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Padmé had always considered herself a lucky person, born into a great family with parents who loved each other and had good jobs to support her and her sister, Sola, in their ambitious endeavors (in Padmé’s ambitious endeavors, anyway; Sola was perfectly happy to be a stay-at-home mom and transcriptionist). As well as get a good education, with grades that almost guaranteed she’d be able to get into any college she wanted.

‘Almost’ being the key word.

The Naberrrie family luck seemed to have run out at the start of Padme’s senior year of high school when her father, Ruwee, was diagnosed with Leukemia. The chemotherapy and looming threat of death that the doctors confessed was likely hanging over the Naberrie house like a plague for the entire year. Her once untouchable sanctuary of home had become tainted with despair, and the strain it put on her life showed in her school work. Her financial status suffered as well, as almost every bit of money she made went straight into her dad’s very expensive medical bills.

Thankfully, by the end of her senior year, their luck had returned with her dad in remission, likely to make a full recovery. Her grades weren’t so lucky. Padme’s perfect 4.0 GPA was destroyed, and with it her hopes of a full-ride scholarship to Harvard. A phone call to the administration about her family’s plight had gotten her admittance, even a partial scholarship, but not nearly enough to cover all seven years there. The scholarship wasn’t even enough to cover her bachelor’s degree!

She hadn’t given up hope, though, and by the time she’d enrolled and moved into the First-Year housing on campus, she’d applied for a multitude of jobs and internships. Boston was a major hub for several high-paying industries, and consequently, many companies in the city offered very competitive salaries for interns. She’d been completely confident that by the start of the semester, she’d be at least a month into a new, well-paying job close to Harvard.

Now she was sitting at her desk in the common room of her shared dorm suite with Sabe, her best friend since middle school, desperately scrounging through old emails hoping to find one that held the words ‘hired’. She saw Sabe’s shadow fall over her and frowned, not taking her eyes off the screen. “I’m not giving up and going to Bunker Hill Community College for the free tuition, Sabe.”

Her friend groaned. “It’s not giving up, it’s the only option you can afford right now! Even if you do somehow manage to find an internship before school starts next week, there’s no way that whatever their paying you will be enough to cover tuition!”

Padme was about to turn around and (childishly) give her the stink eye when a new email popped up in her primary. Opening it, she was surprised to see it was from SkyTech, a new high-end company in Boston, whose young founder and CEO had just about every girl at Harvard swooning over him. She grinned with excitement as she saw the first sentence.

Dear Padme,

On behalf of the entire team at SkyTech, I am absolutely thrilled to extend you an offer for the Surrogate internship …

Her grin faded into confusion and then alarm as she continued to read through the email.  This ‘Surrogate Internship’ would have her be part of a unique fertility treatment program that would allow for a more stable and comfortable pregnancy with ‘highly improved offspring’ as a result when done the ‘traditional way’ with a specially trained partner, which the email stated was themself. The email politely asked her to go to SkyTech itself the following day is she was interested and ended with a bunch of info needed to gain access to the building.

She thought it had to be some sort of prank until she saw the signature at the bottom.

Best regards

Anakin Skywalker 

CEO & Founder, SkyTech 

[email protected]

 www.skytech.com

It was real. 

“It’s real,” she muttered in disbelief.

“What’s real?”

The sound of Sabe’s voice next to her ear had her slam the laptop shut, feeling like a teenager who was caught watching porn. “I got an internship at SkyTech.”

Sabe’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, I guess that Naberrrie luck pulls through after all. Are you going to do it? Wait, better question, how many zeros does your salary have?”

Padme’s mouth froze halfway through forming the words: absolutely not, as she recalled the number. “A lot. It has a lot of zeros.”

Sabe raised an eyebrow, curious. “How much are we talking?”

Padme’s mind raced as she considered doing something she thought she would never even consider. “Enough to cover tuition, housing, fees, and then some.”

Sabe threw her hands up in the air. “Well, that settles it, doesn’t it? You have to do it!”

Padme bit her lip. Crazy and reckless were not words that would be used to describe her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “The email says I need to go to SkyTech in person tomorrow if I’m thinking about accepting the offer. Apparently, I’ll be meeting with Mr.Skywalker himself.”

“Ooh,” Sabe practically squealed, “Look at my little Mé, moving up in the world, cozying up to the big shot CEO.”

Padme gave her a weak smile. She knew she needed to at least hear the man out, no matter how crazy his proposal, if it meant she could go to her dream college free of financial suicide. She had a feeling tomorrow’s meeting would be interesting, to say the least. SkyTech, here I come.

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Walking inside the lobby of SkyTech the next morning, Padme could admit that it was the first time in her life she’d ever been intimidated by a building, just from the sheer scale and luminosity of it. A soaring, double-height ceiling stretched overhead, entirely composed of a glass canopy that dynamically shifted its opacity to filter sunlight, and its walls were clad in aluminum panels interspersed with textured acoustic wood. 

At the heart of the space, sat a sleek, reception desk, sculpted from what looked to be a single piece of luminous white composite material. Behind it, a curved wall features a massive screen, which showcased captivating, abstract animations of data flowing or perhaps conceptual renderings of SkyTech's latest innovations. The openness made Padme feel vulnerable as she approached the reception desk, behind which was a beautiful, almond-skinned woman who seemed very absorbed in whatever was on her computer screen.

She glanced down at the woman’s name tag, which read: Aalya Secura, and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Miss Secura? I’m-”

Secura’s head whipped up, and surprised eyes met Padme’s. “ Mon Dieu! Forgive me, I was distracted, you must be Padme Nabberrie.”

Padme gave her a small smile, trying not to let her nerves show. “That’s right, I have a meeting with Mr. Skywalker.”

“Well, you’re a bit early,” Her face smoothed into a more professional one. “But I’m sure Anakin won’t mind. Here.”

She handed Padme a keycard. “His office is on the 51st floor, you’ll need to use that keycard on the elevator.”

Padme shifted uncomfortably. “If he’s busy, I don’t want to impose.”

Secura chuckled. “Anakin is the last person who would be upset if you got here too early. Actually, he’d probably thank you for the excuse to end his ‘extremely boring meeting’ early.”

Padme frowned. Did all of his staff call him by his first name, or was he just close with Miss Secura in particular? Maybe they’re dating. Yes, that seems more likely. “If you say so.”

The woman brightly pointed her in the direction of the elevators, and once inside, she began to steel herself. You’re about to meet the man who most definitely wants to take advantage of you, no pressure. She groaned and let her head fall against the cool metal of the elevator. Why am I doing this again? An image of a dollar sign with lots of zeros behind it flashes through her mind. Right, because you’re so broke right now, you’d do almost anything to pay for your dream college. No matter how much of your pride and your morals you have to destroy to do it.

She took a deep breath as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, bringing her to the 51st floor. A door with the plaque containing the words Anakin Skywalker was directly across from her as she got out. How convenient. Unable to stop her hands from trembling, she formed a fist and lightly knocked on the door. She heard a muffled “come in! ” right away, and forced herself to pull the door open and head inside in one swift movement before she lost her nerve.

She was greeted with a brightly lit room that surprisingly had a more cozy feel than the lobby, with the desk, chairs, and bookshelves that were made of a dark, rich wood, and strangely enough, several potted plants situated throughout. Various framed, casual-looking pictures of what appeared to be family and friends lined the walls, and his desk was a mess of papers and various trinkets she couldn’t even begin to describe.

The man himself was leaning against his desk, brow scrunched in concentration as he fiddled with what looked like one of the trinkets from his desk. He looked up as she walked further in, and Padme momentarily lost the ability to breathe. He looked like a classical sculpture of a Greek god come to life. His pushed-up sleeves showcased his bronzed, muscular arms, and his curly golden hair fell just past his ears, framing his smooth, perfect face. All strong jawline and defined cheekbones. But arguably his best feature was his intense, deep blue eyes, which seemed to pierce her very soul.

His face broke into a bright, dimpled grin at the sight of her. “Padme Nabberrie, you’re a lifesaver! If you’d gotten here just a few minutes later and my internal stakeholders would’ve seen what death by boredom looks like.”

Ah. Miss Secura was spot on about the ‘extremely boring meeting’ then. She probably is his girlfriend if she knows him that well. For some reason, the thought unsettled her, and she pushed it away in favor of focusing on the man in front of her, trying to ignore his distracting features. The news articles and magazines don’t do him justice , she thought wryly. 

She primly sat down on the chair in front of his desk, offering him a tight smile. “I’ll be honest, when I learned it was you who sent me that email, I was this close to calling the police.”

Skywalker had the decency to wince. “Yeah, that might’ve been a little too … forward, sorry. I have a bad habit of doing before thinking.”

She privately wondered how this man could have possibly created his own successful company. Sighing, she decided to try again, trying to hide her nerves. “Mr. Skywalker, let me be honest with you. I really do need the money you offered, Harvard isn’t cheap after all, but I’m not sold on the idea of being used that way by anybody, no matter how attractive they are.”

She resisted the urge to curse, her mind screaming at her. She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

If Skywalker caught her slip-up, he didn’t show it, continuing as amicably as before. “Please, call me Anakin, everyone does. Mr. Skywalker makes me feel twenty years older than I am.”

She drew her trembling hands into her lap, not wanting him to see how shaken the whole situation had her. “Ok, Anakin, the only way I will accept this internship is if you give me an actual position as a legal intern, or a policy intern, or any other real internship that doesn’t involve me having your babies!”

"Look, I know this is unconventional, but let me explain," Anakin insisted, leaning across the polished mahogany desk. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held Padme's with a strange mix of intensity and vulnerability. She sat rigidly in the chair opposite him, her heart racing.

"I-I can’t believe you’re really asking me to- is this a joke?" Padme asked, her voice shaking slightly. She had come to this interview expecting to discuss a legal internship at Skytech, not... this.

Anakin took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving hers. "I want to offer you a position unlike any other. You would be a part of my personal... project." He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "And as my … brood mare, you would carry my children, all of them."

Padme felt the blood drain from her face, her mind racing. She had read about people with breeding fetishes, but never thought she'd encounter one, especially not in the context of a job offer. She blinked, trying to process the audacity of the proposition. "Your... what ?" she managed to choke out.

Anakin's expression remained serious, but a hint of excitement tinged his voice. "A brood mare is a female who is bred by a male to carry and bear his offspring. In this case, you would be carrying my children, Padme. I've always had a fascination with procreation and the idea of building a legacy through a strong, fertile woman." 

He spoke as if discussing a business strategy rather than a deeply personal and intimate act.

Padme's initial shock began to give way to curiosity, and she found herself unable to look away from his earnest gaze. 

"Why me?" she asked, her voice still trembling. "Surely there are... more suitable candidates for such an … unusual position."

"There are," Anakin conceded with a shrug. "Honestly, I could make a quick post on Facebook and I’d get offers, but none that I find as intriguing or as suitable as you, Padme. Your beauty, your intelligence, your strength - they all appeal to me.”

Padme didn’t know whether to be disturbed that he’d put something so erotic about his personal life on Facebook or flattered that all of the women he could’ve chosen (and there were definitely women out there who were better suited for this), he chose her. Somewhere in the back of her head, alarm bells were going off at the fact that this man had looked over her resume and immediately decided to hire her for the sole purpose of having his babies. But another part of her couldn’t help but be intrigued by such an offer (as strange as it was). I should at least hear him out.

“Plus," he added with a small smile, "you're the right age for breeding. And let's not forget the fact that you're a law student. Your future is bright, and I want to offer you a way to secure it without the burden of debt."

Her eyes narrowed as she considered his words. It was true; the thought of graduating without student loans was incredibly tempting. If she took up his offer, she wouldn’t have to pay for a single thing at Harvard. Yet, the idea of being used solely for her reproductive capabilities was unsettling. "And what happens to me after... after I've given you your 'legacy'?"

Anakin leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. "Once your contract is fulfilled, you will be well compensated. You'll have enough to pay off your debts, buy a house, and even start your own law firm if you wish. Plus, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you've contributed to something greater than yourself."

Padme's mind raced with questions, but she remained silent, her eyes locked on Anakin's. His confidence was palpable, and she couldn't help but feel a strange allure to the proposal. Despite her reservations, she couldn't deny the financial freedom it would offer. 

"And if I choose not to accept?" she asked finally, her voice firm despite the uncertainty that still lingered behind it.

Anakin's smile never wavered. "Then you walk out that door, and we both move on. No hard feelings. But understand, Padme, the opportunity I'm offering does not come around often." 

His words let her relax. Slightly. So he likely wasn’t some creep who’d try to breed her against her will. He just had an … interesting fetish, and she happened to be his type. Padme felt a knot in her stomach, but she couldn't help the curiosity that was blossoming. 

"How... how many children are we talking about?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t know why she felt the need to; surrogacy wasn’t illegal. Some types are, her brain reminded her, and she quickly pushed the thought away. She’d read the contract; if she gave consent, it would be fine, legally and morally.

"As many as you can safely carry," Anakin replied easily. "I've had medical tests done. I'm extremely fertile, and I intend to make full use of that gift."

Padme swallowed hard, trying to wrap her head around the magnitude of what he was proposing. "And what about my... my fertility and comfort during these pregnancies?" she inquired, her voice gaining a bit more confidence.

"Ah, I've thought of that," Anakin said, his tone business-like as he slid a sleek tablet across the desk. "I would provide you with the best medical care available at Skytech, including a treatment to enhance your fertility and ensure comfortable pregnancies." 

He tapped the screen, bringing up a series of documents. "You'd undergo a of cutting-edge hormone therapy and genetic optimization. The latest in reproductive technology would be at your disposal."

Padme stared at the tablet, her eyes widening at the prospect. "What kind of treatment?" she asked, unable to deny the curious edge to her voice now. Anakin's smile grew more confident. 

"The latest advancements in reproductive medicine," he explained. "You would be given a personalized cocktail of fertility drugs and hormones, tailored to your body's needs. These would not only ensure your ability to carry multiple pregnancies to term but also keep you looking and feeling young and vibrant." 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. Normally, Padme would’ve shoved anyone away who got into her personal space without her consent, but the pleasant tingle of his lips brushing past her ear kept her body from moving. "Think of it as an investment in your health and vitality, Padme. A way to ensure that my children inherit the best of what you have to offer.”

He stood and walked over to a bookshelf, and Padme’s skin mourned the loss of his presence before she got a hold of herself. His gaze lingered on the spines of various leather-bound tomes before pulling out a small device. It looked like a sleek, metallic pen, but Padme knew it was far more than that. 

"This," he said, holding it up, "is a genetic marker. With a single drop of your blood, we can map out the entirety of your DNA and tailor your treatment accordingly." 

Her eyes widened as he approached, extending the pen to her. She took it tentatively, the cool metal feeling foreign in her grip. 

"And what does this involve?" she managed to ask, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Anakin took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "The first step is a simple DNA sample. After that, we'll run a full workup to understand your genetic potential." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper with just a hint of heat that made her toes curl. "And then, Padme, we'll begin to unlock your true fertility. Imagine bearing not just one or two, but a whole brood of strong, healthy children, all with the potential to change the world."

Padme felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, half from the eeriness and half from … was that excitement? She looked at the genetic marker in her hand, contemplating the weight of his proposal. Could she? Could Padme really consent to this? Not just to have his children but to be bred. The degree of intimacy and dare she say, erotica, she would participate in was daunting, especially as she knew that wasn’t in the norm for typical surrogacies. Yet, there was something in Anakin's eyes in the way he looked at her, how he spoke of her in an almost … worshipful way that made Padme want to dive in head first.

He took a seat beside her, his expression earnest. "I know this is a lot to take in," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on her arm, and Padme resisted the urge to shiver as the tingle came back in full force. "But I believe you're the best fit, Padme. As soon as I saw your profile, I just knew you were the one. And I promise you, I'll take care of you every step of the way."

The one . For some reason, those words brought a smile to her lips, although she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was proposing (she probably would’ve been creeped out if he had), he just thought she could give him the best babies. The latter thought gave her a strange sense of disappointment.

Her gaze flickered to the genetic marker in her hand, then back to Anakin. "And what if I decide I don't want to have more children after... after the contract is over?" she asked, avoiding his gaze.

"The treatment is reversible," Anakin assured her. "Once you've had your last child for me, you can choose to stop. You'll still be young, healthy, and ready to pursue whatever you desire."

Padme's pulse quickened as she contemplated the implications. The idea of being so intimately linked to this powerful, enigmatic man was both thrilling and terrifying. She looked down at the genetic marker, feeling the weight of the decision in her trembling hand. Life is full of wonderful surprises, Mé , she recalled her dad’s words, but you have to be willing to take a chance.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Anakin said placatingly, likely noticing her nervousness, “I’ll give you a week to consid-”

“I’ll do it.”

The man blinked, showcasing the first time she’d ever seen him caught off guard. “D-Did you just say-”

The look on his face was so comical she had to resist to urge to laugh, instead opting for a sly smile. He’d totally thought she’d turn him down, or at least take the week to think about it, like he suggested. “Hand me that contract so I can sign it, Mr. Skywalker. You’re about to get your broodmare.”

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The following week, Padme found herself standing in the gleaming lobby of Skytech’s private medical facility. Anakin had texted her that morning (it was so weird to have the personal phone number of SkyTech’s CEO), offering to send someone from the company to pick her up after her classes. Still, she’d politely refused; the last thing she wanted was people thinking her internship with SkyTech was anything beyond average. Instead, she’d simply driven her car to Skytech’s reclusive medical labs with the address he’d given her.

Although the security guards at the front gate had let her in as soon as they’d learned who she was, Padme couldn’t help but feel nervous. A lab tech called her name, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart as she followed the lab tech down the corridor lined with state-of-the-art equipment. The walls were adorned with screens displaying complex diagrams and graphs that she could only guess were related to humans. 

The doctor, to her surprise, was a woman in her early 30s with short-cropped black hair and tattoos poking out from the sleeves of her lab coat. She greeted Padme with a toothy smile. 

"Welcome, I’m Dr. Aphra," she said, her voice chipper despite the cold, clinical surroundings. "Anakin has informed me of the unique opportunity you're considering. I'm here to answer any questions you might have and ensure you understand the full extent of what we can offer."

Padme nodded, her hand tightening around the genetic marker. Anakin certainly seemed to have a rather casual relationship with his staff, given by the way they all called him by his first name. Dr. Aphra led her into a private examination room, the walls a soothing shade of blue. She gestured for Padme to sit on the exam table, which was surprisingly comfortable. "The first step," she began, her voice professional but empathetic, "is to collect your DNA sample."

With a gentle touch, Dr. Aphra took the marker from Padme's hand. She placed a small, sterile pad on the tip, guiding it to Padme's index finger, and with a quick, painless motion, she collected the necessary blood. Padme watched as the device beeped and the blood was drawn into the pen, feeling a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. She informed Padme they’d have to wait several minutes before the results came in, and the lingering silence caused Padme’s morbid curiosity to take over as she blurted, “How did you get involved in Anakin’s Broodmare project?”

