*************

 

TITLE: ABH - Fit For a Queen

 

AUTHOR: C. I. Jackson (Cassie)

 

*************

 

RATING: A shagadelic NC-17, baby!

 

SUMMARY: You're a queen-to-be who forgets the trials and tribulations of

impending rule in the arms of a visiting Jedi.

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas is a jillionaire, I'm broke. Do the math.:) This is

just for fun. Thank you, George, for giving us Obi-Wan to play with.

 

NOTES: So I was watching "Queen Margot," and it spawned a plot bunny that

just won't go away. This one's a little angsty, but I hope that's not a

deterrent. There's also a depiction of brazenly unsafe sex, so if that

squicks you, you might want to skip this one. But then again, isn't fantasy

the safest sex of all?

 

ARCHIVE: Anywhere you want, but please let me know first.

 

FEEDBACK: I'd love some!

 

Chapter 1

 

It's been nearly a month since your beloved uncle, King Thoga the Sixth

passed away. He had no children so it is you, the eldest daughter of his

late sister who must take up his mantle. You always knew this day would

come, and you've dreaded it all the same. You have no love for intrigue,

politics or the back stabbing that goes with it. And you know you'll truly

hate the fishbowl existence you'll have to lead, the constant scrutiny.

Being a member of the royal family has forced you to be subjected to public

examination in one form or another since you were born, but as queen you'll

have to endure it at an astonishing degree.

 

The worst part of it is how alone you feel, knowing that you are the only

one to whom these tribulations matter. This land must have it's sovereign

replaced, and that's all there is to it. That said replacement would ascend

to the throne not through ability to rule but by accident of birth is of

little consequence.  Some would say they would kill to be in your position.

Well, as far as you're concerned, they're welcome to that and all the

caveats that come with it.

 

It is the evening before you coronation, the evening before the day you

trade everything for a scepter. It's not as though you have a choice,

either. To decline the duty would be an irreversible dishonor upon your

family. They would be stained with it for countless generations, and that's

something you can't live with. On any other world, declining rule would be a

small matter, but among your people it means everything. You're trapped and

there's nothing you can do about it except for suicide, which would be an

even larger dishonor. But you know you'll never be that desperate. About all

you can really do is make tonight a night to remember. Tonight you want some

wine in your belly and maybe even a man in your bed, depending on which way

the wind blows.

 

You have told only Vessna, your chief handmaiden and the most trusted member

of your entourage of your plan. You're going to have a night on the town,

both your first and last. You've dispatched her to the city to find you some

clothing that will help you blend in with the commoners, and you must say

that her taste is impeccable. You're now outfitted in a beautiful red dress

that reveals more of your body than anyone outside your handmaidens and

mother has ever seen. Gone is the heavy, floor-skimming gown and

constricting corset. The fabric of this dress is very light, almost

diaphanous and skims your body, lovingly caressing your curves and mounds.

The plunging décolletage and high neckline leave little to the imagination,

but just enough as not to be crass. Your hair flows over your shoulders in

light, shimmering ringlets. There will be no austere hairdos or elaborate

headdresses tonight.

 

You've never really thought of yourself as attractive. It's your leadership

skills and abilities to one day command the army that have been cultivated

since your childhood. Beauty was never a part of it, but tonight it is.

Tonight you feel more beautiful than you ever have, and infinitely more

sexy. You sigh, wishing you could feel this way all the time, so free and

ready for anything. You've led such a sheltered life, and you're hungry for

experience. Oh, you're no virgin. There was one other man, a young duke who

eventually married a woman of his parents' choosing, but not before teaching

you a thing or two about carnal pleasure before he did. So you're not going

out just to relieve yourself of the Royal Virtue. If sex was all you were

after, you could call upon any number of men. But you have no want of a

highborn snob with whom you would have been expected to align yourself and

produce an heir anyway. Tonight, the rule is "whatever happens...happens."

You want an adventure.

 

"Milady, are you sure this is a good idea?" Asks Vessna as you dab fragrance

on your throat. She's always been your anchor, your right hand, even when

you were children. Her levelheaded nature and honesty will keep her immune

to the corrupting influence of power. You note that she would make an

excellent chief advisor.

