myself, claiming a headache.
My handmaidens helped me out of the formal gown, murmuring about the late hour. I dismissed them earlier than usual, claiming exhaustion, and the moment the door clicked shut, I shed the robe I'd been wearing and waited.
He came through the window, naturally. The glass slid open with barely a sound, and he dropped to the floor in a crouch, rising with that wolfish grin that made my pulse stutter.
"The queen's bedchamber," he said, looking around. "I've imagined this room."
"Have you?"
"Every detail." He crossed the space between us, his hands finding my bare waist. "But I imagined you in silk, not—" He glanced down at my thin nightgown. "This works."
My lips found his before he could finish. The kiss was hungry, weeks of stolen glances and hidden touches fueling the fire between us. His hands roamed my body, and I backed toward the bed until my knees hit the edge.
"Sit," I commanded.
He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, sinking onto the mattress. The moonlight caught the gold in his hair, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the sheets as if craving the restraint. I knelt before him, parting his robes.
"Padme—"
"Quiet."
His breath hitched as I freed him from his smallclothes. He was already hard, thick and heavy in my hand, and the memory of him inside me made my mouth water. I leaned down, dragging my tongue along his length, tasting salt and musk and the lingering trace of our earlier encounter.
"Force," he groaned, his head falling back.
I took him deeper, my lips stretching around his girth, my throat working as I relaxed into it. The sounds he made — desperate, broken prayers of my name — fueled me. I wanted to devour him, to swallow every moan, every surrender.
His hand found my hair, not guiding, just touching. "Padme, I can't—"
I took him all the way to the base, my nose brushing his skin, holding him there until my eyes watered. He cried out, his hips bucking, and I pulled back only to do it again. The third time, I felt the first tremor of his release, and I released him with a wet gasp.
"Not yet," I said, rising to my feet. "I'm not done with you."
I climbed onto the bed, pushing him flat, straddling his hips. The nightgown pooled around my thighs as I positioned myself over him. His hands found my waist, but I caught them, pressing them into the pillows.
"Stay."
His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "You're going to kill me."
"Only if you're lucky."
I sank onto him slowly, savoring every inch, the stretch of him filling me. We groaned in unison, and I paused once I'd taken him all, letting him feel the tight grip of my body around his.
"This is my throne now," I murmured, rolling my hips. "And you're going to worship me."
His grip on the pillows tightened, knuckles white. I rode him with deliberate slowness at first, drawing out each inch, watching his face contort with pleasure. Then I found my rhythm, faster, harder, my hips slapping against his.
"Yes," he gasped. "Just like that. I surrender. I belong to you."
The words ignited something in me. I leaned forward, my breasts brushing his chest, my mouth at his ear. "Tell me you need me."
"I need you." His voice cracked. "Forces, Padme, I need you every moment of every day. You're the only thing that makes sense in my life."
I kissed him, swallowing his surrender, riding him until his control slipped. His hands broke free of the pillows, gripping my hips, guiding my movements. The orgasm caught me by surprise, a wave that pulled me under, and I cried out against his mouth as my body clenched around him.
"Padme—" He sounded pained, desperate.
"Inside me," I commanded. "Don't you dare pull out."
He obeyed, his own release following a heartbeat later. I felt the heat of him spilling inside me, filling me, and I ground against him, chasing every pulse.
But I wasn't done. I lifted myself off him, and he whined at the loss. I positioned myself anew, taking him again before he could recover.
"Again," I said. "I want to feel you again."
His laugh was ragged. "You're going to drain me dry."
"Good."
I set a slower rhythm this time, savoring the sensitivity, the way his body twitched inside mine. He watched me with awe, hands caressing my thighs, my hips, my breasts. The world narrowed to the heat between us, the slide and press, the sound of our mingled breaths.
When he came again, I felt it everywhere, a warmth that spread through my core and lingered. I collapsed onto his chest, panting, and his arms wrapped around me.
"Third time," I murmured against his skin.
"Please." He was already hardening again, impossibly. "I can take anything you give me."
I laughed, then gasped as he rolled us over, pinning me beneath him. "My turn."
He drove into me with renewed purpose, his mouth finding my throat, my breasts, my lips. My third release hit me hard, and he followed me over the edge, his groan muffled against my neck.
We lay tangled in sheets, slick with sweat and other things. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my shoulder, and I listened to his heartbeat slow against my chest.
"I could stay here forever," he said quietly.
"You'd be missed."
"Let them miss me."
I smiled, curling closer. His arm tightened around me, pulling me into the curve of his body. The night air was cool through the open window, but his warmth was enough.
"Sleep," I whispered. "I'll wake you before dawn."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Promise?"
"Always."