Padme winced. There were several ways she could’ve asked that more tactfully and honestly, did she even want to know? Thankfully, Dr. Aphra only smirked, seeming amused. “Are you kidding? This project is practically my baby.”

Padme couldn’t hide her surprise. “ You developed the fertility treatment?”

She shrugged, “Oh sure, the actual project itself was Anakin’s idea, but I’d been working on a more … unique kind of fertility treatment since I got my PhD. That was how he found me, actually. He studied my dissertation on pregnant body enhancements.”

Padme stared at the gray tiled floor, her mind reeling at the revelation. She could hardly imagine any self-respecting woman who would agree to create a treatment for such a project. What does that make me, then, considering I volunteered to be here ? “And this is your … field of choice?”

The genetic marker pinged as the results came in, and the doctor held it up with an eager grin, studying it. “Of course! Improving human incubation is my passion! I would never waste my talents as a specialized RE on something mundane like Intrauterine Insemination.”

Padme got the feeling someone as … eccentric as Dr. Aphra wouldn’t be valued as a commonplace OB/GYN anyway.

"Now, let's discuss the fertility treatment," Dr. Aphra said, getting back to business. "We'll start with a series of injections to stimulate your ovaries and enhance egg production." 

She tapped at a computer screen above the small counter, displaying a series of graphs and charts that were as intimidating as they were fascinating. "These will be administered today, and I'll keep you here till tomorrow morning  so I can monitor your progress closely." 

Padme listened, her heart racing as the doctor laid out the plan. The thought of her body being so thoroughly optimized for breeding was surreal, but she liked the idea of viewing it from a purely medical perspective. Hopefully, it would make the task itself seem less daunting. "What are the side effects?"

"Ah, yes," Dr. Aphra said with a knowing smile. "The treatment will have a few side effects that are quite... unique. You'll find that your stomach, womb, and birth canal will become increasingly elastic, allowing for easier, less painful pregnancies and deliveries. No stretch marks will mar your skin, and the discomforts that come with childbearing will be minimized.”

Padme nodded, trying to take in the information. Less pain and no stretch marks sounded like a dream come true for any woman, but the implications of such a change were hard to fathom. For so long, she’d heard her mother’s horror stories about birthing Sola and herself, and she’d resigned herself to the fact that when she had children, it would be just as uncomfortable and painful. Now … "But what about... the other side effects?" 

Dr. Aphra’s smile grew wider. "The other side effects are quite beneficial, really. You'll find your sex drive increasing significantly as your body prepares for breeding. Your appetite will also be enhanced, ensuring that you have all the nutrients needed to support your pregnancies." 

She paused, watching Padme's reaction, seemingly amused. "It's all natural, of course. The body's way of ensuring the continuation of the species."

Padme felt her cheeks flush at the mention of her sex drive; it certainly sounded better than getting morning sickness, but she couldn't help but wonder how it would affect her school work if she was going to be as … intimately aroused as the doctor implied. Another thought occurred to her. "How will it affect my menstrual cycle?" 

Dr. Aphra chuckled softly. "Don't worry, Padme. Your body's natural rhythms will adapt. With the hormone therapy, you'll become more in tune with your fertility cycle, making conception a predictable and enjoyable experience."

Padme's eyes widened. “Are you saying I’ll instinctively know when I’m fertile?”

The eccentric woman nodded, brown eyes glittering. “Yep, you’ll feel a lot more of an urge to have sex than usual when you're at the fertile point in your cycle, but I wouldn’t worry about it, though, it’s not like there will be a significant amount of time when you aren’t pregnant.”

The doctor continued, "As for the number of children, it's quite common for those undergoing this program to start with twins and then move on to larger multiples with each subsequent pregnancy. It's all part of the genetic optimization process. Your body will be primed to handle it, and I assure you, the pleasure you’ll get from the birthing process alone will make it all worthwhile."

The thought of carrying twins, and then more, was daunting, but also exhilarating. She had always wanted to have a lot of children, and if this fertility treatment did what Dr. Aphra said it did, she would be fulfilling a lifelong dream, even if the process was more than a little weird. "So, all of my pregnancies will be multiples?"

"It's quite possible, yes," Dr. Aphrodite nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "The hormonal cocktail we'll administer is designed to stimulate the ovaries to produce more than one egg at a time. And with Anakin's... enthusiastic approach to breeding, the likelihood of multiples is quite high. Starting with twins is quite common in our program, but as your body adjusts, we may see triplets, quadruplets, or more."

Padme’s brow furrowed at the doctor’s words. Having multiples sounded fun in concept but actually being able to carry so many at once seemed … difficult to say the least. 

Dr. Aphra seemed to understand Padme’s concerns. "Don't worry, we'll monitor your health closely. The treatment is designed to ensure that you can safely carry the number of children that Anakin desires. But should the situation arise, we have the technology to safely reduce the number of fetuses to a manageable amount. Our goal is to protect both you and your babies."

Padme relaxed, glad Aphra had thought this whole process through so thoroughly. With that guarantee, the idea of bearing twins, then triplets, maybe even quadruplets, was strangely thrilling. "You mentioned that the birthing process would be … pleasurable?" 

"Ah, the birth process," Dr. Aphra said with a sharp grin. "That's where things get really interesting." 

She leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming. "The hormone part of the treatment we'll be using will do more than just ensure a successful pregnancy. They'll actually transform the experience of giving birth into something... euphoric, on the orgasm level.

Padme's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Euphoric?" she echoed, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

"Indeed," Dr. Aphra confirmed with a nod. "The treatment you'll receive today will alter your body's response to the hormones released during labor. Instead of pain, you'll experience intense pleasure. In many cases, it's been reported that women in our program achieve multiple orgasms during the birth process."

Padme's eyes went wide; the concept of pleasure during childbirth seemed like something out of a steamy romance novel. "Is that... is that really possible?”

"More than possible," Dr. Aphra said, her expression one of professional excitement. "It's a natural side effect of the hormonal optimization. Your body will be flooded with endorphins during labor, turning what is typically a painful experience into one of ecstasy. It's a part of the process that many of our participants find to be rather... satisfying."

Padme's mind reeled at the thought. Could it truly be like that? Could she let herself believe it could be like that? There was no shortage of stories about woman trying some new experimental fad to improve their bodies only to have it blow up in their face. Still, as far as she could tell, Dr. Aphra was genuinely passionate about her work and didn't seem to be doing it solely to make good money off of gullible people.

"And after?" she pressed, eager to understand the full extent of what she would be committing to.

"Your recovery will be swift," Dr. Aphra assured her. "The same treatment that prepares your body for breeding also works to restore it post-pregnancy. Within a week of giving birth, you'll be back to your pre-pregnancy shape. No stretch marks, no sagging, no painful recoveries."

The thought of such a rapid recovery was almost too good to be true. Padme's mind raced with the implications. If this treatment could make one recover in a week, what usually took months, she could only imagine how it could affect people who had serious injuries. She has that level of skill, and she wastes it on fertility treatments? Really?

"How is that possible?" she breathed, her eyes wide.

Dr. Aphra's smile grew wider. "The hormonal therapy and genetic optimization don't just enhance your fertility, Padme. They also work to maintain and repair your body throughout the entire process." 

She gestured to a series of before-and-after images on the computer screen on the wall next to her, showing women who looked as though they had never been pregnant despite having just given birth. "As your body prepares for labor, it's flooded with a cocktail of natural chemicals that promote healing and tissue repair. The treatment we administer will amplify those effects, allowing you to bounce back quickly and efficiently."

Padme stared at the images, her mind racing. It was all so surreal, but she’d taken the dive; she had to see this through. And maybe enjoy the benefits a little during the process? 

"Alright," she said slowly, her voice shaking slightly. "Let’s do it."

Dr. Aphra winked. "Decisive, I like that. Now, let's get started on that treatment. Your body will need about 3-5 days to adjust before we can begin the breeding process. But we’ll give it a week just to be safe.”

Dr. Aphra motioned for Padme to lie down on the treatment table and hooked her up to an IV and drew up the anesthesia, explaining, “I thought it would be easier on you if you were unconscious for the whole thing. It’s not overly painful, but most people are uncomfortable with having a robot arm shoved up their hole to mess with their insides.”

“A robot arm … up my … I mean … I … just …” She paused, taking a deep breath. Keep it together, Padme, don’t lose your nerve now. “ Thank you for your … consideration.”

“You're welcome,” Dr. Aphra replied evenly, clearly unbothered by what she had just told Padme she was going to do to her. “See you on the other side.”

The doctor injected the anesthesia into her IV, and Padme quickly found herself growing more drowsy by the second. Her last thought before falling unconscious was how fitting Aphra’s words were. When she woke up, her old life would be over, and she would start her new life as a broodmare.

Chapter Text

A sterile scent clung to Padme's nose. Her eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of the medical bay room piercing through the veil of anesthesia's lingering embrace. Her body felt heavy and alien, as if all her organs had been rearranged. A groan escaped her lips as she tried to sit up, her muscles protesting the sudden movement. Her gaze darted around the room, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings. Where …? Her fuzzy brain began to catch up. Right, the fertility treatment …

In the corner, the eccentric figure of Dr. Aphra was tapping away on a computer. She looked up from her work, her eyes bright with a peculiar mix of excitement and professional detachment.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty! How are we feeling?" Dr. Aphra chirped, her voice brimming with an energy that seemed out of place in the serene, almost clinical room.

"Sore," Padme murmured, wishing she could match the woman’s energy and enthusiasm. Then again, she thought with a hint of bitterness, she’s not the one who had a robot arm shoved up her hole. She had signed up for this, knowing what it entailed, but now that she was actually here, fresh from the treatment, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d thought this through as much as she should have.

Dr. Aphra's smile was genuine but held a hint of something else, something Padme couldn't quite pinpoint. "The first few days can be a bit uncomfortable," she said, her eyes flickering over the readings on the screens. "Your body is adjusting to the changes. The fertility enhancements are working perfectly, and you should be ready for the first breeding session in a week."

Padme's heart skipped a beat. The reality of her decision was setting in. She had agreed to be Anakin's broodmare, to carry his children, and now she was lying in a high-tech medical bay, her body altered (albeit not permanently) just for him. The discomfort she felt was an uncomfortable reminder of the bargain she had struck to free herself from the shackles of future student debt.

She took a deep breath, the cold air of the room filling her lungs and providing a small measure of clarity amidst the whirlwind of sensations. As she tried to sit up again, the room spun around her, and she gripped the side of the table tightly to keep from toppling over. The doctor's face swam into view, a look of concern flashing across her features. 

"Woah! Take it easy!" Dr. Aphra spoke, voice hinting at alarm. "Your body's undergone significant changes. The lightheadedness will go away, but you need to wait a bit."

Padme nodded, her eyes closing again as she leaned back against the pillow. The doctor's words echoed in her mind, and she felt a swell of anxiety. Fertility enhancements? Breeding sessions? This was the life she had signed up for, all to pay off the insanely expensive Harvard tuition. Her thoughts drifted to Mr. Skywalker, no, Anakin, as he’s insisted he call her. The young technological prodigy and CEO of Skytech. His intense blue eyes had held a promise of something more than just money when he had made her the offer. But what? Have the best sex of my life? Does he really think he’s all that? Granted, he was very attractive looking, but that didn’t mean-

Suddenly, the realization hit her like a sledgehammer. "Oh no," she gasped, her eyes snapping open. "I have orientation today!" 

The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush as she struggled to get her legs over the side of the exam table. She had completely forgotten about her first day at Harvard in the whirlwind of her recent decisions and the medical procedures she had just endured.

"Hold up!" Dr. Aphra said, moving swiftly to help Padme back onto the table. "You need to take it easy. You're in no condition to rush anywhere right now."

Ignoring the doctor's (and her body’s) protests, Padme managed to get her legs over the side of the table, her body wobbling like a newborn fawn's. She took a deep breath, her hands gripping the cool metal as she tried to steady herself. The reality of her situation had set in, threatening to drown her in a sea of panic. She had to get to orientation. Her new life as Anakin's broodmare couldn't interfere with her old life; that would defeat the whole purpose!

"Padme, listen to me," Dr. Aphra said, her voice stern, dropping the playfulness. "You need to stay here and rest. Your body has just undergone significant alterations. It's crucial that you give it time to adjust to the changes."

Padme's brow furrowed in determination. "I’m not missing orientation," she replied, her voice firm despite the tremble in her legs. "The importance of my education is the only reason I agreed to this! "

Dr. Aphra sighed, her expression a blend of admiration, resolve, and concern. After a brief pause, she nodded. "Alright, but- " she said, her softening tone almost sharp again. " -one of my staff has to drive you there. And make sure you rest afterward. Your body's been through a lot."

Padme's eyes lit up with gratitude. "Thank you," she breathed, relief washing over her.

The doctor waved a hand dismissively, but the smile playing at the corners of her lips suggested she wasn't entirely displeased. "You're going to start noticing some changes," Dr. Aphra said, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Strange urges, frequent bouts of heat in your core, and overwhelming tiredness. It's all normal, a byproduct of the fertility treatments and your body preparing for what's to come."

Padme nodded, her eyes glazed with a mix of fear and anticipation. As she was led out of the medical bay and into a waiting SkyTech company car, the reality of her situation grew heavier with each step. The world outside was a blur as the vehicle zipped past the scenery around them. Her mind raced with questions about her new role and what it would mean for her future. Would she be able to balance the rigors of university with the demands of being Anakin's breeding partner? Could she keep her secret hidden from Sabe and their friends? Her family?

As the car pulled up to the grand, ivy-covered walls of Harvard, Padme felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The fertility treatment was supposed to increase her ability to procreate and carry children, but she couldn't shake the fear that it would consume her thoughts, reducing her to nothing but a vessel for Anakin's offspring. She took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside as best she could. For now, she had to focus on the here and now, on starting her new life at university.

The cool breeze kissed her cheeks as she stepped out of the car, her legs still wobbly beneath her, and she took a moment to steady herself. The students milling about looked so young, so free, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Would she ever feel that way again? Or was she doomed to be forever changed by the path she had chosen?

As she walked through the arched entryways, the weight of her decision grew heavier with each step. She had always been an ambitious person, eager to make her mark on the world. But now, her thoughts were plagued by the fertility treatment and the changes it would bring to her mind as much as her body. Would she become a mere sex-crazed pawn in Anakin's twisted breeding program? Would she lose herself to his touch, his seed? Her eyes searched the sea of faces in Harvard Yard, desperately seeking the familiar. And then she saw them, a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. 

Sabe was standing in a group of eager freshmen, her warm smile and welcoming arms a stark contrast to the cold, sterile walls of the medical bay. Dormé, Corde, and Verse were there too, their faces lighting up when they caught sight of Padme. Motee, the youngest of the group, only 18, looked particularly thrilled to see her, her eyes shining with excitement. Ignoring the protests of her body, Padme pushed through the crowd, the ache in her midsection a constant reminder of her altered state. 

As she reached her friends, they enveloped her in a tight group hug, their laughter and chatter washing over her like a warm blanket. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget about Anakin, about the breeding sessions, and about the future children she would carry. Right now, she was just Padme, a freshman at Harvard embarking on her first semester with her friends.

"Where'd you disappear to last night?" Sabe whispered to her eyes searching Padme's.

Padme felt a flush creep up her neck as the question hung in the air. Her friends' chatter about their upcoming classes seemed to fade into the background, their laughter a distant echo. She had hoped to slip back into their circle unnoticed, to keep her secret buried beneath a veneer of normalcy. But Sabe had always had a knack for sensing when something was amiss. She had practically assigned herself the role of Padme’s bodyguard/babysitter since they were 14. 

"The meeting with Mr. Skywalker went longer than expected, and then he was showing me around, telling me all the responsibilities I have … I guess when I finally got back in my car, I was so tired I just passed out in the driver’s seat,” Padme replied, her voice strained. 

She offered a forced smile, hoping it would be enough to convince her friend that everything was fine. But Sabe's gaze remained locked on her, those dark eyes filled with a concern that bordered on suspicion. 

"You know, it's just like you throw out your health for the sake of your ‘duty’," Sabe said, her voice a mix of teasing and genuine worry. "You always have been a bit of a workaholic." 

The group chuckled, but Padme's heart was racing. She knew Sabe was holding back, that her friend knew her too well to be easily fooled. 

"It's just the internship," Padme said with a shrug, trying to keep her tone light. "It's a big opportunity, and I don't want to mess it up."

Sabe's eyes searched hers for a moment longer before she finally nodded, the tension easing slightly. "I get it, I just worry about you sometimes."

"Thanks," Padme murmured, squeezing Sabe's hand. "But I've got it under control."

Sabe studied her a moment longer, the furrow in her brow deepening. "Alright, if you say so," she relented, though her skepticism was palpable. "But if it starts to get too much, you promise you'll tell me?"

Padme nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for the deception. "I promise," she said, her voice earnest.

The group broke apart as the orientation speaker, Mace Windu, a Harvard alumnus, took the podium, and the friends scattered to their respective groups. Padme's thoughts remained tangled, a chaotic web of fear, excitement, and the ever-present ache in her belly. She tried to focus on the Windu’s words and the importance of this moment, but the sounds of the bustling crowd and the throb of her new reality kept pulling her back.

"Remember," the Windu was saying, "you are the leaders of tomorrow, and the choices you make here will shape not just your futures, but the future of our world."

Padme nodded along with the rest of the students, her thoughts racing. The weight of her decision pressed down on her, but she was determined to give her all to this internship. It was the only way she could justify the arrangement she had entered with Anakin. The promise of financial freedom was too great to pass up, even if it meant enduring his peculiar breeding kink. Her stomach churned at the thought of the coming weeks, but she steeled herself, pushing the discomfort aside.

Windu's words resonated with her, echoing the resolve she felt in the depths of her soul. She had always been a fighter, refusing to give up, not even when she thought her dad might die. Now, as she faced a future filled with the unknown, she found solace in the idea that she was shaping her destiny, that her choices had led her to this moment. Anakin's weird little program might limit her right now, but she was still a woman in control of her life, playing by her own rules. I chose to do his internship of my own accord; he didn’t make me. 

The crowd around her seemed to fade away as Windu's voice grew more impassioned. "You will face challenges," he boomed, his eyes sweeping over the sea of eager young faces. "But it's in those moments of hardship that you'll find the strength to push through, to become the person you're meant to be."

Padme's heart swelled with a fiery determination. Despite her unorthodox situation, she felt a kinship with the students around her. They, too, were embarking on a journey filled with challenges and uncertainty, albeit in very different circumstances from hers. Yet, here they were, ready to try with all their might. The speaker's words echoed her own inner resolve to make the most of her time at Harvard and not let Anakin's unusual internship define her.

As the orientation drew to a close, the air was electric with excitement. Sabe, Dormé, Motee, and Verse gathered around her, their chatter a symphony of plans for the future. Corde was the most energetic of the group, likely fired up by Windu’s speech. "Let's go out and celebrate!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. "This is our first day at Harvard! It's going to be epic!"