 

"Of course it isn't a good idea, Vessna," your reply. "But must that stop

me?"

 

"Well, I should think so. There are so many unsavory types out there and I

fear for your safety."

 

"You've no need to. I can handle myself, you know that." You put your hands

on her shoulders and look at her intently. "Vessna, I need to do this. I

don't expect you to agree with it or even understand, but don't try to stop

me."

 

She lets out a short laugh. "As if trying to stop you once you get an idea

in your head would make any difference."

 

"Exactly. And besides, I shall be queen to these so-called unsavory types,

so I really have no right to look down on them, do I?"

 

She sighs in surrender. "No, I suppose not, Your Majesty."

 

"And none of this 'Your Majesty' rot will be tolerated tonight," you tell

her firmly but with a smile.

 

"Just trying it on for size." She grins impishly and the two of you collapse

into giggles.

 

****

 

Chapter 2

 

The city is loud, dirty and decadent and you love it. You have to force

yourself not to goggle at the spectacle around you, thus betraying your

status as the sheltered lady-in-waiting. You have to admit that you're

scared by all of this, but it's a good scared. It's the fear that

accompanies new experience and the opening of your mind. You're not afraid

that you'll be attacked. Unless it's by a group, you can adequately defend

yourself. After all, lifelong training in the art of combat is a given for

the future commander of the army. This is the first time in your short life

where what happens next isn't completely known and controlled by someone

else.

 

You can't decide what to look at first, there's so much. The city's

entertainment district moves seemingly at hyperspeed. Music rings out from

every direction, either from street musicians or from the open doorways of

bars and nightclubs. Vendors call out from the sidewalks hawking everything

from jewelry to spices. Whores, both male and female, catcall from doorways

and balconies, enticing the drunken soldiers. These soldiers stumble past

you in threes and fours, the men among them leering openly at your scantily

clad body. Oh well, you'll gladly take leering over practiced bowing and

scraping any day. Speeders flash by, the young drivers and passengers

hooting into the night.

 

You want to stay on the street and look some more, but you're thirsty, so

you select the closest bar. When you cross the threshold, a large smelly

drunk who suggests that you join him and his equally aromatic companion in a

sex act that defies the laws of physics immediately accosts you. You curtly

decline the invitation and push past him. As you make your way through the

laughing, shouting throng to the bar, you hear the beast loudly declare that

you prefer the company of women. How typical.

 

Despite the crowd, there's a seat open at the end of the bar and you take

it.  You retrieve a handful of credits from your clutch bag and instruct the

bartender to draw you a drink with some hair on it. After giving you an

appreciative once-over he complies, leaving and returning a moment later

with a tall glass of Corellian Blue Ale. You sip tentatively then take a

healthy draught when you find that you like the taste.

 

You sit back and observe the crowd, which is mostly human. This planet

doesn't see many off-worlders due to its remote location. The bar is in

close proximity to a military base, so there's a large number of soldiers

among the revelers. The men are all handsome and virile, and you enjoy

looking at them, but most of them are either already coupled or well on

their way to useless inebriation. Your experience with the smelly troglodyte

at the door has dampened your libido somewhat, and you decide you'll just

finish your drink and go back out to the street and browse the vendors'

tables. After all, you can always come back or find another place.

 

That's when you see him.

 

He sits alone at a table near the dance floor, nursing his drink and

serenely scanning the crowd. You catch your breath, because he is the most

exquisite creature you've ever laid your eyes on. His perfect face is framed

by close-cropped honey blonde hair. Even from this distance, you can see the

intensity in his blue eyes. His body is slender and lithe, and you find

yourself wanting to see how he moves, how he walks. Is he graceful? Does he

swagger? You remember hearing stories about angels, the most beautiful

creatures in the galaxy, and seeing this man makes you want to believe them.

He's dressed in the style of a civilian, crisp black trousers and a loose

black shirt open at the neck. But this man is no commoner. You can tell by

the thin, golden braid that begins behind his ear and falls almost to his

waist. He is a Jedi knight. An apprentice to be exact. A quick flash of

silver at his hip confirms this. It's not a blaster he's carrying, but a

light saber. You know all about Jedi, as they were often present in your

uncle's court during the wars.