The proposal was met with a chorus of agreement, and despite her exhaustion and the persistent throb in her abdomen, Padme couldn't help but be swept up in their enthusiasm. She had always been a social butterfly, and the idea of starting her university experience with her friends was too tempting to resist. 

"Good idea," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

They wandered the streets of Cambridge, their laughter mingling with the hum of the city. The warmth of their camaraderie was a balm to Padme's weary soul, a reminder of the life she had chosen to keep separate from the shadowy world of Anakin's internship. They stopped at a small café, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries wafting out into the night air. As they sipped their drinks and shared stories of their summer adventures, Padme felt a strange mix of longing and relief. These moments of normalcy were precious, a stark contrast to the reality that awaited her once the lights of Harvard had dimmed.

But her body had other plans. A sudden wave of fatigue washed over her, and she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open. She stifled a yawn behind her hand, hoping her friends wouldn't notice. But Sabe's knowing gaze was already upon her, a silent question in her eyes. Padme offered a weak smile, trying to ignore the gnawing ache that had started to pulse in her lower belly. 

"I'm okay," she murmured, though even she didn't quite believe it. I thought this fertility treatment was supposed to take my aches away. 

The group's energy was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and nerves. They talked about classes and parties, the thrill of a new semester stretching out before them like a shimmering horizon. But with each laugh, each shared look, Padme felt the gap between her reality and theirs widen. Her mind was a jumble of hormones and fear, the thrum of her body's new purpose an ever-present reminder of her sex-laden future.

"You okay?" Sabe's voice was gentle, a lifeline in the storm of Padme's thoughts.

"Yeah," Padme lied, her eyes fluttering. "Just tired."

Sabe's gaze was filled with concern. She knew Padme too well to be fooled by her half-hearted smile. "Why don't we head back to the dorm?" she suggested, placing a gentle hand on Padme's shoulder. "You can get some rest before we hit the books."

Her friend's excitement was exchanged for worried glances as they noticed the state Padme was in, and Padme nodded, the fatigue suddenly too great to ignore. "Thanks, Sabe," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper. 

The walk back to the dorms felt like a marathon, every step a battle against the heaviness that dragged at her limbs. Her thoughts grew fuzzy, the ache in her abdomen pulsing with each footfall. The cool night air did little to revive her spirits, and she couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread at what was to come. When they finally reached the towering edifice that was their new home, Padme could have wept with relief. She stumbled through the doors, her legs threatening to give out beneath her.

Her friends hovered around her, their chatter a distant buzz as she navigated the labyrinthine halls to her room. Each step was a monumental effort, her body screaming for rest. She collapsed onto her bed, the mattress a cloud of comfort that she hadn’t realized she’d been craving. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was out, the world around her fading to black.

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The next week passed in a blur of lectures, study sessions, and a desperate attempt to ignore the change within her. Her mind was a whirlwind of hormones and academic deadlines, a battle she was determined to win. Padme threw herself into her classes, the thrill of learning a welcome distraction from the changes that were slowly but surely taking hold. The fatigue began to recede, the pangs of hunger grew less frequent, and she found that she could sit through a full day of classes without the overwhelming need to lie down.

The whispers of her new reality remained, a persistent undercurrent to her daily routine. She felt the occasional twinge of arousal that seemed to come from nowhere, her body's new fertility a silent reminder of the future that awaited her. Yet, she managed to keep her head above water, her grades steady, and her secret hidden beneath the surface of her burgeoning student life.

The following Monday evening found Padme nestled in a cozy corner of the Widener Library, her nose buried in her Expo 20 class textbook. The worn feel of the used book was comforting, a reminder of her life before the fateful encounter with Anakin. The soft hum of students and scholars deep in thought was a gentle symphony that soothed her frazzled nerves. Her phone buzzed, interrupting the quiet rhythm of her studies. She glanced down at the unfamiliar number with a flicker of curiosity. 

"Hello?" she answered, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing attention.

"Ah, Padme!" Dr. Aphra's enthusiastic voice sounded in her ear. "How are you feeling this week? I've got your progress reports, and everything seems to be on track." 

A part of Padme wanted to ask how she’d gotten those progress reports, considering she hadn’t been back to the lab, but decided she was better off not knowing and instead took a deep breath, her hand tightening around the phone. 

"I'm...adjusting," she said, her voice echoing in the library's vast, silent chamber. "But it's all a bit … overwhelming."

"That's to be expected," Dr. Aphra replied, taking on a soothing tone. "The fertility treatment is pretty intense. You're experiencing spurts of a heightened state of arousal and increased sexual desire, which can be disconcerting at first. But don’t worry, your body probably feels that way right now because it’s preparing itself for the task ahead."

Padme sighed, her eyes drifting to her notes surrounding her. "Please tell me I’ll feel like myself again soon," she said, half-pleading. 

Dr. Aphra's voice took on a knowing tone. "Once you start being bred regularly, the ‘edge’ will fade away, so to speak.”The doctor paused, a smile playing on her lips. "But remember, you signed up for this. It's all part of the deal." 

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the bargain she had made. Padme nodded to herself, her eyes refocusing on the text in front of her. She had chosen this path, and she would see it through. But the doubt lingered, a persistent whisper in the back of her mind. 

The next morning, she awoke to the harsh light of day, the ache in her core reminding her of the coming night. Her heart raced as she checked her comlink and found the message from Anakin. The time had come for their first breeding session. She took a deep breath, the weight of the words sinking into her bones. This was it, the moment she had been both dreading and anticipating. Her first breeding session.

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Padme, her heart thumping with anticipation and nerves, stepped out of the sleek elevator into the opulent penthouse suite. The soft glow of the evening sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden hue across the polished marble floor. Warm white walls contrast with the rich, oak floors in the open living area. The connected kitchen blends matte black and light wood cabinetry with elegant quartzite countertops. The whole room feels effortlessly sophisticated, yet cozy, with every detail contributing to a serene, inviting atmosphere. 

The sound of running water from a distant bathroom grew louder as she headed further in. She could feel her cheeks flush, knowing that the man who had offered her this life-changing opportunity was just beyond the door, possibly naked. She had seen pictures of him online (not by choice, the school library’s computers were unfortunately filled with his fans), the young, handsome CEO of Skytech, but she had never expected to be in such an intimate setting with him, let alone become his personal "breeding partner." 

She awkwardly began to search until she found what she assumed was the door to his bedroom, giving the stronger sound of running water behind it, and feeling very out of place. Should I go in? He’d told her in a text to go straight to the bedroom once she arrived, but she felt very uncomfortable walking into a stranger’s room without them letting her in first. She hesitantly opened the door and let herself in, keeping her eyes glued to the ground. I’m doing what he told me to, she reasoned with herself.

 Her thoughts raced with questions about what this arrangement truly entailed and how she would feel when it became a reality. Dr. Aphra had said the fertility treatment would alter her mind as well as her body, though she seemed uncertain as to the extent, claiming it was different for every one of their test subjects. Am I going to come out of this some sex-crazed whore unable to focus on real life?

The quiet was broken by the sudden cessation of the shower, and she heard the squeak of the bathroom door. Her eyes widened, and she spun around as the sound of footsteps grew closer. The door swung open, and Anakin emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist, his hair dark with water droplets, his chest glistening. Her jaw nearly dropped, if she thought he was good-looking before … The image of his prominent, bronzed abs and swollen pecs was burned into her brain before she finally managed to look up.

"Padme," Anakin said, his voice a low rumble. He stopped, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. "You're early. Again."

Her gaze locked onto his, and she swallowed, her hands tightening around her purse. "I-I let myself in, like you said to, I hope that's okay," she managed to say. 

Anakin's eyes darkened as he took in her presence. He walked closer, his bare feet silent on the cool marble. "It's more than okay," he murmured, his voice thick with something that sent a shiver down Padme's spine. 

He took the purse from her hands and set it aside gently. "In fact, I was hoping you'd be eager."

Padme resisted the urge to bite her lip, eager? More like so nervous she could hardly stand to wait any longer. With a flick of his wrist, he indicated the bed. "Come." 

The air grew thicker as she followed him, her legs trembling slightly. The bedroom was vast, the bed a king-sized monolith of black silk and chrome, the sheets thrown aside haphazardly from the night before. She noted with some curiosity that there was a large mirror was set within the headboard. Is it just decoration, or does it have a purpose? The room was bathed in the same soft light as the rest of the penthouse, yet it felt more intimate, more primal. Pamde shivered. This was it, the beginning of her new internship with SkyTech. With Anakin. 

"Strip," Anakin ordered, his voice a gentle command. Padme hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. The resulting amusement in his voice was obvious. "You're going to see a lot of me, Padme. And I'm going to see a lot of you. We might as well get started." 

He watched her with a smirk as she began to peel away her clothes. She felt his gaze on her, hot and heavy, as each layer fell to the floor. Finally, she stood before him in nothing but her white, lacy bra and panties, her breaths shallow and quick. She had never felt so exposed in her life, even a bit ashamed, she was hardly one of the super models he was often seen with. How could he possibly want someone like me to be his brodmare instead of them? 

With a smooth, practiced motion, Anakin stepped closer, his fingers deftly unhooking the clasp of her bra. It fell away, revealing her breasts, and she was surprised to note they looked fuller than usual, the tips already hard and dark. For a moment, he merely stared at her breasts, his eyes gleaming with something, before dropping to his knees and hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He pulled them down, exposing her completely to his view. He took in the sight of her, and Padme resisted the urge to squirm. Is he judging my looks, comparing them to the super models he’s been with, or … is he admiring me? 

"Get on the bed on your hands and knees," Anakin said, his voice a low growl. Padme's knees trembled as she complied,facing the mirror headboard, the coolness of the silk sheets a stark contrast to the heat of her body. She felt vulnerable and exposed, yet strangely secure by his commanding presence. He climbed onto the bed behind her, his hands resting on her hips. His breath was hot against her neck as he whispered into her ear. "Spread your legs, Padme." She obeyed, her heart racing.

His hands began to explore her, gently at first, tracing the contours of her hips, the small of her back. His touch grew more insistent, his fingertips brushing against the wetness that had already begun to pool between her thighs. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as his thumb circled her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. His other hand slipped between her legs, his fingers probing, seeking her entrance. He was so skilled, so sure of what he was doing, that it was all she could do to remain upright as the waves of sensation crashed over her.

With a firm grip, Anakin spread her cheeks apart, his breath hot on her skin. His tongue darted out, tracing the line of her pussy from her clit down to her hole. She gasped, the sensation unexpected yet exquisite. His mouth closed around her clit, sucking hard, and she felt her knees threaten to give out. Her hands grasped the bed for balance, her knuckles white with the effort. He chuckled darkly against her, the vibration sending another shock through her body.

"Relax, Padme," Anakin murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh. "Let me do the work." His tongue continued to work her clit, flicking and swirling until she was panting and writhing beneath him. His fingers slipped inside her, stretching her gently. The sensation was intense, a delicious fullness that made her ache for more. He worked her over, his touch methodical and precise, as if he were calibrating her body to his needs.

Her moans grew louder as he picked up the pace, her hips bucking against his face. Anakin's grip tightened on her hips, holding her in place as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. And then, just as she thought she couldn't take any more, he pulled his fingers out with a wet pop. Padme whined at the sudden emptiness, a sound that was both wanton and embarrassing. Anakin chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. He looked at her through their reflections in the mirror, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It's all right," he said, his voice gentle. "It's normal to crave it."

Padme watched Anakin’s reflection in the mirror as he reached for the towel that had been loosely tied around his waist, his hand moving with purpose. Padme felt her breath catch in her throat as the fabric fell away, revealing his fully erect cock. It was massive, a testament to his virility and power. His hand wrapped around the shaft, smearing her arousal along the length.

She watched, fascinated, as he stroked himself, his eyes catching hers in their reflection and never leaving. He was so openly dominant, so completely in control, and it was a heady feeling to be the one to turn him on. Her, a plain girl, from a middle class family, struggling to get into her freshman year of college. 

The anticipation grew unbearable, her body tense with the knowledge of what was to come. The silence was broken by the sound of his breathing, each inhale and exhale a promise of what lay ahead. The head of his cock nudged against her, the tip teasing her opening. He positioned himself, the head of his cock poised at her entrance, the warmth of him a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. With a slow, deliberate movement, Anakin began to push himself in. Padme felt a sharp sting as her body stretched to accommodate his impressive girth. She couldn't help but whimper, her walls contracting around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion. 

Anakin paused, his hand on her hip, feeling her body's response. "Breathe, Padme," he murmured, his voice soothing. "Relax."

Her breaths grew ragged as he pushed further, the feeling of fullness unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had her toes curling into the bed. 

"You're so tight," Anakin groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "So perfect."

Padme nodded, unable to form words as she felt herself stretching to accommodate his size. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly as he filled her completely, his cock sliding in until she could feel him against her cervix. The sensation was intense, a deep, primal ache that she hadn't realized she craved. When he was fully seated inside her, he paused, allowing her to adjust. She could feel his pulse, the steady throb of his desire, beating against her core.

With a low groan, Anakin began to move, his strokes slow and measured at first. Each withdrawal was met with a gentle push forward, the drag of his cock against her inner walls sending sparks of pleasure through her body. The feeling grew more intense with every movement, her body adapting to the new sensation, her muscles relaxing and welcoming the intrusion. Padme felt like she was floating on a sea of sensation, the only anchor being Anakin's firm grip on her hips. 

His skin was warm and slick with moisture, a testament to his exertion. He was so much larger than she had anticipated. She was no virgin, she’d had sex with a couple boyfriends in highschool. Ian Lago, Palo Jemabie … but neither of them had been this big or intense. The stretch was a constant, thrumming ache that grew more pleasurable with every stroke. Her nails dug into the silk sheets, her knuckles white with the effort of not crying out too loudly

With each deep thrust, Anakin's cock hit a spot inside her that made her entire body clench. The feeling grew stronger with each movement, a coil of pleasure tightening in her belly. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a storm cloud of ecstasy that threatened to overwhelm her. Her breaths grew shallow, her body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"You're close, aren't you?" Anakin whispered, his voice dark and seductive. "Let go, Padme. I want to feel you come around me."

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his in the mirrored reflection of the wall in front of them. His gaze was intense, his eyes burning with desire and anticipation. He knew her body better than she did, and she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her at his words. The permission was all she needed, the final push that sent her spiraling over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave, her pussy contracting around his cock in a desperate bid to hold onto the feeling. Anakin's grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more powerful as he watched her come apart in front of him. 

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "That's it."

Padme's orgasm washed over her, a crescendo of pleasure that left her trembling and gasping for air. Her body felt like it was on fire, each pulse of ecstasy sending shockwaves through her veins. She felt Anakin's cock swell even further, his strokes growing erratic. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his body tense with his own impending release. With a final, deep thrust, Anakin buried himself to the hilt within her, his cock pulsing as he reached his climax. Padme felt the warmth of his seed fill her, the sensation so intense it brought a fresh wave of pleasure. 

She cried out, the sound echoing off the walls of the penthouse, a raw, carnal sound of satisfaction that seemed to resonate in the very air around them. As Anakin pulled out, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs shaking and her breath ragged. She had never felt anything so good, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. It was then that she realized the true depth of her condition - the fertility treatment she’d done was making her body flood with hormones, just like Dr. Aphra said it would, heightening her sensitivity and making every touch, every sensation, feel like a supernova.

He gave her a moment to catch her breath, and she could see from the mirror his own chest heaving with exertion. Her mind whirled with the fact she’d just had sex with Anakin Skywalker. She could imagine more than a few girls at Harvard would be jealous of that fact and for some reason the thought debt her a strange sense of smugness

"The practice round is over," he said, his voice a low murmur against her ear. He pulled her up against him, and she let out a surprised squeak, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax. His arms wrapped around her, his hands splayed across her stomach, his chest a wall of warmth and power against her back. Padme leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat beneath her cheek. It was steady, unyielding, a testament to his physical condition. He was a man who knew what he wanted and took it without hesitation. She again felt that strange sense of security in his embrace, despite the circumstances. Is it the fertility treatment that makes me feel like this?

He whispered into her ear, his breath warm and tickling. "The real work starts now, Padme." His hands began to roam again, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip, her toned stomach, the indent of her waist. It was a possessive gesture, one that sent a shiver of excitement through her. She knew what he was claiming, and despite the worrying relaization that the fertility treatment was likely making her feel this way, she wanted it. 

"Your body will adapt quickly," Anakin assured her, his voice a rumble in her ear. "We'll start with twice a day, once a week and increase as necessary. The treatment will ensure you're always fertile."

His grip tightened, and she saw his eyes darkening with hunger in the mirror. "But for now, let's see how well you can handle a proper breeding."

With that, Anakin began to thrust his hips into her abruptly, the sudden change in rhythm catching Padme off guard. She gasped in surprise, her eyes going wide as the pleasure ricocheted through her. It was as if he had struck a chord in her that she didn't know existed, each hard thrust sending waves of sensation through her that were almost too much to handle.

He was like a man possessed, his movements driven by a primal need to claim and impregnate. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a carnally raw sound that seemed to echo in her very soul. His hips slammed into her, each impact sending jolts of pleasure that she had never felt before. The pain was a delicious counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure, a reminder of the power dynamics at play. Padme's own arousal grew with every stroke, her body betraying her as it responded to his aggressive claiming. 

She could feel his cock growing hard again, pressing against her lower back, a promise of more to come. The thought made her stomach clench with anticipation, her pussy quivering around his length. She had never felt so...used before, so utterly at the mercy of someone else's desires. And yet, she found it thrilling. With a swift motion, Anakin lifted her slightly, his hands under her hips, and with a powerful thrust, he buried his cock into her once more. The suddenness of it took her breath away, the sensation of being filled so completely and so abruptly sending a shock of pleasure through her. 

She gasped as he pulled her back down onto his lap, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. His grip was firm, almost painful, as he held her in place, his hips pistoning up to meet her with every downward thrust. The force of his movements had her bouncing against him, her breasts jiggling with every impact. The friction was intense, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, a second wave of pleasure that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. 

Anakin's eyes never left hers, his gaze dark with need and hunger. He knew what he was doing to her, and it was clear he reveled in her reactions. Her nails dug into his thighs, leaving half-moon marks in his skin as she tried to hold onto something, anything. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, the bed, and the delicious agony of his cock slamming into her over and over again. The headboard hit the wall in a steady rhythm, a muffled thump that seemed to sync with her racing heartbeat. She could feel the heat building between her legs, a slickness that grew with every stroke.

Padme's eyes fluttered closed as the pressure grew, her breaths coming in panting gasps. Anakin's grip on her hips was unyielding, his strokes powerful and unrelenting. And then, without warning, it broke over her, a second orgasm that seemed to consume her whole. She threw her head back, crying out his name, the sound echoing through the room. Her pussy clamped down around his cock, her walls pulsing with the intensity of her release. Anakin's movements grew more erratic, his own orgasm close. Padme could feel the head of his cock swelling inside her, the pressure unbearable. He groaned, his teeth gritted as he seemed to fight for control. 