 

You're aware that your mouth is hanging half open and your eyes are like

saucers. You make the conscious effort to regain your composure, but you

don't - you can't - take your eyes off of him. He scans the room and your

stomach flutters deliciously when his gaze settles on you, a ghost of a

smile painted on his perfect lips.

 

You hold his eyes for a few excruciating seconds then glance away, biting

your lip. You take a long pull on your ale and absently twirl a lock of your

hair around your finger. You look back in his direction and find that his

eyes are still on you. Now it's his turn to look away. He smiles and skims

the length of his braid with his hand, as if mimicking your actions. It's

been a long time since you've enjoyed the ageless game of seduction this

much. This man radiates power, intelligence and sex, and you want so much to

be closer to it.

 

But then a familiar stench assaults you, making you wrinkle your nose. "Hey,

sweet cheeks? How's about we jus' be friends?" The brute slurs, his breath

reeking of cheap alcohol and the rest of him just reeking.

 

"No thank you," you say, not bothering to conceal your grimace and giving

him the most withering look you can muster.

 

"What're ya too good fer me?" he stumbles into your personal space, and his

stench could make a grown man cry. "Don' go 'round lookin' so hot if ya don'

wanna play."

 

"I wish to enjoy my drink unattended," you tell him icily, deeply offended

by the assumption that you're fodder for his kind simply for daring to

beautify yourself a bit. He's growing surly and you wonder if your

well-honed defensive skills will serve you against this beast. He's huge,

and even in his well-lubricated state most likely very powerful. At least

against those smaller than him.

 

"Well ain't you the little high 'n mighty--"

 

"She wishes to be left alone," says a calm but forceful voice from behind

you. You turn around to see and your heart leaps. It's your sexy Jedi. Gods,

but he can move quickly.

 

"Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it, Sweetie?"

 

The Jedi passes his hand in front of the other man's face. "The lady is with

me."

 

The drunken surliness drops from the brute's face like a light being

switched off, and his eyes seem to glaze over. You think you can even detect

a slight note of fear. "Uh...my mistake," he slurs, all the previous

machismo drained from his voice.

 

"I believe you owe her an apology for treating her so rudely." The Jedi

waves his hand again. You can only gape in stunned amusement as this act is

played out before you.

 

"I'm sorry, lady. Won' happen again." His voice is contrite, even

respectful. "I din' have no call to be speakin' to you like that."

 

"Good," you say, wanting to laugh and biting the inside of your mouth to

prevent it. You've heard stories about the power of the Force over weaker

minds, but always thought they were embellished to add to the Jedi mystique.

"Leave us please."

 

The beast stumbles into the crowd without another word, taking his stench

with him. You turn back to your rescuer, beaming broadly despite yourself.

"Thank you, that was very gallant of you." You're still a bit shaken, but

looking into the captivating eyes of this man makes you forget that very

quickly.

 

He returns the smile, and you're dazzled by its brilliance. Up close you can

see that his eyes are in fact a stunning bluish green. "I do what I can,

dear lady. I only hope that he hasn't turned you against male companionship

for the evening."

 

It seems you've forgotten how to speak. His face is hypnotic, and that's no

Jedi mind trick. You finish the contents of your glass and set it on the

bar, never taking your eyes from his.

 

The bartender brings you back to your senses, asking you if you're ready for

another drink. You nod, reaching into your bag for credits. The Jedi places

his hand over yours, the contact making your cheeks flush with color and

warmth. "Please," he says with a seductive smile. "Allow me."

 

The bartender returns with your drink and the Jedi pays him. "Thank you,"

you say, hoping you sound a lot calmer than you feel.

 

"My pleasure," he replies. "Oh my, where are my manners? Obi-Wan Kenobi at

your service." He takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing it

chastely. You think you may have forgotten how to breathe.

 

"Um, I'm Vessna." She won't mind. After all, you're only borrowing her name.

 

"Would you care to join me at my table, Vessna?"

 

"Yes," you say a bit too quickly, then right yourself. "Yes, I'd love to."