"Come for me, Padme," he growled, his voice strained. "Come again."

It was as if he had wielded some dark force, compelling her body to respond. Her muscles tightened around him, her orgasm building once more. She felt her walls quiver, the pleasure coiling within her like a snake ready to strike. Anakin's grip tightened, his cock pulsing, and with one final, brutal thrust, she shattered. Her second orgasm was even more intense than the first, a scream torn from her throat as she clenched around him, her body shaking with the power of it.

The world around them faded to nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing, the smell of their mingled sweat, and the feel of his cock driving deep within her. Anakin's strokes grew shorter, more frantic, as he approached his own climax. He was so close, she could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched in his throat. Her body convulsed around him, her pussy clenching down so hard that she could feel his cock throb with each contraction. She cried out, her eyes squeezed shut, her nails digging into his thighs. It was as if she had been thrown into the heart of a supernova, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

Anakin's movements grew erratic, his own climax just within reach. She felt him swell even further inside her, the pressure building until she thought she might split apart. And then, with a roar, he released, his hips bucking up into her as he filled her completely with his seed. Padme felt it, the hot wetness of his cum spilling into her, her womb stretching to accommodate the sheer volume.

It was a powerful, overwhelming feeling, one that sent her spiraling into another orgasm so intense she saw stars. Her body was a writhing mass of pleasure, her walls pulsing around his cock, eagerly milking him dry. Anakin's grip on her hips tightened as he emptied himself into her, the warmth spreading through her core, a feeling so primal and raw that she thought she might pass out.

The intensity of his release sent her over the edge once more, a third orgasm ripping through her with the force of a storm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth opening in a silent scream of ecstasy. Her pussy clamped down around him, her muscles contracting in a desperate bid to keep him inside, to hold onto the feeling for just a moment longer. 

Anakin groaned, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. He tried to pull out, his cock still pulsing with the last remnants of his release. But Padme's walls had other ideas. They tightened around him, squeezing him in a vice-like grip that had him hissing out a breath. He looked down at her, his eyes wide with surprise, his chest heaving. 

"Padme," he murmured, his voice hoarse with passion. "Let me go."

But she didn't, couldn't. Her body was still caught in the throes of her own orgasm, her pussy clenching around him like a fist. Her eyes were glazed over, lost in the haze of pleasure, and she didn't seem to hear him. Anakin leaned back slightly, his cock slipping out of her just a fraction before her walls clamped down even tighter.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice a breathy plea. "Don't go."

Anakin's eyes widened, his surprise clear. Her body had taken control, her pussy's involuntary clenching refusing to let him withdraw. He stared at her, his expression a mix of shock and something darker, something more primal. He didn't speak, but she could feel the tension in his body, the power of his restrained desire. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. She had never experienced anything like this before, her body so desperate for his seed that it held onto him with a greed that was both new and utterly consuming. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured, though she wasn't sure if she was apologizing for her reaction or for the fact that she didn't want this to end.

Anakin merely gave her a small smile, his eyes still dark with desire. He pulled her down onto the bed, laying on their sides, his cock still nestled within her. The feeling of him inside her, even as he softened, was a comfort she hadn't expected. It was as if she was already being marked as his, claimed in the most intimate way possible. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his chest pressing against her back.

Padme felt a shiver run through her, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. She could feel his heartbeat slowing, his breathing evening out. His warmth surrounded her, a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. His cock twitched, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through her. It was a strange sensation, feeling his seed still inside her, a reminder of the purpose of their union.

He kissed the side of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice still thick with satisfaction. "You're going to be well taken care of." 

His words sent a thrill down her spine, the promise of more to come. Padme felt a strange mix of emotions swirl within her as she lay there, her body still quivering from the intensity of their encounter. Here she was, being paid to be a secret vessel for who, she realized, was essentially her boss, a mere breeding tool for his purposes. And yet, as his arms held her tight, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of the future that awaited her. True, the circumstances were stange, but she would be fulfilling her life-long dream of having a big family. Even better, it would apparently be a smooth and painless process.

Her eyes remained closed, simply wanting to revel in the moment. Anakin's breathing had evened out, his chest rising and falling against her back in a steady rhythm. His cock was still nestled within her, softening slowly, but the warmth and fullness remained, a constant reminder of their new sexual connection. It was as if she could feel his essence seeping into her, claiming her from the inside out. Her body felt both satisfied and greedy, craving more of the intense pleasure he had given her. Padme's thoughts raced with the realization that she was now part of Anakin's world, bound to him in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Anakin's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer into his embrace as he fell further into sleep. His breathing grew deeper, his chest a wall of reassurance against her back. His cock had now gone soft inside her, but the feeling of fullness remained, a gentle reminder of the power he held over her body. Her mind reeled with the implications of her new role, the reality of being his breeding partner, and the thrill of his dominance. She had never felt so small, so vulnerable, and yet so oddly complete.

The fertility treatment had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed. Her body was a canvas of sensation, each brushstroke of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The intensity of the pleasure she had just experienced was still reverberating through her, leaving her skin sensitive and alive to the slightest of caresses. The bed beneath her felt like a sea of pleasure, the softness of the silk sheets a gentle reminder of the world beyond their cocoon.

As she listened to Anakin's steady heartbeat and felt the warmth of his breath against her neck, Padme finally allowed herself to relax. Her body, still trembling with the aftershocks of their union, began to still, her muscles loosening their desperate grip. She could feel the stickiness of their combined arousal on her thighs, a tangible proof of what had just occurred. The scent of sex filled the air, a heady perfume that seemed to cling to her skin.

Her thoughts drifted, a jumble of emotions and sensations. There was fear and uncertainty, yes, but it was overshadowed by a sense of...rightness. As if she had found her place in the universe, nestled within the arms of this powerful, demanding man. Her breathing slowed, matching his, and she felt a strange sense of peace settle over her.

It seemed the fertility treatment's hormones had done their job well, weaving their seductive web, wrapping her in a blanket of comfort and security. In his embrace, she felt more protected than she ever had. Her eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of his body and the weight of his cock inside her lulling her into a gentle slumber. It was an odd feeling, this sense of safety amidst the chaos of the situation, but it was one she couldn't ignore.

As she drifted off, Padme felt a warm glow spread through her body, with no doubt the treatment's effects were working their magic. It was as if she had been injected with pure liquid desire, each breath she took filling her with an unquenchable need to be bred by Anakin. His seed was a drug, and she was already an addict, craving more with every pulse of her heart. 

Her mind swirled with thoughts of their future children, of the life growing inside her. It was a strange, surreal feeling, knowing that she was now the vessel for his ‘legacy’, as he had called it. Her body was no longer just hers, but his as well, a shared space that would soon be occupied by the fruit of their union. The idea sent a thrill through her, a mix of fear and excitement that was almost too much to handle. As sleep claimed her, the room faded into darkness, leaving only the warmth of Anakin's embrace and the steady beat of his heart.

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The first light of dawn crept through the windows, painting the room in soft, golden hues, and touched her face, and her face scrunched at the disturbance. Padme stirred lazily, forgetting where she was. For a moment, she was lost in the warmth and comfort of the unfamiliar bed, the scent of their passion still lingering on her skin. Then, everything crashed down on her as she felt the weight of Anakin's arm draped over her waist, his softened cock still nestled inside her.

Her eyes shot open, and she gasped, the full implications of her new reality slamming into her like a meteor. She was no longer just Padme Naberrie, a young, ambitious university student - she was Anakin Skywalker's brood mare, bred to carry his offspring. Panic fluttered in her chest like a caged bird, her heart racing as she tried to sit up, only to find herself pinned by his heavy limb.

Her body felt...different. Heavier, more sensitive, as if every nerve ending had been turned up to eleven. Her breasts ached, the nipples hard and eager for touch, her pussy was still slick with the residue of their union, the tender flesh throbbing with the echoes of pleasure. It was as if her very DNA had shifted overnight, rewired to crave the feeling of being filled by him.

With a start, Padme realized she had classes to attend that day. The thought sent a bolt of panic through her. How could she possibly face her peers, her professors, with this secret? The weight of what she had agreed to bear was suddenly too much to hold. She began to move, to extricate herself from the tangle of limbs and sheets, but Anakin's arm tightened around her.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was thick with sleep and satisfaction.

"I have classes." Padme replied, trying to keep her voice even. "I can't miss them."

Anakin's eyes fluttered open, sleep still clouding his gaze. "Oh, right," he murmured, his voice gravelly with the remnants of sleep. He tightened his arm around her, his cock giving a lazy twitch inside her. "You can't go anywhere, not like this."

"I know," she said, her voice a mix of irritation and nerves. "But I still have to get back to the dorms and shower before class."

Anakin's eyes searched hers for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. He released her with a sleepy sigh, his cock sliding out of her with a wet sound that made her cheeks heat. It was strange to see him like this, so vulnerable and almost childlike in his post-coital haze. The stark contrast to the dominant, controlling man from the night before was surprisingly endearing.

Padme had to stifle the giggle that bubbled up from her chest as she carefully extracted herself from his embrace. His cock was soft now, a stark contrast to the iron-hard length that had claimed her so thoroughly. She had never seen this side of him, never imagined he had it in him to be anything but the powerful, commanding presence she had come to know. But here he was, sprawled out like a giant teddy bear, his muscles relaxed and his face a picture of contentment.

He watched her with sleepy eyes, his expression one of lazy satisfaction. "You can shower here," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "You don't have to go anywhere."

But Padme was already out of bed, her cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and determination. "No, I can't," she reitertated. "I have to go to class. And I can't exactly do that like this."

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, his grip on the pillow tightening. "Like what?" he asked, his voice still laced with sleep.

Padme felt a blush creep up her neck. "Like this," she murmured, gesturing to the sticky mess between her legs. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation. Am I the only one who feels awkward about this? She snorted. Of course, he’s probably done this so many times it’s habit. "I can't just waltz into class like I've been bred."

Anakin's eyes widened slightly before a knowing smile graced his lips. He nodded, his gaze lingering on her naked form before he yawned and stretched, the muscles of his chest rippling with the movement. "Of course," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. 

He rolled over, his back to her, and burrowed into the pillow, his face scrunching up in an adorable way that made Padme's heart flutter. She couldn't help but stare for a moment, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his body curled into the mattress like a contented cat. It was a stark contrast to the dominant force that had claimed her so thoroughly just the night before. He could be so powerful, so in control, but there was a softness to him now that she found almost charming.

She grabbed her clothes from the floor, her cheeks still hot from his gaze. Dressing herself was an awkward dance of avoiding the ache between her legs and the sticky evidence of their passion that clung to her skin. She slipped her underwear back on, feeling the fabric rub against her sensitive flesh. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through her, a reminder of Anakin's thorough work. 

She pulled her shirt over her head, her breasts feeling heavy and swollen, the fabric brushing against her erect nipples sending a shiver down her spine. Her jeans were a challenge, the tightness pressing against her swollen clit sending waves of discomfort and desire. She had to pause, breathing heavily, as she willed her body to behave. The room felt too warm, too small, and she found herself craving the coolness of the shower. But she couldn't linger; she had a life outside of this penthouse, a life that was about to be irrevocably changed by her new role as Anakin's brood mare.

With trembling hands, she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her bag, her mind racing with the logistics of her new situation. How would she manage her schoolwork, her social life? How would she keep this secret from her friends, her family? The thought of the hormones surging through her body was both thrilling and terrifying. Her senses were heightened, each brush of fabric against her skin a caress that sent shivers through her body. It was as if she had been turned into a living, breathing sex toy, designed to crave his touch. The thought made her shiver uncomfortably. You agreed to this, she reminded herself, remember why you’re doing it. 

As she made her way to the elevator, Padme tried to compose herself. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, trying to ignore the ache between her legs and the slickness that coated her thighs. The doors slid open, revealing a spotless chrome interior, reflecting her flustered face back at her. She stepped in, hitting the button for the lobby with more force than necessary. The doors closed with a soft ding, and she leaned against the wall, her eyes closed.

The descent was agonizingly slow, the elevator seeming to mock her with every second that ticked by. She could feel the weight of his cum still inside her, a constant reminder of the night's events. The scent of sex clung to her like a second skin, a musky perfume that she knew she couldn't hide from the world. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the secret she now carried with her.

When the elevator finally reached the lobby, she stepped out, her head held high despite the ache between her legs. The doorman gave her a nod, his eyes flicking over her disheveled appearance before looking away, and she felt a flash of anger. Did he know? Could he tell what she had just done? The thought was almost too much to bear as she made her way to the parking garage, her steps quick and determined.

Her car, a small, silver Nissan, was waiting for her, a stark contrast to the mess she felt on the inside. She slid into the driver's seat, the leather cool against her overheated skin. As she pulled out of the garage and into the early morning light, she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her reflection in the rearview mirror showed a woman with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, her hair a wild mess from the hours of passion that had just unfolded.

The drive to the first year dorms was a blur, her mind racing with thoughts of Anakin and what her future held. She parked in the lot and hurried inside, her eyes darting around, hoping to avoid any prying glances. The halls were mostly empty, the occasional early bird passing by with a nod or a yawn. She slipped into her dorm, her heart racing as she tiptoed to her room, the key card quivering in her hand. Inside, she was greeted with the familiar scent of her and Sabe’s shared space. The sight of her untouched bed brought a twinge of guilt. She knew she'd have to face Sabé eventually, but for now, she needed to clean up and get ready for the day ahead.

 Moving as quietly as a shadow, Padme tiptoed through the dimly lit room, her eyes adjusting to the early morning light that filtered through the blinds. Her roommate, thankfully, was still fast asleep, the rhythmic sound of her breathing filling the space. Padme's heart thudded in her chest as she approached the closet, the soft creak of the door making her wince. She quickly grabbed a change of clothes and her toiletry bag, her eyes darting to the bed to ensure she hadn't woken her. 

The last thing she needed was for Sabe to start grilling her on where she’d been last night, it was one thing to work late, another to not come back at all. With the speed of a rabbit, she dashed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The cold tile beneath her bare feet was a welcome reprieve from the sticky warmth of the bed, and she couldn't help the little sigh of relief that escaped her lips as she turned the shower on. 

The water washed over her, cool and refreshing, and she stepped under the spray, letting it hit her in the face and neck. The cold droplets stung her skin, banishing the last of her arousal and leaving her feeling almost human again. The sensation was a stark contrast to the fire that had consumed her not long ago. She felt the tension in her body begin to ease as the water cascaded down her back, soothing her overstimulated flesh. 

The chill helped to shrink her swollen nipples, and she could almost feel the fertility treatment's hormones retreating back into the depths of her body, allowing her to think more clearly. Her skin prickled as the cold water hit her most sensitive spots, the sensation jolting her back to reality. The ache between her legs was a gentle throb now, a reminder of the pounding she had endured. She reached down to touch herself, feeling the tenderness that came from being stretched to the brink of pain and beyond. The water washed away the sticky residue of their union, the heat of their passion fading down the drain. As the coldness washed over her, she felt the last of the haze clear from her mind, and the gravity of her situation crashed down upon her once more.

I’m a broodmare. I’m bred. By Anakin. Anakin Skywalker. Rich, crazy, smart, way too good-looking to be a creep. I’m having his babies. She gasped. I’m having his babies. I’m pregnant! Padme’s thoughts began to spiral into a panic. I’m most definitely pregnant. I’m pregnant at 19 and I’m not married. I don’t even have a boyfriend! 

She got out of the shower and began to dry herself off, starting to pace frantically. What was I thinking?! How am I supposed to hide this? She dressed herself and did her hair, fully on autopilot. How could I be so stupid? People will start to notice when I start to look so obviously pregnant!

“Padme?” The door swung open to reveal a confused Sabe, still in her pajamas, looking like she had just woken up. “How did you get in here? I didn’t see you come home last night.”

Padme internally groaned. Forget the pregnancy; it was all the lies and secrecy that would trip her up. She quickly made a story, hoping Sabe would buy it. “I got home really late last night from SkyTech, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Sabe raised an eyebrow. “Your cold, perfectly made bed doesn’t look very slept-in.”

Padme cursed internally and outwardly shrugged. “I crashed on the couch. I figured fumbling around in our dark bedroom was a surefire way to wake you up, so I chose the safer option.”

Sabe huffed, but she seemed to buy Padme’s story, much to her relief. “Girl, you’re going to work yourself to death before we’re sophomores.”

“I’ll work on it,” Padme assured her and quickly stepped out of the bathroom to get her supplies for her first class of the day. 

She forced herself to take several deep breaths in and out. Keep it together, Naberrrie. She had time to figure things out before she started showing, for now, she just had to face the semester ahead of her.

Chapter Text

A visit to Dr. Aphra at the SkyTech medical facility (or as Padme liked to call it, the mad scientist lair) the next week confirmed it. Padme was pregnant with twins. A boy and a girl.

Padme had asked how Aphra could possibly tell it was twins, much less their genders so early on, but the eccentric doctor had merely winked and said, “I have my ways”. It was then that Padme decided the less she knew about Dr. Aphra’s “ways” the better. She had been eager to leave after that, but Dr. Aphra insisted Padme stay longer so she could learn about and be prepared for the pregnancy symptoms in her first trimester.

Padme frowned and held up a hand. “Hold on, I thought you said the fertility treatment got rid of all that.”

“The fertility treatment takes care of the worst symptoms,” Dr. Aphra emphasized, “My work might be ground-breaking in the field of Obstetrics, but even I can’t find a way to eliminate a body’s need for rest and nourishment.”

“So, these symptoms will just be related to eating and sleeping?” Padme inferred, trying to understand.

Dr. Aphra straightened and gestured to the screen hanging above her head in the exam room. “Why don’t I just wake you through the list?”

Padme felt a bundle of nerves begin to form in the pit of her stomach and tried to reason with herself. Whatever it is can’t be as bad as a normal pregnancy, right?

Dr. Aphra clapped her hands together and pointed them at Padme. “First off, let me clarify, your pregnancy will not cause you pain or illness. That means no morning sickness, no stretch marks, no cramping, no headaches, no backaches, no swollen ankles, etc., etc.”

A wave of relief washed over Padme. Morning sickness was the most noticeable pregnancy symptom, without it, it would be easier to conceal her pregnancy, at least for a little while.

“Second,” Aphra continued, “You won’t start having symptoms until you’re at least a month in, so you’ve got a little time to accommodate yourself for what you’ll need to do.”

Padme blinked, nonplussed. “Will I need to do a lot of … accommodating?”

Aphra shrugged, “Probably? It depends on what kind of lifestyle you have, but knowing you … I would say yes.”

Padme’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of accommodations -”

“I’m telling you,” The doctor interrupted, “So keep up.”

Padme huffed, annoyed, but nodded. Aphra pulled up a list on the screen and highlighted the first option. “At the top of the list is extreme fatigue . Your body is working overtime to build two separate support systems and nourish two rapidly growing embryos.”

An image popped up on the screen of an ultrasound showing two little embryos curled up in the womb, and Padme subconsciously placed a hand over her own. The screen then changed to an image of a woman’s bare breasts.