 

You thread your arm through his, drinking in his heat, and he escorts you

across the crowded dance floor. You're surprised to see that no one has

taken his table in his absence. But then, who would do that to a Jedi?

 

He gallantly pulls your chair out for you and you sit. His hand discreetly

brushes your shoulder, sending a little shiver through you, and he sits in

the chair beside you.

 

"So. Obi-Wan, is it?" You begin, smiling and crossing your legs. "Do you

make a regular habit of rescuing damsels in distress from foul beasts?"

 

"Actually, it was the beast I was rescuing," he replies, grinning wickedly.

"I have a feeling that you could have made short work of him."

 

You are reminded that the Jedi can read minds and make a note to guard your

thoughts more closely. "Really? And what makes you think that?"

 

"You strike me as a woman who can take care of herself."

 

You stifle an ironic laugh. When in your life were you ever given the

opportunity to care for yourself. "Like you, I do what I must." You deftly

change the subject. "This seems like an unusual place to find a Jedi

knight."

 

"Would you believe that this is what I do? Go to crowded night spots looking

for women to rescue?" He cocks an eyebrow and eyes you intently.

 

"No, I wouldn't." You can't help but giggle a bit.

 

"Well, I'll have to tell you the truth then, won't I?" He laughs, and the

sound of it is like music. "Let's just say that the Jedi are not quite as

monastic as they're made out to be."

 

You're very glad to know that. Very glad. The two of you talk for a little

while longer and finish your drinks. You're feeling a bit drunk right now,

and you love it. You're inhibitions are slipping as they are wont to do, and

you notice that Obi-Wan is looking even more beautiful than he did when you

first saw him. However, you're sure you're not - what do the locals call

it? - alegoggling. Slow, sensual music begins playing, and you decide to

just go for it. "Want to dance?"

 

He replies by rising from his chair, taking your hand and leading you onto

the crowded dance floor. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck and feel

his hands slide across your lower back. He pulls you close, but not too

close, and the two of you sway in time to the music. As the song progresses,

your bodies move in closer until the length of him is pressed against you.

Your faces are less than an inch apart. You're intoxicated by his scent;

musky and unmistakably male, and you're not surprised to find that it has

you greatly aroused. Whoever said that dancing was an acceptable form of

public sex knew what he or she was talking about.

 

He runs his hand lightly down your hip and pulls you closer to him. You can

feel his arousal beneath his clothes, and you can't stand it anymore. You

take his face in your hands and kiss his mouth, tentatively at first, then

more passionately when he eagerly responds. His kisses are soft and teasing,

and you open your mouth to accept him. Your legs nearly give out when he

slips his tongue into your mouth, flickering it against yours.

 

He breaks the kiss, leaving you reeling. "I really want to get out of here,

don't you?" He asks a bit breathlessly.

 

You have no idea, you think to yourself. "Yes. Where shall we go?"

 

"The inn I'm staying at isn't far from here. Would that please you?"

 

"Lead the way."

 

***

 

 

Chapter 3

 

You're familiar with the hotel he takes you to. It's well known for hosting

visiting dignitaries and is the best lodgings in the city, truly a five-star

place. You can't help but wonder how a Jedi can afford such luxurious

appointments. Important as they are, they probably aren't paid very well.

 

"You have exquisite taste," you say.

 

"Thank you, but I didn't choose the place. My master and I are accompanying

Supreme Chancellor Valorum from Coruscant."

 

This revelation stops you cold. You know that Valorum is here for the

coronation. You also know that it's customary for dignitaries to be

accompanied by Jedi bodyguards, but you were too enthralled with Obi-Wan to

make that connection at the bar. If you were caught, the scandal would be

unimaginable, both for you and for Obi-Wan. Outweighing your concern for

yourself is the fact that this man would be disgraced if he was caught in a

compromising position with you, the "great" Queen Pelle the Fourth. You

don't need that weighing on your conscience.

 

But still, you want him so badly. You're so conflicted right now, part of

you wanting to turn tail and race out the door without another word; the

other wanting to go with him and let him do whatever he pleases to you. No

one has to know who you are, the baser part of you thinks, and it's a very

compelling argument. Not even him.