“Next,” said Aphra, “We have sore/tender breasts. This change is caused by all the new hormones flooding through your body, which can make them sensitive, tender, swollen, cause dark areolas, and, possibly, make them bigger. Although that’s unlikely to happen in your first trimester.”

Padme squirmed, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her body and wrapped her arms around her chest. 

“Third,” Aphra stated, “Is frequent urination . As your uterus grows, it’s going to start putting pressure on your bladder which means more bathroom trips.”

Padme managed to stifle a groan of annoyance, but Aphra must’ve noticed her irritation anyways because she gave her patient an apologetic smile before continuing on. “Up next is mood swings . It’s triggered by the rapid fluctuation of new hormones in your body and can lead to heightened emotions, including irritability, sadness, or extreme happiness.”

Padme put her face in her hands. So not only would her body be destroyed but her sense of logic too?! “I take it back; I think I’d rather have morning sickness.”

The doctor let loose a peal of laughter. “Oh, trust me, you don’t. Besides, the next symptom will make you glad you can’t get nauseous.”

Padme raised her head from her hands, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “And this wonderful new symptom is …?”

Dr. Aphra grinned at her. “Food cravings. They’re caused by a significant increase in appetite, because remember, your body needs more calories to support two growing lives. This can lead to earlier and more rapid weight gain. Though you probably won’t gain more than a few pounds in the first trimester.”

Padme couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that. “I’ve never been a very big eater, it’s unlikely it’ll be as extreme as you put it.”

Aphra snorted, “I doubt that.” Then added on, sounding almost smug “And I’ll be looking forward to seeing you eat your words when it happens.”

Padme scoffed at Aphra’s tease. “Just because some people lack self-control doesn’t mean I do. I can control my cravings, just wait and see.”

Apra gave her a mischievous look. “We’ll bet on it then. If you eat at least six weird meals outside your norm by the end of your second trimester, you have to eat all the food I give you at a buffet of my choice.”

Padme’s common sense screamed at her not to take such a stupid dare, but she was confident she would come out on top. “Fine, and if I win, you tell Anakin to cancel one of our breeding sessions.”

She raised on eyebrow. “You think I can make Anakin do that?” Then she grinned. “Wait, never mind, I know exactly how to convince him. Deal.”

 Padme shimmed of the exam table and headed for the door. “Good, if that’s all I need to get back. I have a study session with my friends -”

“Hold your horses, Padme,” She lightly tugged on a strand of her patient’s hair. “There’s one more symptom you need to know.”

Padme turned back impatiently. “And that is?”

“Bloating,” Aphra stated simply. “Your higher progesterone levels will slow down digestion, leading to significant bloating and create a feeling of fullness in your abdomen. It can make your clothes feel tight pretty early on.”

Padme considered it for a moment then smiled, feeling clever. “I’ll just eat lighter meals and have more frequent light snacks.”

Considering the matter settled, Padme left the room, making her way to the exit. Aphra was wrong, she had underestimated Padme (as many often did) and the freshman was all too happy to prove her wrong. She heard the smirk in Aphra’s voice as she shouted down the hallway at her, “Whatever you say, Padme! Whatever you say!”

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"Are you alright, Padme?" Professor Satine Kyrze asked, peering over the rim of her glasses. Padme jolted back to reality, her cheeks burning. She had missed the last question her political theory lecture and heard the room buzzing with the whispers of many other students. "You seem a bit... preoccupied."

Padme's eyes darted to the glowing screen of her phone, hidden in her lap. The message from Anakin was still there: Work emergency. We'll have to postpone our sessions for a while.  

Her mind raced with questions. What could be so urgent? He couldn’t take a minute to at least tell her why?. But she knew better than to argue with Anakin. If her time with him had taught her anything, it was that if he didn’t want to explain, nothing could sway him. 

She packed her books, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. The last six weeks had been intense, to say the least. Since her first time being bred, they had settled into a routine, and Anakin, true to his word, had upped the sessions from once a week to three or four times a week, much to her displeasure. 

Walking out of the lecture hall, Padme's thoughts swirled like a tornado of confusion. She had only agreed to this bizarre arrangement because it would pay her tuition. But as the days turned into weeks, she had discovered a disturbing truth about herself. Every time Anakin would take her to that private chamber in his penthouse and fill her with his seed, she felt something... more. It was as if her body craved the feeling of being bred by him, which was utterly absurd, given her deep dislike for the man and the situation itself.

The crisp fall air outside hit her face, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. The relief was palpable; she didn't have to go to Anakin's tonight, she didn't have to submit to his freaky fetish. Yet, a peculiar anxiety began to creep into her bones. The fertility treatment he’d had done on her made her body ripe for breeding, and she wasn’t sure how her body would react to the sudden Anakin-drought.

Would she feel the same? Or would her body feel some sort of … withdrawal symptoms? These were thoughts she never thought she'd entertain. But here she was, a freshman at Harvard with a secret "internship" that involved carrying the future children of a billionaire with a kink for impregnating women. It was a bizarre turn of events, but she had to admit, the financial security was worth it. Or was it? The annoyance at Anakin's vagueness grew with each step she took towards her dorm. Why couldn't he be more specific about when they'd resume? Was he toying with her, or was this truly an emergency? I’ll just have to wait and see , she told herself, pushing aside the feeling of irritation. It wasn't like she could just text him back, demanding answers. She’d learned from experience that he never read his texts and almost never responded to his calls. Or maybe it was just her he didn’t want to answer. The thought made her scowl. 

Once in her room, Padme tossed her bag onto her bed and pulled out her laptop. She needed to know what was happening at Skytech. If it was something big, it'd be all over the news. Her heart thumped in her chest as she typed in the company's name into the search bar. The articles that popped up were about new tech breakthroughs, stock market fluctuations, and the latest philanthropic efforts of the young, enigmatic CEO. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least not yet.

With a sigh, she opened her textbook and forced her eyes to focus on the dense text. The words swam before her eyes, but she was determined. Her grades had alright, even with the frequent "internship" sessions, but she knew she could do better. She had a paper to write on the socioeconomic impact of interstate trade policies, and she had to get it done by tomorrow.

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Over the next couple weeks, Padme found herself thriving in the academic environment. Her classes became more engaging, and her mind felt sharper than ever. Without the distraction of her secret "work" with Anakin, she was able to devote all her energy to her studies. She even started attending the optional seminars and networking events she had previously ignored, making connections and learning new concepts that fascinated her. Her professors noticed the change, praising her for her dedication and insight.

Her social life blossomed as well. She spent more time with her friends, including Sabe. They laughed over coffee in crowded cafes, explored the streets of Cambridge, and had several wild study sessions in the library (Dorme had thought it would be a good idea to memorize test content by singing them out loud). Yet, there remained an unspoken tension between them. Sabe had noticed that when Padme took trips to intern at “SkyTech”, she would often return very late at night.

One evening, as they sat in their dorm room, surrounded by scattered assignments and the glow of their laptops, Sabe couldn’t seem to hold it in anymore. "Padme, what’s up with your fancy job the past couple of weeks? Your internship at SkyTech was practically consuming you, and now, you're hardly ever there." 

Her eyes searched Padme's, looking for answers. Padme took a deep breath, her heart racing. She should’ve anticipated this conversation, but she’d been trying to focus her efforts on her classes. "It's just a different project," she lied, trying to keep her voice steady. "Before I was working directly with their legal team, right now I'm just helping out the policy analysts."

Sabe raised an eyebrow. "Since when do interns get to work from home?"

Padme's stomach twisted. She hadn't prepared for this line of questioning. "Well, it's a flexible position," she replied, hoping she sounded convincing. "I'm mostly doing research and data analysis for them. I can do that from anywhere."

Sabe studied her for a moment before shrugging it off. "Okay, if you say so." But the look in her eyes said she wasn't fully convinced.

The conversation weighed heavily on Padme, and she felt a surge of guilt. She opened her mouth, wanting to reassure Sabe when she suddenly felt a pressing urge to pee. "I'm going to the bathroom," she announced, pushing her char away from the table. "I'll be right back."

Padme felt like her bladder was screaming at her. At eight weeks pregnant, the pressure was something she had never experienced before. It was a stark reminder of the reality of her situation. In the dorm bathroom, she locked the stall and sighed, leaning against the cool metal door. The smell of antiseptic cleaner mixed with the faint scent of perfume filled the small space, but it did nothing to soothe her racing thoughts.

As she sat on the toilet, she let out a sigh of relief as her urine released. It was a strange comfort, a moment of respite from the chaos outside. Her hand drifted to her lower abdomen, feeling the slight swell. She was carrying Anakin's children, a secret she had to keep hidden from everyone, including Sabe. The thought of it made her heart flutter with fear. What would happen when people found out? Would they understand her choices?

Padme took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. She had to keep her secret. For now, she had to play the part of a normal college student. With a sigh, she stood up and washed her hands, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She removed her shirt and bra and stared at her body. At a glance, she appeared the same, but Padme noticed that her once flat stomach now was just slightly rounded, and her nipples had become swollen and dark. 

Covering her top again, she returned to their room, she plastered a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry about that," she said, trying to sound casual. "I guess I've been drinking too much water."

Sabe glanced up from her laptop, her return smile more worried. "Padme, you've been to the bathroom a lot more than usual, and I mean a lot. You had to go over ten times yesterday. Are you okay?" Concern filled her eyes as she set her computer aside.

Padme felt her heart skip a beat. "It's nothing," she replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "I think I might have polyuria or something. You know, a side effect of stress." She hoped her lie would hold water.

Sabe nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. "Well, if you're sure," she said, returning to her work. "But if it gets worse, you should definitely see a doctor."

Padme let out a silent sigh of relief and sat down at the table. She knew she couldn’t keep the truth hidden forever, especially when her pregnancy symptoms becoming more pronounced. The thought of confiding in Sabe was tempting, but the fear of judgment and the likelihood that Sabe would report it to her parents kept her mouth shut. She could only imagine how her parents would react. They either be horrified or worried or both , and she couldn’t put that kind of stress on her recovering father. 

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When Padme woke the next morning, she felt a strange, heightened sense of arousal. Her body felt sensitive and swollen in ways that were foreign to her. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to piece together the previous night’s dreams. They had been a tapestry of Anakin’s hands on her, his breath hot in her ear, and the feeling of his seed filling her. Her nipples were tight, begging for attention, and her panties were damp. She hadn’t felt this way since the last time she’d been with Anakin. Was it a side effect of the fertility treatment, or was it because she hadn’t been bred the past couple weeks? She tried to shake the sensation off, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. It was as if her body craved the very thing she was trying to escape from.

Carefully, she slid out of bed, avoiding the creaking of the old bed frame. Sabe was a deep sleeper, but she didn’t want to take any chances. The room was still bathed in the soft glow of early morning, casting dim light on the walls. She tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. She quickly removed her clothes, feeling hot and sweaty due to her dreams.

Under the unforgiving fluorescent light, Padme's exhausted reflection stared back at her. She’d gotten eight hours of sleep last night (not including he erotic dreams) and she still felt drained. Not only that, but her body felt off as well, her skin had a strange tingling sensation and she stepped into teh shower and turned on the water, hoping to wash it away. She cupped her breasts, feeling the fullness and the sensitive tips, and she couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine. The shower washed away the sweat from her dreams, but not the need. 

The hot water cascading over her skin was a tease, a reminder of Anakin’s touch. Her hand drifted down her stomach to her clit, swollen and begging for attention. She bit her lip, trying to fight the urge. But her body was a traitor, responding to the memories of his touch. With a groan, she cranked the faucet to cold. The icy water hit her like a slap in the face, making her gasp. Goosebumps pebbled on her skin as the coldness seeped into her, numbing the ache between her legs. She took a deep breath, focusing on the shock rather than the desire. It was a battle of wills, her body’s desperate need for release against the cold, hard reality of her situation.

The cold water stung, but it helped to clear her head. Padme knew she couldn’t let herself get lost in the fantasy of Anakin again. She had to keep her secret, to keep her life from falling apart. She closed her eyes and let the cold spray wash over her, imagining it washing away her arousal with it. Her hand hovered over her clit, her body begging for relief, but she held firm.

Forcing herself to focus on the cold, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The chilly air hit her wet skin, sending goosebumps all over. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself tightly, willing the heat from her body to dissipate. Her mind was still racing, but she had to get ready for the day ahead. As she dressed, the soft fabric of her bra brushed against her sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. She gritted her teeth and ignored the sensation, pulling on her sweater and jeans with more force than necessary. She could feel the ache growing, demanding attention, but she had to push it aside. She had classes to attend, essays to write, and a life to keep together.

Throughout the day, her arousal would flare up at the most inconvenient times. In the middle of a lecture on the structure of the American government, the way professor Mas Amedda leaned against the podium made her think of Anakin's strong frame pressing against her. In the library, the smell of a nearby student's cologne reminded her of the heady scent that filled Anakin's penthouse when she was there. Each time, she would have to take a deep breath, clench her thighs together, and think of something mundane to push the thoughts away.

The following day, unfortunately, she woke up to the same intense need. And the day after that. It was as if her body had decided that it wasn’t going to let her forget about Anakin or their arrangement. She found herself avoiding crowded places, fearful that her arousal would be obvious to everyone. Her cheeks would flush at the mere thought of someone brushing against her in the hallway, her body betraying her every move.

In class, she could hardly focus on the lectures. The fabric of her clothes felt like sandpaper against her sensitive skin, each brush sending a wave of heat through her body. She would sit with her legs crossed tightly, her hands clenched into fists in her lap, trying to keep from squirming. The ache between her legs grew with every passing minute, a constant reminder of what she was missing.

The moment she finished her midterm for her Justice course, the dam broke. The room was quiet with only the sound of shuffling papers and the scratching of pens, but to Padme the pounding of her heart and the need that grew more insistent by the second was deafening. She felt like she was going to combust, like the pressure would build until she couldn’t take it anymore and she would have to run out of the room.

Her hand shot up. "Excuse me, Professor Organa?" she asked, her voice a little too high.

The professor looked up from his desk. "Yes, Miss Naberrie?"

"May I be excuse to the restroom? It’s urgent," Padme said, her voice trembling.

Professor Organa's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the room. "I’m sorry, but you know the rules, Miss Naberrie. No one is allowed to leave until the test is over."

If the room had been quiet before it was now completely silent, and she felt various stares from other students. Padme felt a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. "But I... I really can't hold it," she nearly whispered, her voice thick with desperation. 

Professor Organa’s expression softened, but he remained firm. "I'm sorry, Miss Naberrie, but the policy is clear. You'll have to wait until the test is over." He nodded towards the clock on the wall, ticking down the seconds like a countdown to her impending doom.

Padme's eyes widened with panic, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to stem the tide. It was ironic, last week she really would’ve needed to go to the bathroom (as every single person who had a class with her likely knew by now) now it was merely a cover to relieve her other urge. 

She felt like she was going to burst. The room was stifling, and she could feel the heat radiating off her body. With a trembling hand, she reached for the hem of her sweater, lifting it just enough to expose her stomach. Her hand slid under her shirt, her fingertips grazing the soft skin of her lower abdomen. She took a deep breath, her eyes squeezed shut and began to rub slow circles around her clit through her damp panties.

The sensation was almost too much to bear. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as the pressure grew. Her hand moved faster, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The fabric of her panties was rough against her sensitive skin, but she didn’t dare push them aside. The risk of being caught was too high, and the thought of the scandal that would follow made her stomach turn. 

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for any signs of suspicion. The other students were engrossed in their tests, scribbling furiously. No one seemed to notice her distress, her hand moving rhythmically under her sweater. Professor Organa’s gaze was fixed on his podium, occasionally glancing at the clock. The seconds ticked away like hours, each one bringing her closer to the edge.

The pressure built, the ache in her womb a constant pulse that resonated through her entire body. She tried to keep her movements subtle, not wanting to draw any attention. But it was getting harder, her breaths coming quicker, her chest heaving slightly. The fabric of her sweater grew damp with her arousal, sticking to her skin. She bit her lip harder to keep from whimpering. 

The room was a blur around her, the whispers of the other students fading into the background. All that mattered was the sweet friction against her clit, the delicious tension that grew with each passing moment. She could feel her orgasm coiling like a spring, ready to snap at any second. Her hand moved faster, her fingertips slipping in the wetness that had soaked through her panties.

And then, it happened. Professor Organa called out her name, and she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She waited for the world to come crashing down around her, for the room to erupt in gasps and whispers, for the cold, hard stare of judgment that would follow. But instead, he said, "Miss Naberrie, the time is up. You may go to the restroom now."

The collective sigh of relief was almost audible as the tension in the room dissipated. Students began to stand, shuffling their papers and packing their bags. Padme felt a bead of sweat roll down her spine as she realized she had been holding her breath. She hadn’t been caught. The wave of relief that washed over her was so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. 

With trembling legs, she gathered her things and hurried out of the room, avoiding eye contact with her classmates. In the hallway, the cool air hit her like a slap in the face, grounding her back into reality. She took deep, steady breaths, trying to compose herself. The ache between her legs had lessened, but it was still there, a pulsing reminder of her need.

The bathroom was like a small, tiled sanctuary, as it had been the place she’d gone when her pregnancy was overwhelming her, and now. She locked the stall and sat on the cold toilet seat, her hand immediately going back to her swollen clit. The fabric of her panties was soaked, sticking to her skin, but she didn't care. She had to finish what she had started.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she began to rub herself in earnest, the sounds of her own need echoing in the empty bathroom. Her other hand rested on her belly, feeling the slight curve that was the result of Anakin’s seed growing inside her. It was an odd sensation, but she was too desperate to give it any deep thought at the moment. 

The tension built swiftly, her hips rocking against her hand. The cold porcelain of the toilet was a stark contrast to the heat building in her core. Her breaths grew ragged, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The concern that someone might walk in on her, of her secret being discovered, was at the forefront of her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

But as much as her body craved release, it remained elusive. She rubbed harder, faster, trying to recreate the intensity of Anakin's touch, but it was no use. Her frustration grew, the need turning into a desperate ache that threatened to consume her. It was as if her body was rebelling against her, refusing to be satisfied by anything other than his touch.

Her hand grew slick with her juices, her movements frantic. Her mind raced with memories of his hands on her, his mouth on her skin, his cock deep inside her. Yet, she remained on the precipice, unable to fall over. It was maddening, a tease that she hadn’t signed up for. She leaned back against the stall, her forehead resting against the cool metal, panting. 

The frustration grew into a knot in her stomach, tightening with each failed attempt to find relief. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she cursed herself for being so weak. This wasn’t who she was, to be reduced to this desperate, quivering mess. But she couldn’t fight the biological imperative that had been unleashed within her. 

Her hand stilled, the tremors in her body subsiding slightly. She took a shaky breath, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. The need was still there, a gnawing ache that made her feel hollow, but the urgency had faded. She wiped her hand on the towel she had brought with her and adjusted her clothes.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she saw a girl who was slowly losing control. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. With a trembling hand, she smoothed her hair and took a deep breath. "You can do this," she whispered to herself. "You're Padme Naberrie."