 

But is this worth it? You know the answer to that even as it comes to your

mind. Of course. You wanted adventure, didn't you?

 

"Are you all right?" He asks, and you realize that you've stopped dead and

are staring. You desperately hope he didn't pick up any of your thoughts. He

approaches you and his arm encircles your waist.

 

"Me? Oh...fine."

 

"Don't worry about anything. My master and the Chancellor are old friends

and are most likely painting the town as we speak." He kisses you softly,

pushing reasonable thought right out the door. "We'll have no

interruptions."

 

The baser part of you wins, and you let him lead you onto the lift. After

all, who could possibly recognize you the way you look tonight?

 

When the lift door closes, he swiftly gathers you into his arms and kisses

you deeply, pressing your back against the wall. You whimper and dig your

fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him against you. Your tongues

probe each other's mouths, seeking and plundering. You move against him,

feeling his erection through his pants. He breaks the kiss and trails his

lips over your chin, down your neck. His hand, gentle but demanding, slides

over your breast and you find out just how light the material of your dress

really is.

 

"Tell me your name," he demands, then sucks your skin into his mouth,

teasing it with his tongue.

 

"Vessna," you reply somewhere between a whisper and a moan.

 

"No," he whispers harshly, raising his face to yours. His hand stays on your

breast, teasing the nipple with his palm. "Tell me your real name."

 

"What?" The unease is returning, but this time you have nowhere to run. "I

don't know what you mean!"

 

"Your real name, my dear lady. I would feel most uncomfortable calling out

'Your Highness' while we're making love."

 

"What?" Your voice comes out as a tortured squeak.

 

"Or 'Pelle the Fourth' for that matter. It's quite unromantic." He grins

wickedly at you, arousing you despite your sudden distress. "Tell me your

name."

 

The lift arrives at his floor and he whisks you out and down the corridor to

his room. All the way you struggle, voicing weak protests, but he's not

listening. This can't be happening. You were so careful!  Damn Jedi mind

tricks!

 

Once inside, he closes the door and locks it. You're trapped now. "Let me

out," you demand. "Now."

 

He just leans against the door with that wicked smile still on his face.

"Not until you tell me your real name."

 

Your shoulders sag in surrender. What's the use of getting indignant? You

knew this could happen, and you should have prepared for it. "Lucina," you

say quietly.

 

He approaches you and tenderly lays his hand on your cheek. "I know why you

feel you had to lie to me. But I assure you, your official position isn't

the least bit important to me tonight. I could care less about your crown

right now."

 

"I just wanted to..."

 

"Be free, even if it's just for one night," he whispers against your lips,

completing your thought. "I know." He slips his arms around your waist and

pulls you close, kissing you. His tongue darts out of his mouth and traces

the outline of your lips.

 

He leads you to the bed and sits down. You stand in front of him, between

his parted knees, looking down into his eyes, which have grown dark with

desire and devour your body. His hands slide up your thighs, taking your

dress with them, and he presses his face to your stomach, covering it with

kisses that burn you through the fabric of your dress. Your heart is

pounding in your chest and you draw heavy, trembling breaths, weaving your

fingers through his honey blonde hair. He loops his thumb around the

waistband of your undergarments and slides them down your hips. They fall

uselessly to the floor and you step out of them, kicking them aside.

 

He pushes you down on the bed and kneels on the floor in front of you,

trailing kisses down your chest as he gently kneads your breast with one

hand and unfastens the buttons on the front of your dress with the other. He

works his way down, kissing and licking at each inch of skin that is

revealed. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable. Now open, he

pushes your dress from your shoulders and pushes you back until your lying

down. You close your eyes and feel him kissing the top of your thigh, down

by your knee. He works his way up and in, lifting your leg over his shoulder

and tracing slow, lazy circles with his tongue, driving you insane with

need. He reaches under your legs and grasps your waist with both hands,

pulling you towards him. "Look at me," he commands.

 

You eagerly obey, lifting your head and looking down. The pure, brazen

hunger in his eyes makes the wetness pour from you. He presses his lips to

the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, baring his teeth and nipping

playfully. "Oh my dear lady, you're almost ready for me now."

 

"Call me by my name," you plead breathlessly.

 

"As you wish...Lucina," he whispers, drawing out the syllables of your name.

He passes his thumb over the swollen nub between your legs. You moan and try

to push yourself against his hand but he holds you fast. "I must say, the

idea of a queen with a bad girl streak is incredibly arousing for me."

 

"What do you want to do about it," you ask, groaning as he presses harder on

you, moving his thumb in slow, torturous circles.

 

In response, his head dips down and you feel his tongue slide against your

nub, sending a shock wave of pleasure through you. Encouraged by the

tortured moan you let out, he laps mercilessly at you, pushing you leg back

until your knee rests against your chest. His tongue slips inside you and he

works at you with his tongue and fingers, thrusting and circling, taking you

higher. It's been so long for you, so long. The sensations build in you and

you want to explode, but you also don't want this sweet torture to end. You

move against him, wanting him closer, and breathlessly call out his name and

begging him to take you higher. Suddenly he stops, lifting his head and

licking your moisture from his lips.

 

"Don't stop...please, Obi-Wan," you beg him, your body aching from the break

in contact.

 

"But Lucina," he says, grinning and reaching over to where his Jedi uniform

hangs neatly over a chair beside the bed. He retrieves a long sash from

under the tidy pile of clothes. "I thought what you wanted was to not know

what will happen next."

 

You can't answer that, because you know he pulled it from your mind and is

giving voice to a desire that you didn't share with anyone. He climbs on to

the bed and bids you to sit up. He kisses you hungrily as he unbuttons his

shirt and shrugs out of it. His pants and shoes follow, until his is

completely naked. You run your fingers lightly over his smooth skin, down

his chest to his erect sex. He is impressively large. He groans as you

stroke the length. You want to take him in your mouth, but he doesn't let

you just yet. Instead, he rises up and wraps the sash around your eyes,

knotting it in the back of your head.

 

"What--?" You ask, surprised. As promised, you don't know where this is

heading, but your certain that you love it. Being robbed of your sight, the

rest of your senses compensate, specifically touch.

 

"Trust me, Lucina," he whispers, then flicks at your lips with his tongue.

He eases you onto your back, kissing you hard, spearing your mouth with his

tongue. His mouth travels down your throat and chest, electrifying

everything in its path. Your arch your back and moan when you feel wet heat

on your nipple, his tongue tracing slow, languid circles around it. You cry

out in pleasure and pain when he sucks hard on it. He then moves over you to

pay the same loving attention to its twin. He rises from you and props

himself up on his elbow, and you ache from the loss of contact.  "Turn over

on your stomach," he whispers, his voice dark with lust.

 

You comply, and he takes a pillow from the head of the bed and slips it

under your stomach, raising your ass slightly. His hands are all over you,

rubbing and kneading the muscles, working their way down. He places his

hands on your inner thighs, parting your legs slightly, and slips one finger

inside you, making you gasp, then another. His remaining fingers stroke and

press at your clitoris. "You're sooo wet," he half-whispers, half-moans,

kissing and licking at your buttocks and hips. "Come for me."

 

He increases the pressure on your clit, and his fingers pump faster into

you. The white-hot pressure builds in you, all attention focused on the

center of your body. You clench the coverlet, bunching it in your fists, and

move wildly against his hand. Your orgasm is sudden and intense, so

agonizingly sweet. You scream as wave after wave of white-hot sensation

washes over you. He continues to work at you, wringing every drop of

sensation from you.

 

You lay there panting for a moment, whispering his name, and then you feel

his weight on your back. He uses his legs to part your thighs, spreading

them wide. "I want you," he growls. "Now."

 

"Yessss." You can barely speak. He slips himself into you, filling you

again, deliciously stretching you. "Oh, gods," he whispers, and begins

thrusting slowly, grinding his hips into you with a torturous circular

motion. He lays one hand on the coverlet to brace himself, and slides the

other up your thigh, his fingers furrowing your flesh. Your body moves of

its own accord, pushing yourself into him in time with his thrusts. You feel

his mouth on your shoulders and the back of your neck, and your raise

yourself up. "You feel so good…oooh…so good…" he whispers against your skin,

his voice strained. You reply with a moan and tighten yourself around his

shaft, urging him on by thrusting your hips sharply against him. You feel a

second orgasm following on the heels of the first one. "Let go," you say.