Gathering her things, she slipped out of the bathroom and into the bustling hallway. The sounds of students chattering and lockers slamming echoed through the corridor, but she was in a world of her own. Her thoughts were a tumult of fear and need, her body still thrumming with unrequited desire.

With a heavy sigh, she checked her watch. Mock trial tryouts were in half an hour, and she couldn’t miss them. It was one of the things she had been looking forward to since starting college—a chance to prove herself in a mock courtroom and escape the shadow of her secret internship. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and began the walk to the lecture hall.

As she turned the corner, she saw a group of students gathered around the double doors of the classroom, all of them chattering excitedly. And there, at the center of it all, was Anakin. His tall frame was unmistakable even in the throng, and his dark golden hair gleamed under the harsh hallway lights. His presence was magnetic, and the students were drawn to him like moths to a flame.

Padme's heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? They had agreed that their... arrangement would stay at his penthouse. She felt a flare of annoyance that he would bring it to her school, to her sanctuary. The last thing she needed was for someone to make the connection between her and the famous CEO of SkyTech. Panic set in, and she turned on her heel, heading in the opposite direction. Her heart raced, and she could feel his gaze burning into her back. She had to get away, had to put as much distance between them as possible before he could catch her. She quickened her pace, her breath coming in short gasps, the cold air in the hallway doing nothing to cool her burning cheeks.

As she rounded another corner, she heard the slap of his footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was coming for her, and she had to find a way to escape. She slipped into the first open room she saw—a deserted study lounge, the quiet a stark contrast to the chaos of the hallway. She leaned against the door, listening for any sign that he was nearby. Her hand hovered over her stomach, the baby bump just barely beginning to show, a stark reminder of what she was hiding.

The door swung open, and there he was, his blue eyes dark and intense as they settled on her. "Padme," Anakin said, his voice low and commanding. 

With a huff, she stepped forward, her hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice shaking slightly with anger and fear. "You can't just show up at my school like this!"

Anakin's expression remained calm, unfazed by her outburst. "I was looking for you," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His scent filled the room, a heady musk of rain and something uniquely him that made her knees feel weak.

"This isn’t the place," Padme said firmly, taking a step back. She didn’t want to get drawn into his orbit again, not here, not now. "You can’t just show up at my school. It's too suspicious." Her voice was steady now, but her heart was racing.

Anakin's gaze remained on her, unyielding. "It's not a problem," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "We can use your internship as a cover. I just wanted to check in, see how you were doing."

"Don't you dare," Padme snapped. "You didn't say anything for two weeks . What kind of emergency is so important that you couldn't even spare a minute to tell me what's going on?" The anger in her voice was palpable, her eyes flashing.

Anakin stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "The company's merger was a delicate situation. I had to be there, to make sure everything went smoothly. And now that it's done, I can focus on what's truly important," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "You."

But Padme was having none of it. She held up a hand, her eyes flashing with determination. "I don't care if you're busy with the universe's most important deal. This ," she gestured to her belly, "this can wait till after my midterms. I need to focus."

Anakin's expression shifted, his eyes flickering with something that could have been annoyance or perhaps concern. "Aphra told me you've been... struggling," he said, his voice carefully measured.

Padme inwardly chastised herself. How could she have been so careless? She had called Dr. Aphra this morning, at the end of her rope with her constant arousal, and even though she had tried to seem nonchalant in her questioning, Aphra had likely guessed what was wrong and told Anakin. She internally snorted, no wonder Anakin came running, he was probably worried I’d damage his precious ‘legacy’ .

"You need to be bred," Anakin said, his voice firm and unwavering. "Your body is craving what it needs. It's natural, Padme. You know this."

Padme's protests fell on deaf ears as Anakin stepped closer, his heat enveloping her. She could feel the need in her core, a deep, primal ache that she had been trying to ignore. Her body was telling her that it was time, that it needed him to fill her. Her mind rebelled against the thought, but her traitorous body was already responding to his proximity. As if he could sense her internal struggle, Anakin manuvered himself behind her, and his hands moved to her waist, his touch featherlight at first, but firm. He pulled her back against him, his chest pressing into her, the heat of him searing through her sweater. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt her knees start to buckle. 

His hands went under her sweater and began to roam, tracing the curve of her hips and up to her breasts, which had grown even more sensitive with the pregnancy. His fingers grazed her nipples and she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. His touch was electric, setting her nerves alight. She felt herself leaning into him, her body betraying her once again. She had missed this, missed his touch, missed the way he made her feel. It was as if she had been starved of it, and now she was desperate for more.

"Look at you," Anakin murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Your body has changed so beautifully. You're perfect for breeding." 

His words should have repulsed her, but instead they sent a thrill through her. His hands moved over her, exploring the new curves, the slight swell of her belly. She could feel his arousal pressing against her back, and it only made her wetter. With a whine of need, she leaned back into his embrace, her body arching into his touch. His hand slid down her stomach, under her clothes to the apex of her thighs, his fingers finding the slickness of her arousal. 

"You're so wet for me," he groaned, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine.

The sensation of his fingers teasing her entrance was exquisite, the pressure of his hand pushing her closer to the edge she had been denied all day. Her hips bucked, and she could feel the desperation in her movements. The ache in her womb was back, a pulsing demand that she be filled, be claimed, be bred. 

"N-No," she managed to slip out. "Please, Anakin. Not here."

But Anakin was unyielding, his voice firm. "You have to take care of yourself, Padme. Your body needs this."

He didn't wait for a response before his hand slid further into her pants, his fingers pushing inside her. She was so wet, so ready, that she took him in with a gasp. The first stroke was like a spark in dry grass, setting off a wildfire of pleasure that raced through her veins. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, her eyes squeezed shut. His fingers moved in and out, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. She could feel her orgasm building, the tightness in her stomach coiling into a delicious knot.

His other hand slid up her body, stroking her breasts with a gentle firmness that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. He knew exactly how she liked it, how to tease and tantalize until she was begging for more. Her nipples were sensitive peaks, hard against his palm, and he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of electricity straight to her clit. The tension grew, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might shatter. 

And then, with a cry that was half relief and half ecstasy, she came. Her body bucked against his hand, her muscles clenching around his fingers. He didn’t let up, instead pushing her through the peak, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling with the aftershocks. Finally, Anakin pulled his fingers out of her with a squelch that made Padme's cheeks burn even hotter. She felt the warmth of her arousal on her thighs, a sticky reminder of what had just happened. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

But the moment his hand left her, the ache returned, more intense than before. Her body was still begging, demanding to be filled. Padme was shocked by the intensity of her need. She had thought the stolen moment in the bathroom would be enough, but it was as if the floodgates had been opened, and now she couldn’t control the tide. Anakin must have seen the confusion in her eyes because he chuckled, the sound sending another shiver down her spine. 

"Your body won't be sated until I've filled you with my seed," he said, his voice amused. He stepped back, and turned her around to face him, giving her space, but not enough to escape his magnetic pull. "It's part of the breeding process, Padme. Your body is preparing for the next phase."

Her eyes widened as she felt the wetness between her thighs, the undeniable truth of his words. "But... but I'm in school," she protested weakly. "We can't... not here."

Anakin's smile grew, and his eyes took on a predatory glint. He stepped closer, his hand moving to the button of her pants. "We'll be quick," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "We need to ensure the breeding goes as planned. If I don’t breed you know, your arousal will only get worse."

Her protests died on her lips as he pulled down her pants and underwear, his own following swiftly. He turned her around again so she was in front of him and then she felt his cock, hot and hard, pressing against her thigh. It was a stark reminder of what they had been doing together, the secret she had been keeping from everyone. The head of his cock nudged her entrance, and she couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her as she felt her body opening for him.

He eased himself inside her with a groan, filling her in one smooth stroke. The feeling was intense, the pressure of his cock stretching her already-sensitive flesh. Her legs trembled, and she reached out to grip the edge of the table in front of her as he began to move, his hips driving into her with a rhythm that was both punishing and exquisite. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the pleasure almost too much to bear. 

Padme’s body greedily took him in, her muscles clenching around him, desperate for every inch. She had never felt so full, so complete. Anakin’s hands roamed her body, his touch a brand that seared her with need. Her hips moved in tandem with his, her own need taking over any semblance of control she had clung to. As he thrust into her, his hands moved to cup the slight swell of her belly from behind, his fingers sliding over the soft flesh. It was a possessive gesture that caused pressure to begin to coil deliciously in her core again, the reality of their situation crashing into her like a tidal wave. I’m carrying his children; he had sex with me and now I’m pregnant with his babies .

With a gasp, she felt the second climax crash over her, her muscles tightening around his cock. Anakin's rhythm didn't falter, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. She could feel his need, his desire for her, and it only served to make her come even harder. And then, with a growl that was almost animalistic, he released inside her. The sensation of his warm seed filling her womb was intense, a wave of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. Her body quivered around him, her orgasm clenching around his cock as he pumped into her. 

For a moment, they remained like that, Padme’s body trembling, Anakin’s chest heaving against her back. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her up as if she might crumble without his support. She could feel his heart racing in time with hers, the pulse of life echoing between them. As the intensity of her orgasm began to subside, she felt the wetness of his release seep down her thighs. The reality of what they had done—here, in the middle of the school—was a cold slap in the face. But even as the guilt and fear began to set in, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming sense of satisfaction that filled her body.

Anakin’s grip on her tightened as she went limp in his arms, her legs unable to hold her weight. He chuckled, his breath warm against her neck, and she felt his cock, still semi-hard, twitch inside her. "I've got you," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her waist.

Padme leaned back into his embrace, her eyes half-closed as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. She felt boneless, her muscles loose and relaxed, the tension of the day draining away in a flood of endorphins. His cock slipped out of her, and she made a small sound of protest, feeling empty without him inside her.

Anakin chuckled at her reaction, the sound rich and warm. "Easy, Padme," he murmured, his voice a gentle command. He guided her to one of the longue’s couches, his strong arms supporting her until she was lying down. She sighed as she settled into the cushions, the softness a stark contrast to the tension that had held her body captive for hours.

"But the mock trial..." Padme protested weakly, her eyes drifting closed. "They're expecting me."

Anakin's voice was firm but gentle as he replied, "You need to rest, Padme. Just for a little while. Your body's been through a lot today. Ten minutes, that's all I ask."

With a scoff, Padme opened her eyes and pushed herself up on one elbow, glaring at him. "It's your fault," she muttered, though the heat had left her voice. "If you weren’t so... demanding..." Her words trailed off as she realized the futility of her protest.

Anakin's smile was knowing, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I’m pretty sure your body is thanking my ‘demanding’ self, right now," he said, his voice unapologetic. 

Padme's protests faded into a sigh as she watched him tuck his shirt back into his pants, his movements fluid and graceful. "You can't just waltz into my life and expect me to drop everything for you," she said, her voice weak with the aftermath of pleasure.

Anakin's smile didn't falter as he stepped away, reaching for his phone. "You knew what you were getting into when you signed the contract," he reminded her, his voice low and serious. "Your body is my responsibility now, Padme. And I take that responsibility very seriously."

With surprising agility, he pulled his pants back up and straightened his shirt. The ease with which he composed himself only added to Padme's frustration. She lay on the couch, feeling exposed and vulnerable, her legs still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. 

"You're infatuated with this breeding kink," she accused, her voice laced with irritation. "It's like you don't care about anything else."

Anakin paused, his hand hovering over his phone. "It's not just a kink, Padme. It's a commitment." His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. "You're carrying my children, and your well-being is crucial. Now, rest."

With that, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Padme lay there, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. The encounter was intense, leaving her both satisfied and conflicted. The way he talked about her body, her purpose... it was overwhelming. But she had chosen this path, hadn't she? The money was too good to pass up, and the thrill... well, she could admit (if only to herself) that she enjoyed it more than she cared to.

Her hand moved to her stomach, feeling the slight swell. His children grew inside her, a fact that still didn't feel quite real. She had always been career-focused, planning to focus on being a lawyer after graduation. Now she was playing a part in a very different kind of legacy. The thought of it brought a strange mix of pride and fear. She was proud to be a mother, but the circumstances that made her one …

With a deep breath, Padme pushed herself to her feet, her legs wobbly. She glanced around the room, ensuring everything looked as if no scandalous encounter had just occurred. The tables, chairs, and couches were neatly arranged, the whiteboard at the front a blank canvas for the next lesson. Only the faint scent of sex lingered in the air, a silent testament to their actions.

Her eyes fell to the clock on the wall, and she gasped. The mock trial tryouts were in less than ten minutes. Panic set in, and she began to frantically pull her pants  back up and straighten her clothes. She couldn't miss this; it was the culmination of weeks of preparation, a chance to showcase her skills and help her get a head start on law school. With trembling hands, she smoothed her hair and took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow.

Forcing herself to stand, she took a moment to compose herself, then made her way out of the study lounge, back into the bustling hallway. Students rushed by, their faces a blur of unimportant details, their conversations a distant murmur. She had to get to the lecture room, had to get her mind in the game. With each step, she felt the warmth of Anakin’s seed inside her, a constant reminder of what she had done. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. The mock trial was her chance to prove that she was more than just a pretty face or a convenient womb for Anakin’s offspring. Even if it was only to herself.

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Over the next week, Padme started to notice her appetite increase. She was disturbed to find herself craving the most peculiar combinations of foods at the most unexpected times. And more than one class period had been spent day dreaming about certain meals, muh to her annoyance. The first-year dining hall at Harvard, known as the Annenberg Hall or 'Adburg' to the first years, became a battleground of tantalizing smells and flavors that seemed to beckon to her growing belly, and she’d been surprised at how difficult it had been to resist trying out some dishes outside her normal selection.

One early afternoon, after a particularly grueling day of classes and internship (she’d gone to the actual SkyTech that morning in between classes to meet the policy analysts in person), she stood in line, eyeing the usual suspects of vegan offerings that she had grown so accustomed to. Yet, today was different, for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to put the vegan meals on her tray. In the midst of her internal struggle, the scent of something rich and indulgent wafted through the air, and her eyes were drawn to the Cordon bleu that she had never allowed herself to try before. The breaded chicken stuffed with ham and cheese called to her, and she could almost taste the creamy sauce that came with it. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d taken a plate of it.

Moving over the salad bar, her eyes caught a vibrant Thai mango salad sat, surrounded by a rainbow of fresh vegetables and a tantalizing array of dressings. But instead of the usual light vinaigrette, her gaze fell on the bottle of peanuts and the jar of spicy mustard, and the relish next to it. A peculiar craving stirred within her, a whimsical blend of flavors that seemed to resonate with the new, uncharted territory her body was navigating. In a flash, Padme piled a generous portion of the sweet mango salad onto her plate and doused it with the zesty mustard-relish-peanut dressing. The aroma was intoxicating, and she couldn't resist licking her lips in anticipation. 

The cafeteria's usual buzz of chatter faded into the background as she focused on the task at hand and made her way to the usual table where her friends sat. Sabé looked at her plate with a raised eyebrow. 

"That's an... interesting choice," she said with a smirk, her voice teasing. "I didn't know you had such adventurous taste buds, Padme."

Padme felt a blush rise to her cheeks but held her ground. "It's just something new," she said with a shrug, hoping to downplay her sudden craving. She took a bite of the salad, the tangy mustard and sweetness of the mango colliding in her mouth in a symphony of flavors that was both surprising and utterly delightful. Her eyes widened, and she moaned quietly, savoring the sensation.

Her friends exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "Since when do you eat... meat?" Dormé ventured, gesturing to the chicken on her tray.

Padme took another bite of her salad, the crunch of the peanuts providing a satisfying contrast to the soft mango. "I just want to try new things, you know, college is about exploring and growing, right?" Why couldn’t they let her enjoy her meal? There was nothing wrong with having a little variety. 

Her friends exchanged glances, their skepticism evident. Yet, to her relief, Motee and Corde nodded in agreement, eager to encourage her newfound sense of culinary adventure. "I get it," said Corde. "Sometimes you just crave something out of the ordinary."

Sabé, however, still looked skeptical. Her gaze lingered on Padme's plate, the curiosity in her eyes unmistakable. But she said nothing more, allowing the conversation to drift to the upcoming weekend's plans and the latest gossip from the political science department. Padme felt a weight lift from her shoulders; she hadn't anticipated the scrutiny that would accompany such a simple change in diet.

Her fork speared a piece of the golden, crispy chicken, and she brought it to her mouth with a sense of both trepidation and excitement. The moment the warm, cheesy goodness hit her tongue, she knew she had made the right choice. The flavors exploded in her mouth, a delightful blend of richness and comfort that seemed to soothe the ravenous hunger that had been plaguing her for days. 

Her stomach rumbled in approval, the food disappearing from her plate as if it were the first meal she had ever tasted. Each bite brought with it a sense of satisfaction that she hadn’t felt in weeks, the hunger that had plagued her seeming to abate with every mouthful. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, letting the flavors dance on her tongue and the warmth spread through her body. There was no way such a delicious change of pace could go wrong.

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The evening sun painted the office walls with a soft glow as Padme sat at the conference table, surrounded by policy analysts deep in conversation. The room buzzed with the sound of typing and the rustling of papers, a stark contrast to the uncomfortable churning of her stomach. She berated herself for pigging out at lunch, Dr. Aphra had warned her that her digestion would slow down and she could get bloated. She nearly groaned aloud, it had been several hours since lunch, how could she not have digested it yet?!

She shook herself, trying to focus on the work in front of her. Despite her the chaos, she felt a strange calm settle over her, a sense of belonging that she hadn’t felt since her world had been turned upside down by Anakin’s proposal. “Padme, what’s your take on the new renewable energy policy?” A young analyst named Teckla looked up from her laptop, her eyes expectant.

"Well," she began, her voice steady, "I think it's a step in the right direction, but we need to ensure that it's economically viable for the smaller, independent energy companies. Otherwise, we're just playing into the hands of the big corporations."

Teckla nodded thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the documents in front of her. "Good point, Padme. How do we balance that?" 

Her stomach gurgled, the tightness from the meal she'd enjoyed earlier now a constant discomfort. She shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. "We need to offer incentives," she began, her voice strained. "Subsidies, perhaps, or investment opportunities that make it more appealing for them to adopt these new technologies."

The room nodded in agreement, the conversation continuing without missing a beat. Padme's eyes flitted to the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until she could escape the conference room and the scrutiny of her peers. The waistband of her skirt was cutting into her bloated flesh, a reminder of the meal she'd indulged in earlier.

"Alright, I think that's all for today," she announced, standing up abruptly. "My shift is over, and I've got to get some rest before my classes tomorrow." Her colleagues barely glanced up from their screens, mumbling their goodbyes as they continued to work. The relief washed over her like a cool breeze.