"Let it go…harder…oh gods!"

 

His thrusts grow frenzied, and he slams into you, sharp breaths and sharp

movements. You have to see him. You crane your neck and are greeted with the

most beautiful sight. His face, gleaming with sweat is etched with pure

ecstasy. He clamps his mouth on to yours, his tongue thrusting into your

mouth in time with his cock. Seeing your face, your desire drives him wild.

He impales you with animal abandon, making your cry out in pain and even

greater pleasure, urging you toward another explosion. The white-hot

sensations build in you, pushing you higher and higher. A second orgasm

rocks you, making your whole body shudder, making you feel as if each

individual atom is having it's own climax. With a tortured cry, he releases

himself into you, filling you with his white-hot seed. You both ride the

waves, calling out each other's names, until he collapses on top of you,

panting raggedly and trembling.

 

You lay there for a moment, then he rolls away onto his back, exhausted. He

caresses your face tenderly and removing the blindfold. You move over

against his side, drape your arm over his chest, running your hand through

sweat. "Wow," is all you can say between labored breaths. "Wow."

 

My…sentiments…exactly," he answers, panting and gathering you into his arms.

You can do little else but lay there together, bathing in the afterglow.

After a few moments, you raise your head to meet his eyes.

 

"When did you know?" You ask him.

 

"When did I know what?" He asks in reply, tracing your lips with his

fingers.

 

"That I'm to be queen."

 

"In the hotel lobby, as soon as I told you I was with Valorum. You know, you

really must learn to mask your thoughts better if you're to hide them from a

Jedi." His voice takes on a slightly cocky tone, but he's smiling.

 

"Oh, really?" You ask with mock indignation and tickle the inside of his

thigh, making him jump.

 

"I think you would have told me eventually," he says with absolute

seriousness, and you don’t entirely disagree with him.

 

"Maybe, and maybe not."

 

***

 

Later, you fall asleep in his arms. You don't know how long you sleep, but

when you wake the sun is just beginning to creep over the horizon. A small

chrono hangs on the wall: 5 am. Thank all the gods and goddesses that you

didn't oversleep. What a scandal that would be! You extricate yourself from

Obi-Wan's arms and creep out of bed in search of your clothes, not wanting

to wake him. Too late. He props himself up on his elbow and looks at you.

"Leaving so soon, Lucina?"

 

"I must," you reply, buttoning your dress and slipping into your shoes.

 

"Of course. You have a big day ahead of you."

 

Your mood threatens to grow dark at the thought, but the sight of this

beautiful, naked Jedi lying before you salvages it. "Don't remind me."

 

He gets up and puts his arms around you. "You're strong enough, you know.

You can do this. And I know you'll make a great leader."

 

"How can you know that?" You don't need platitudes right now. You just want

the memory of last night to last. Your arms encircle his neck and he kisses

you tenderly.

 

"Just a feeling I have. Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm wrong," he says.

"This time I feel I'm right. Last night you shared more than your body with

me, you know."

 

You say nothing, but kiss him instead. When the kiss breaks, he rests his

forehead against yours. "I shall never forget you, dear lady."

 

"Do you mean that?" You pray that he does.

 

"Yes."

 

"Then we shall have to do this again some time."

 

"Like now?"

 

His embrace and his kisses make you want more than anything to say yes, but

duty calls. "I can't."

 

"Understood," he says, more than a little disappointed. "Will you get home

all right?"

 

"Yes. I'll summon a jitney. This city is much different during the day, and

I'll be fine. I doubt anyone will recognize me."

 

"So do I." His kiss this time is full of longing, and you respond in kind.

"See you at the coronation, Lucina."

 

"Wouldn't miss it." With some effort, you pull yourself away from him and

leave the room. As you walk to the elevator, you think that Obi-Wan may be a

frequent guest of Queen Pelle the Fourth. A very frequent guest.

 

THE END

****

 

So, was as good for you as it was for me?

 

 

Peace,

Cassie