As she exited the conference room, her hand instinctively went to her distended stomach. The pressure from the food she had consumed felt almost painful. Padme walked towards the elevator, her mind racing with thoughts of the impending breeding session with Anakin. She knew she couldn't go through with it tonight, not in this state. The idea of his strong hands on her, the feeling of his cock inside her, was too much to handle with the current discomfort. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she dialed him, the ringing echoing in her ears like a siren. What would he say? Would he understand? Would he even answer? He didn’t exactly have the best track record … The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, and she took a deep breath, the walls of the metal box closing in around her. Please pick up, please, please, please.  

"Anakin," she said as soon as he picked up, barely holding back a sigh of relief. "I don't think I can attend our session tonight."There was a brief pause, and she could almost hear the gears turning in his head. 

"Why not?" he asked, his tone cool and calm, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within her.

"I... I'm bloated," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I had a big meal, and I can barely move. I don't think it's a good idea."

He was silent for a moment then said, "Meet me at the entrance," And with that, the call ended.

Padme stared at her phone, her heart racing. He couldn't be serious, could he? Her stomach was still a mess from the massive meal she had consumed in the dining hall, and the last thing she wanted was to be penetrated in her current state. But the command in his voice was clear: she had no choice but to obey. With a huff of annoyance, she shuffled into the elevator, feeling the weight of the day's food pressing down on her. 

Her hand hovered over the button for the lobby, her mind racing. How was she going to explain this to him? He wasn't known for his patience or understanding, especially when it came to his breeding needs. He always seemed to think he knew everything there was to know about breeding. The doors slid shut, and she leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Her stomach lurched as the elevator descended, and she clutched at her belly, hoping the pressure would subside. But it only grew worse, a persistent throb that seemed to echo the anxiety pulsing through her veins.

When the elevator finally dinged open, Padme stepped out into the bustling lobby of SkyTech. The sleek chrome and glass surfaces gleamed under the artificial lights, reflecting the faces of the employees rushing to and fro. Anakin stood in the center of the chaos, looking as unflappable as ever. His eyes found hers, and she felt a strange mix of relief and dread wash over her.

"Padme," he called out, his voice cutting through the noise. He didn't look surprised to see her discomfort, but there was a hint of... concern? It was so out of character for him that she almost didn’t recognize it. "Come with me."

With a sigh, she followed him out of the lobby and into the cool evening air. The chilly breeze was a welcome relief against her overheated skin. Anakin's black truck (it had been a surprise when she’d that he didn’t drive a sports car like most celebrities) was parked out front, the engine purring like a contented beast. He opened the back door for her, and she slid into the plush leather seat with a grateful groan. Her stomach protested the movement, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the comforting embrace of the car.

Anakin went around to the driver’s side, getting in, slamming his door shut and started the engine, the truck's headlights cutting through the darkness as he pulled out of the lot. Padme watched the scenery pass by in a blur, her mind racing. What did he have planned? Was he going to breed her anyway? Was he angry with her? Without a word, he turned down a side street and pulled into an empty parking lot. The lot was dimly lit, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. Padme's heart pounded in her chest as he parked the car, the headlights throwing eerie shadows across the pavement.

To her surprise, Anakin opened his door and circled around to the back of the truck, sliding in next to her. His presence was commanding, his muscular form taking up more space than she had anticipated. The leather creaked under his weight, and she could feel the warmth of his body seeping into her side. She turned to face him, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anticipation. 

"Anakin, I can't," she said again, her voice firmer this time. "I'm in no condition to... you know."

He studied her for a moment, the soft light playing over his handsome features, his gaze intense. Then, surprisingly, he nodded. "I understand," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "That's not what I brought you here for."

With gentle hands, Anakin pulled up her blouse, exposing her bloated belly to the cool night air. Padme sucked in a breath, feeling both embarrassed and exposed. But his touch was light, almost reverential as he began to rub her stomach in a slow, clockwise direction, starting from the bottom of her abdomen. 

"Relax," he murmured, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just below her navel, massaging in small circles. "This will help with the gas."

Padme's cheeks burned with embarrassment as her stomach gurgled again, the sound echoing through the enclosed space of the car. She felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck, but Anakin's eyes remained focused and serious, his expression a mask of concentration. Without warning, a burp erupted from her, the sound a loud, unexpected release of pressure that seemed to fill the small space. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide with mortification. 

But instead of the scorn or disgust she had braced herself for, Anakin merely chuckled, the tension in the air dissipating like mist in the sun. "There we go," he said, his voice gentle, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A little more?" 

Padme nodded, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. Anakin's strong hands continued to knead her stomach, the pressure increasing as he worked her bloated belly. Her body responded with a series of burps, each one a little less embarrassing than the last. The tension in her abdomen began to ease, the discomfort receding with each passing moment. 

As the last of the gas bubbles escaped her, she felt a wave of relaxation wash over her. The tightness in her muscles started to dissipate, her stomach muscles releasing their protective hold on the food she had consumed. She let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping. Anakin's massage had been surprisingly soothing, the gentle pressure turning from discomfort to a comforting warmth. He leaned back, his hands lingering for a moment before withdrawing. 

Padme tugged her blouse back down, feeling a strange sense of intimacy despite the awkwardness of the situation. Anakin's eyes searched hers, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place. Was it concern? Understanding? Something else? 

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling more herself than she had in hours. Anakin nodded, his expression unreadable. "It's part of the deal, Padme. I want you to be comfortable."

With that, he left, getting back into the driver’s seat, and pulling out of the parking lot. The short drive to her car in SkyTech’s parking lot was filled with a tense silence, the only sound the hum of the engine. Padme was lost in thought, trying to process the strange tenderness Anakin had just shown her. It was a side of him she hadn't seen before, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

They approached her car, which was parked in a spot that was slightly hidden by an overhanging tree. The shadows played across the windshield, giving the area an eerie quality. Anakin pulled in alongside it, his headlights illuminating the space. He put the truck in park and Padme awkwardly unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open. She stepped out into the cold night air, her stomach still feeling a bit tender from his massage. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her hand on the door. 

"Thank you for... understanding," she said, her voice still shaky from the intimate moment. Anakin merely nodded, his expression inscrutable. The shadows danced across his features, leaving her guessing at what lay beneath the surface. For a moment, Padme felt like she was staring into the abyss, the darkness of the night reflecting the mystery that was Anakin Skywalker. She shivered, not from the cold but from the intensity of his gaze.

Without another word, she climbed into her car, the warmth of the leather seats a stark contrast to the chilly night air. The engine rumbled to life, and she pulled out of the parking space. As she drove through the darkened streets, her mind reeled with the unexpected gentleness he had shown her. The Anakin she knew was demanding and dominant, not the one who had just soothed her stomach with a gentle touch. Was this a sign that he cared for her beyond their contractual agreement? Or was it merely a ploy to ensure she remained in optimal breeding condition?

Padme parked her car in the shadow of the Harvard dorms, her thoughts racing as she climbed out into the brisk evening air. The lights from the buildings cast a warm glow over the sidewalks, a stark contrast to the cold reality of her situation. She clutched her stomach, feeling the lingering warmth from Anakin's massage, and walked slowly towards her building. As she climbed the stairs to her floor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Anakin’s tenderness tonight. It was unsettling, a crack in the armor of his usual dominance. Is he capable of seeing my as an actual person and not just his sex toy? Or does he just want his babies to be safe and comfortable via me? 

Once in her room, she stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed, the softness of the comforter wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Her stomach was still a bit sore, but the discomfort had lessened significantly. She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her hand resting protectively on her belly. The room was quiet, and the glow from the street lamps outside cast a soft light through the curtains, painting the room in a warm, golden hue. 

But the warmth couldn’t penetrate the cold realization that she was carrying Anakin’s children for his own selfish desires. A part of her wondered if there was more to it than just his breeding kink. Did he truly care for her beyond her ability to bear his offspring? His actions tonight almost made it seem like he did, but appearances could be deceiving. Her thoughts swirled like a tornado, mixing with the comforting sensation of a full stomach and the gentle, soothing ache from Anakin’s earlier ministrations. Despite the turmoil in her mind, her body began to succumb to the siren's call of sleep. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she found herself sinking deeper into the pillow, the plush fabric molding around her head like a cloud.

Padme’s last conscious thought was of the warmth of Anakin's hands on her belly, a stark contrast to the coldness of their usual interactions. It was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit in the picture she had of her boss, and it left her feeling both comforted and uneasy. With a sigh that was part relief, part resignation, she let the darkness take her.

Chapter Text

Padme smoothed her skirt, fingers trembling against the wool blend. "Professor Palpatine asked to see me?" Her voice sounded too high, too thin in the polished quiet of the Government Department office. The administrative assistant barely glanced up, pointing a lacquered nail toward heavy oak doors. "Go right in, Miss Amidala. He’s expecting you."

Sheev Palpatine rose from behind a desk with leather-bound volumes neatly arranged and a steaming porcelain teapot. "Miss Naberrie," he greeted, his voice like worn velvet. "Please, sit. Lemon tea?" He gestured to an ornate chair opposite him, already pouring without waiting for her answer. The scent of bergamot filled the air. 

Padme perched on the edge, knuckles white in her lap. "I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, Professor."

"Wrong?" Palpatine chuckled, sliding the teacup toward her. Steam curled between them. "On the contrary. Your essay on constitutional erosion in emerging democracies..." He tapped a paper bearing her name in crisp typescript. "...showed remarkable insight. Precise. Incisive." His pale eyes held hers. "Professor Amedda tells me you hope to study law here. I would say this is a very good start.”

Padme’s shoulders loosened. She hadn’t been caught. Not yet. Relief tasted metallic on her tongue. "Thank you, Professor. That means a great deal."

Palpatine steepled his fingers, his gaze softening into something almost paternal. "Potential like yours is rare, Padme. Raw, yes, but undeniably brilliant." He leaned forward, concern etching itself in his face. "Harvard can be… overwhelming. Especially for those carrying burdens beyond their studies."

Padme froze, horror running through her. Does he know!? How could he? She felt her stomach twist into knots. What had she let slip? Or was she showing more than she thought she was?

“Your father,” Palpatine continued, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it must be difficult for you to focus given the state of his health.”

Padme’s breath caught. Relief washed over her, again, cold and dizzying. She hadn’t mentioned her father’s trials with Leukemia to anyone at Harvard besides her friends, perhaps the professor’s had overheard her discussing it with her friends? Under normal circumstances, such a blatant breech of privacy would bother her, but now she only be grateful for it. If she seemed ‘off’ to any professors, they simply assume it had something to do with her father’s condition. “Yes,” she whispered, the lie tasting bitter. “It’s… a constant worry.”

Palpatine nodded, his expression radiating gentle understanding. “I cannot imagine the weight you carry, my dear. Such responsibility, so young.” He sipped his tea, the delicate clink of porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Which brings me to my purpose today. Harvard rewards brilliance, Padme, but it rarely nurtures it. Not truly.” He leaned back, studying her with unnerving focus. “I see in you a spark that deserves more than lectures and term papers. I wish to offer my guidance. An informal mentorship, if you will.”

Padme’s fingers tightened around the teacup handle. A mentorship with Sheev Palpatine? The chair of the department? It was an honor whispered about in hushed tones among ambitious undergraduates. Yet, beneath the fluttering excitement, a cold thread of unease wound its way through her. It was the opportunity of a lifetime but could she afford to spend so much time in close proximity with him given her ever growing body? She forced a grateful smile. “Professor, that’s incredibly generous. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Palpatine urged gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a benevolent grandfather. He gestured toward her untouched tea. “Drink, my dear. It settles the nerves. I understand hesitation. Trust is earned, not given. But consider this: navigating the complexities of constitutional law, the pressures of this institution… it requires more than intellect. It requires guidance.” He paused, letting the weight of his offer hang in the bergamot-scented air. “Think of me as… a resource. Someone who can help you avoid pitfalls and unlock doors that remain stubbornly closed to others.”

Padme’s mind raced. The mentorship was a golden ticket, potentially smoothing her path to law school admissions and prestigious internships. Yet, beneath her blouse, she felt very conscious of her stomach’s bulge. Could she hide it? Palpatine was observant; his comment about her father proved that. Every weekly meeting would be a gamble, every close discussion a potential exposure. She imagined his kindly gaze sharpening, noticing the subtle swell she meticulously hid beneath baggy sweaters and structured jackets. The risk was terrifying. But the cost of refusing such patronage? Unthinkable. 

"Professor," she began, her voice steadier than she felt, "it would be an honor. Truly. I just... I want to be worthy of your time."

Palpatine's smile deepened, radiating paternal pride. "Excellent. We begin next Tuesday. My office, four o'clock." He slid a crisp, cream-colored card across the desk – his private extension. "Consider it standing time. Bring your ideas, your questions... your burdens. We'll forge brilliance together, Padme." The dismissal was gentle but firm. As she stood, smoothing her skirt again, she felt his eyes linger – not on her belly, she prayed, but on her face, assessing her resolve. The bergamot scent suddenly felt cloying, thick in her throat.

Back in the chilly Cambridge air, Padme walked faster than necessary toward her dorm, her mind churning. The mentorship was monumental – Palpatine’s protégés landed Supreme Court clerkships, founded NGOs, shaped policy. Yet every Tuesday at four would be a tightrope walk over an abyss. She pictured Palpatine’s sharp, observant eyes and decided She needed better armor. Inside the dorm room she shared with Sabe, she locked the door and faced the full-length mirror. Flipping up her blouse, she examined her abdomen critically. at twelve weeks pregnant with twins, the subtle rounding was undeniable beneath her fingertips. Palpatine’s keen eyes wouldn’t miss it for long. She needed strategic concealment – structured blazers with stiff shoulder pads to distract, high-waisted skirts that skimmed rather than hugged, dark colors that absorbed light instead of highlighting curves. She mentally inventoried her closet, making a list for tomorrow’s discreet shopping trip to a downtown boutique far from campus gossip.

A sharp rap echoed on the door. "Padmé! Open up, I brought you a latte!" Sabe’s cheerful voice sliced through her anxiety. Padmé hastily tugged her blouse down, smoothing the fabric before unlocking the door. Sabe breezed in, laden with textbooks and two steaming paper cups. She dumped everything onto Padmé’s neatly made bed. "Government awaits," she groaned dramatically, flopping down beside the pile. Her sharp eyes scanned Padmé. "You look peaky. Need to pee before we dive into Hobbes? You’ve practically been glued to the toilet the last few weeks.”

Padmé’s hand instinctively drifted toward her abdomen before she caught herself, forcing a light laugh. “Polyuria’s apparently cured,” she lied smoothly, taking the offered cup. “Doctor thinks it was just stress-induced. Probably Dad’s health stuff.” She took a cautious sip, grateful Sabe hadn’t noticed the slight tremor in her hands. Internally, relief washed over her. The relentless pressure on her bladder during those early weeks had been torture, nearly exposing her during Professor Kyrze’s notoriously strict lecture. The twins’ growth had mercifully shifted things upward, easing that particular telltale sign – a small, vital reprieve in her precarious balancing act.

“Anyway,” Padmé continued, leaning against her desk, channeling genuine excitement into her voice. “Professor Palpatine called me into his office today.” She paused, savoring Sabe’s wide-eyed anticipation. “He offered me an informal mentorship. Just… me.” The words felt surreal saying them aloud. “He said my essay showed ‘remarkable insight.’ Called my potential ‘undeniably brilliant.’”

Sabe gasped, launching herself off the bed to crush Padmé in a hug. “Padmé! That’s incredible! Palpatine’s protégés practically walk on water!” She pulled back, beaming. “Do you realize what this means? Connections! Recommendations! You’ll be unstoppable!”

Padmé basked in Sabe’s genuine enthusiasm, the tight knot of anxiety loosening slightly. “I know,” she breathed, a real smile finally reaching her eyes. “It feels like… like catching lightning in a bottle.” She traced the rim of her coffee cup. “He wants me to bring ideas, questions… burdens. Said he’d help me unlock doors.”

Sabe’s grin softened into a thoughtful frown. She perched on the edge of Padmé’s desk, her gaze sharpening. “Padmé, that’s awesome. Really. Palpatine doesn’t just hand those out.” She paused, searching her friend’s face. “But… are you sure you can handle it? On top of everything else?” Her voice dropped, laced with concern. “That Skytech internship sounds intense – all those late nights and weekend reports you’re always scrambling to finish. And now weekly sessions with Palpatine?” She reached out, squeezing Padmé’s forearm gently. “You already look dead on your feet half the time. Dark circles, jumping at shadows… Remember last week? You fell asleep studying Locke.”

Padmé forced a dismissive wave, though Sabe’s words struck a nerve. The exhaustion was bone-deep, a constant companion since the twins started growing. “Skytech’s demanding, yeah,” she conceded, carefully sidestepping the true source of her fatigue. “But Palpatine’s mentorship is… strategic. It could streamline everything else later. Opens doors Sabe. Big ones.” She injected confidence into her tone, lifting her chin. “I’ll manage my time better. Cut back on… extracurriculars.” The lie tasted like ash. Her only ‘extracurriculars’ were clandestine prenatal appointments and Anakin’s breeding sessions.

Sabe leaned in, her expression shifting from concern to gentle firmness. “Padmé, I love your ambition. It’s why we’re roommates.” She tapped Padmé’s temple lightly. “But that brilliant brain needs fuel and rest. You’re playing with fire.” Her gaze softened but held an edge. “Promise me you’ll sleep more than four hours a night. Promise you’ll say ‘no’ sometimes. Even to Palpatine. Even to Skytech.” She squeezed Padmé’s arm again, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Burnout isn’t a badge of honor, Padmé. It’s a crash landing. And you’ve got too much riding on this semester to crash.

Padmé met Sabe’s earnest gaze and summoned every ounce of conviction she possessed. “I promise,” she vowed, her voice clear and steady. “Better sleep. Smarter scheduling.” She forced a playful grin. “I’ll even delegate Skytech’s weekend reports.” The lie settled heavily, but necessary. Anakin demanded exclusivity; no one else touched his ‘special projects’. Still, the promise placated Sabe. Her friend’s shoulders relaxed, the worried crease between her brows smoothing. “Good,” Sabe declared, hopping off the desk. “Now, Hobbes awaits. And I need caffeine before contemplating the Leviathan.” She grabbed her coffee, already flipping open a textbook.

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The sharp scent of disinfectant and stale sweat hit Padmé as she pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Hemenway gymnasium with Sabe, Dormé, Cordé, and Versé. The usual cacophony enveloped them – the rhythmic thump of treadmills, the clank of weights, the low thrum of electronic dance music. Padmé hung back, her oversized Harvard hoodie swallowing her frame, while her friends peeled off toward the elliptical machines and free weights, chattering about midterms.

Her gaze snagged on the digital scale tucked near the locker room entrance. A silent, gleaming arbiter. She hadn’t weighed herself since . . . since before the fertility treatment. Just a quick check, she told herself, peeling off her hoodie. Beneath, she wore loose-fitting leggings and a long, loose tank top – her gym armor. She stepped on, heart hammering against her ribs. The digital numbers blinked, stabilized. 123 lbs. Her breath hitched. Eight pounds up from her last weigh-in just three weeks ago. Twins. Twelve weeks. It was textbook, logical even. But logic evaporated under the fluorescent glare. Eight pounds felt like a flashing neon sign pointing directly to her secret.

She remembered Dr. Aphra’s brisk voice during her last prenatal visit, thick with disapproval. "Jogging? On pavement? Padme, are you trying to dislodge those embryos prematurely? Absolutely not. Your uterus isn't a paint shaker." The doctor had thrust a laminated sheet into her hands – Approved Low-Impact Prenatal Exercises. Swimming topped the list. Padmé snorted softly, stepping off the scale as if it burned. Swimming? Wearing a swimsuit? Exposing the undeniable swell she meticulously hid beneath layers? It was laughable. Utterly absurd. The chlorine-scented air suddenly felt thick, suffocating. She pictured herself poolside, the clinging Lycra revealing every curve, every subtle rounding – a walking, waddling announcement. Palpatine’s sharp eyes spotting her wouldn't be necessary; the entire Harvard swim team would know.

"Padmé! Stop lurking by the lockers!" Cordé's mock annoyed shout sliced through the gym's thumping bass. She waved energetically from a row of ellipticals, Versé already pumping away beside her, ponytail swinging. "Come on! We're doing intervals! Dormé needs motivation!"

“I do not!” She heard Dorme’s indignant shout just seconds later.

Padmé froze mid-step toward the deserted stretching mats, clutching her hoodie like armor. Her friends' expectant faces glistened with exertion. The thought of mounting that machine—the bouncing, the visible jostling, the way her leggings would cling—sent panic skittering up her spine. She forced a casual shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "Think I'll stick to stretching today," she called back, her voice deliberately light. "Professor Farr murdered my calves with that impromptu campus tour yesterday." She flexed one leg gingerly for effect, hoping the lie held weight.

Cordé pouted, slowing her elliptical's frantic pace. "Stretching? Boring." Versé, breathing hard, shot Padmé a skeptical glance. "Since when do you skip cardio? You're usually the first one sprinting."

Padmé's pulse thrummed in her ears. She dropped her hoodie onto a bench, feigning nonchalance as she unrolled a thick purple yoga mat near the mirrored wall. "Since Farr decided stairs were optional," she retorted, bending forward in a deep hamstring stretch that conveniently hid her face. Her fingers brushed her toes, the movement fluid, practiced. 

"Besides," she added, straightening slowly and shifting into a wide-legged stance, "Dr. Aphra says my pelvic floor needs work. Apparently, stress incontinence isn't just for grandmas." She injected dry humor into her tone, meeting Versé's eyes in the mirror with a wry half-smile. She had told her friends the doctor she’d been seeing for ‘polyuria’ was Aphra. A half truth that made it easier to cover up the rest of the lies.

Cordé giggled, turning back to her machine. "Okay, grandma! Don't strain anything!"

Alone on her mat, Padmé exhaled silently. She moved through the modified Pilates sequence Dr. Aphra had grudgingly approved: gentle pelvic tilts, cat-cow stretches flowing slow as honey, cautious leg lifts barely skimming the mat. Each motion was deliberate, controlled, designed to strengthen without strain. She focused on the burn in her deep core muscles, the grounding pressure of her palms against the rubber. Inhale. Engage the transverse. Exhale. Release. She avoided any pose that might lift her tank top or make her rounding abdomen obvious beneath the forgiving drape of fabric. In the mirrored wall, she saw only a focused student prioritizing physiotherapy – not a broodmare hiding twins.

The sterile scent of Dr. Aphra’s office flooded her memory. The eclectic obstetrician tapped the laminated exercise list impatiently. "Swimming isn't just low-impact, Padme. It builds core strength like nothing else. Water supports the weight, allows full range of motion. A stronger core means better posture, less strain on your back... and," she added pointedly, "a flatter-looking abdomen for longer. You want discretion? Swimming buys you weeks, maybe months."* Padmé stared at the chlorine-blue recommendation, feeling trapped. "It’s a Catch-22," she’d argued, voice tight. "Stronger muscles might hide the pregnancy... but wearing a swimsuit guarantees someone sees it. Immediately." Dr. Aphra merely shrugged, unsympathetic. "Prioritize, Padme. Health or secrecy. Your choice."

Padmé’s gaze dropped to her abdomen as she eased into a gentle side stretch. Beneath the soft cotton of her tank top, the subtle curve was undeniable. She pressed a hand low against it, fingers splayed. You two, she thought fiercely, the words sharp and silent behind her teeth. Couldn’t you have coordinated? One at a time? Spread it out? A flush of irrational irritation warmed her cheeks. Twelve weeks. Twins. Already forcing impossible choices – Palpatine’s mentorship hanging by a thread, her friends’ suspicion simmering, her own body becoming a landscape she barely recognized. The sheer, unfair speed of it felt like betrayal. She smoothed the fabric down, a futile attempt to flatten what refused to be hidden.

````````````````````

Friday evening’s rain slicked the Boston streets, turning the city lights into watery streaks against the tinted windows of Anakin’s penthouse elevator. Padmé shivered slightly in the climate-controlled silence, adjusting the collar of her trench coat. Beneath it, she wore the simple silk slip Anakin preferred – utilitarian for his purposes, yet feeling increasingly alien on her changing frame. The elevator chimed softly, opening directly into the penthouse foyer. The usual quiet opulence greeted her: polished marble floors reflecting low ambient lighting, the distant hum of the city far below. Tonight, however, the stillness was fractured.

A sharp, clipped British accent sliced through the air from the direction of the living room. "…reckless, Anakin! Utterly reckless! You cannot afford such attachments, especially not within Skytech!"

Padmé froze mid-step, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. Another voice? Anakin’s sessions were always private, a sanctum shielded by NDAs thicker than the penthouse windows. Her pulse kicked against her ribs. Feeling horribly exposed in the open foyer, she spotted a discreet door slightly ajar just off the hallway – a small guest powder room. She slipped inside silently, pressing her back against the cool wood paneling, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear.

The British voice was sharp with disapproval. "...a liability, Anakin! Skytech thrives on your singularity, your focus. This... entanglement compromises everything. The board whispers."

Padmé held her breath, pressing closer to the crack in the door. The scent of expensive cologne drifted faintly down the hall. "Attachments?" Anakin's voice was low, dangerous, a stark contrast to the clipped British tones. "Don't lecture me about attachments, Obi-Wan. Skytech is my attachment. My creation. My lifeblood. Every decision I make is for its growth, its dominance."

Padmé’s breath caught. Obi-Wan. The name resonated vaguely – she’d seen it buried deep in Skytech’s corporate directory under ‘Strategic Advisors’. Anakin’s mentor? Investor? The British man’s disapproval crackled through the penthouse air.

"Growth? Dominance?" Obi-Wan’s retort was icy. "This isn't about Skytech's quarterly reports, Anakin. This is about her. This . . . obsession you have with her is making you lose your head. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you act whenever that . . . harlot is involved.”

Padmé flinched against the bathroom door, the word harlot striking like a physical blow. Her hand instinctively flew to her abdomen. Obsession? Harlot? Was he talking about her? She pressed her ear closer to the crack, straining to hear Anakin’s response over the frantic pounding of her own heart.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and glacial. "You mistake possession for obsession. She’s an asset. A necessary component." A pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. "But she is volatile. Unpredictable. Leaving her unsupervised… that’s the true recklessness."

Padmé’s knuckles whitened against the doorframe. Volatile? Unpredictable? The words stung, sharp and cold. Was that all she was to him? A ticking bomb? Her hand pressed harder against the swell beneath her silk slip.

Obi-Wan sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant concession. "Very well, Anakin. Your... asset requires containment. But this distraction cannot bleed into Skytech’s operations." His tone remained clipped, disapproving. "Handle it. Discreetly. We’ll reconvene after you’ve stabilized the Singapore acquisition." Footsteps echoed sharply on marble, retreating toward the penthouse entrance. "Don’t make me intervene directly."

Padmé pressed deeper into the powder room’s shadows, heart hammering against her ribs. Containment? Stabilize? The clinical terms felt colder than the marble beneath her feet. She heard the soft sigh of the elevator doors opening and closing, swallowing Obi-Wan’s departure. Silence descended, thick and charged. Her mind raced, dissecting Anakin’s words. Asset. Necessary component. Not a person—a tool. A vessel. She’d known this intellectually, signed the contract acknowledging it. But hearing it spat out like corporate jargon, laced with Obi-Wan’s disgusted harlot, carved the reality deeper. Was she just a deliverable? A Product of Skytech’s enigmatic CEO’s ‘possession’? Her stomach churned. She’d thought Anakin’s intensity, those focused blue eyes tracking her every curve, was hers. Desire, maybe obsession. Now it felt like quality control. Ensuring the brood mare met specifications.

Volatile. Unpredictable. Obi-Wan’s warning echoed: Handle it. Discreetly. Containment. Did that mean surveillance? Restrictions? Would Anakin lock her away in some gilded cage far from Harvard, far from Palpatine’s mentorship? Panic flared. Her future—the law degree, the career she’d clawed towards—balanced on a knife-edge. One slip, one exposed pregnancy, and Obi-Wan’s icy efficiency would erase her. She was disposable. Anakin’s creation, yes, but ultimately expendable if she threatened Skytech. Padmé pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the bathroom door, forcing herself to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Calm down, she commanded silently. Think. She hadn’t heard her name spoken. Obi-Wan called her a ‘harlot,’ Anakin called her an ‘asset.’ It was vague. Horribly plausible it was her, but not absolute proof. Maybe Anakin had other… arrangements? Other ‘assets’? The thought twisted her stomach, but it offered a sliver of doubt. A lifeline. She clung to it

Even if it is me, she reasoned fiercely, does it change anything? The contract remained. The money still cleared her account every month, obliterating her student loans chunk by chunk. Anakin still paid for the appointments with Dr. Aphra, the discreet prenatal vitamins. He treated her body with a focused, near clinical reverence during their sessions – demanding, yes, but never cruel. In some ways he was almost caring. Relatively speaking, she was treated well. Paid extraordinarily well for a service rendered. That was the transaction. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. Focus on the goal. The twins. The debt. The degree. The absurdity hit her then, sharp and sudden. Standing hidden in a billionaire’s powder room, eavesdropping on corporate intrigue, while carrying his twins… and hoping it wasn’t her they were discussing? It was laughable. Pathetic. She’d let the hormones, the proximity, the sheer strangeness of the situation conjure phantoms. Caring? Anakin Skywalker didn’t care. He curated. He possessed. He ensured optimal conditions for his investment. The fleeting moments she’d mistaken for tenderness – the way he’d once adjusted the thermostat without her asking when she shivered, the time he’d relieved her stomach cramps in the back of his truck. They were quality assurance. Ensuring the brood mare remained healthy and compliant. Efficient. Anything else was pure, self-indulgent delusion. Her cheeks burned with the humiliation of her own momentary weakness.

She smoothed the silk slip over her hips, the fabric whispering against skin stretched tauter than it had been just weeks ago. Asset. Necessary component. The words were clarifying, stripping away the dangerous fog of misinterpretation. This was a transaction, meticulously defined in a contract thicker than her Constitutional Law textbook. His interest began and ended with her uterus’s viability. Anything else – the intensity of his gaze, the possessive grip on her hip – was simply his fetish playing out. Ownership manifest. She was the vessel; the twins were the product. Skytech’s most secret R&D project.

Padmé pushed open the powder room door, the soft click echoing slightly in the marble foyer. She walked towards the living room archway, her steps deliberately audible on the polished stone. Anakin stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain-streaked cityscape a glittering backdrop to his rigid posture. He didn’t turn immediately, his gaze fixed on the distant lights as if still parsing Obi-Wan’s icy departure."Anakin?" Padmé kept her voice neutral, carefully modulated to convey arrival, not intrusion. She shrugged off her damp trench coat, draping it over the back of a sleek leather armchair. Beneath it, the silk slip felt suddenly flimsy, vulnerable. 

He turned slowly. The city lights haloed his silhouette, casting his face in shadow, but she felt the intensity of his gaze rake over her—lingering a fraction too long on the subtle swell beneath the silk. "You’re late," he stated, his tone flat, devoid of its usual low hum of anticipation. The remnants of Obi-Wan’s icy disapproval seemed to cling to him like static. Padmé forced her posture straight, ignoring the flutter beneath her ribs. "The Charles was gridlocked. Took twenty minutes just to cross the bridge." She kept her explanation brisk, professional. Asset. Necessary component.

Anakin remained still for another heartbeat, the tension radiating off him like heat shimmer. Then, abruptly, he shook his head, a sharp, dismissive motion as if physically shedding Obi-Wan’s lingering chill. When he turned fully, the familiar, predatory confidence had snapped back into place, smoothing the harsh lines from his face. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, transforming him instantly from brooding CEO back to the man who owned every room he entered. "Late?" His voice dropped, rich with playful accusation as he closed the distance between them. "Padmé Amidala, turning up tardy? That’s practically treason against your own reputation." His hand lifted, fingertips brushing the damp shoulder strap of her slip. "Did Harvard’s most promising future litigator finally discover the allure of hitting snooze?"

Padmé forced a light laugh, the sound brittle in her own ears. "Just Boston drivers rediscovering puddles," she deflected, stepping slightly back under the guise of smoothing her slip. His proximity felt suddenly charged, suffocating after overhearing that cold dissection of her existence. His thumb traced the dip of her collarbone, a possessive gesture that now felt like calibration. Asset. Necessary component.

"Come," Anakin murmured, his voice dropping to that intimate register reserved solely for these sessions. His hand slid possessively to the small of her back, guiding her firmly away from the echoing foyer and its lingering ghosts of Obi-Wan’s disapproval. "The bedroom." His touch was warm, commanding, brooking no dissent. Padmé moved with him, her bare feet silent on the cool marble, acutely aware of the subtle pressure of his palm against her spine – a proprietary claim. She focused on the rhythm of her breathing. In. Out. Obi-Wan’s clipped voice, Anakin’s glacial asset, threatened to flood her thoughts. She shoved them down violently, locking them away. This room, this ritual – it was separate. A transaction. Her sanctuary from student loans, from Sabe’s worried eyes, from Palpatine’s piercing scrutiny. Here, she was purpose-built. Efficient. Necessary. She fixed her gaze on the sleek lines of the hallway ahead, the recessed lighting casting soft pools on the floor.

Anakin’s hold on her waist tightened imperceptibly as they entered the bedroom. The air here was warmer, thick with the faint, expensive scent of sandalwood and ozone. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the storm-lashed cityscape, rain blurring the towers into streaks of light. He guided her wordlessly toward the vast platform bed, its black silk coverlet smooth and cool beneath her tentative touch. "Kneel," he commanded, his voice low, stripped of its earlier playfulness. It was the tone reserved for these moments – focused, almost ritualistic. Padmé obeyed, the silk slip whispering against her skin as she climbed onto the bed and settled onto her knees near the center. The position emphasized the small but noticeable curve of her belly beneath the thin fabric. She kept her gaze lowered, focusing on the intricate weave of the silk beneath her palms. Her heart hammered, not with fear, but with the familiar, conflicted thrum of anticipation and detachment. Asset. Necessary component.

Anakin stood before her, his shadow falling over her. His fingers found the thin straps of her slip. With deliberate slowness, he slid them down her shoulders. The cool air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps. Then, without ceremony, he grasped the hem and pulled the slip smoothly up and over her head, discarding it onto the floor beside the bed. Padmé sat utterly bare before him, exposed beneath the city lights bleeding through the rain-streaked windows. She kept her breathing even, her posture deliberately relaxed. This was the inspection. Part of the transaction. His gaze traveled over her, intense and assessing. It lingered on her abdomen, the gentle swell undeniable now without fabric to obscure it. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then his focus shifted upward. 

"Your breasts," he murmured, his voice thick with undisguised approval. "Fuller." His hand lifted, calloused fingertips tracing the underside of her left breast, a feather-light touch that nonetheless sent a jolt through her. He cupped it fully, his palm warm and heavy. His thumb brushed roughly across her nipple, coaxing it instantly to a stiff peak. Padmé sucked in a breath, forcing herself not to arch into the touch. He squeezed, testing the weight and resilience. "Good," he breathed, almost to himself. His other hand mirrored the action on her right breast, kneading firmly. "Very good. The hormones are doing their work."

Padmé bit her lip, suppressing a whimper. The sensitivity was overwhelming, sharper than before, a raw ache blooming beneath his possessive handling. Each deliberate squeeze, each abrasive pass of his thumb over her nipple, sent sparks radiating down her spine and pooling low in her belly. She tried to hold herself rigid, detached, but her body betrayed her. A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through her shoulders. Her breathing hitched, becoming shallow and audible in the quiet room. She felt her nipples hardening further under his relentless attention, tightening into painful points of sensation against his palms. The fertility cocktail coursing through her veins – meticulously calibrated hormones designed to optimize conception and sustain her pregnancy – began its insidious work. A familiar, thick haze started to seep into the edges of her mind, blurring the sharp sting of Obi-Wan’s words and the cold reality of being an ‘asset.’ It was a chemical surrender, a softening of resistance. Her thoughts grew sluggish, fragmented. The polished marble, the city lights, Anakin’s intense scrutiny… they all blurred into a warm, demanding sensation centered on his hands manipulating her flesh. Purpose, the haze whispered. This is your purpose. 

Her hips shifted subtly, seeking friction against the cool silk beneath her knees. The raw ache in her breasts morphed into a deep, throbbing need that echoed lower. Anakin’s sharp inhale cut through the humid air. His thumbs pressed harder against her stiffened nipples, rolling them deliberately. A low, predatory chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with dark satisfaction. His gaze wasn't on her breasts anymore; it was locked onto her face, watching the flush spread across her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips, the unfocused dilation of her pupils. "Already?" His chuckle deepened, vibrating through the hands still kneading her. "I've barely touched you, Padmé. Barely begun." He leaned in slightly, his breath hot against her temple. "The hormones… they ignite you so fast now. Like kindling." 

He released one breast abruptly, his fingers tracing a hot path down her sternum, over the taut swell of her belly, and stopping just above the dark curls between her thighs. He didn't touch her there, not yet. His fingertip merely hovered, a silent promise. "Is it heating up down here too?" he breathed heatedly. "Flushing for me?" 

Padmé couldn't suppress the shudder that racked her frame. The chemical haze thickened, a velvet fog that muffled reason and amplified sensation. Her hips tilted forward instinctively, seeking the pressure his finger withheld. A small, desperate sound escaped her – a whimper trapped between humiliation and craving. She felt exposed, raw, her body reacting with humiliating speed to his assessment. Asset. The word echoed faintly, drowned out by the roaring need pooling low in her belly. Her thighs trembled, pressing together instinctively, yet yearning to part. She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper, fighting to keep silent, to maintain some shred of control.

Anakin watched her struggle, a dark fascination gleaming in his eyes. His hovering finger traced a slow, deliberate circle just above her clit, never quite making contact. The nearness was torture. "Don't fight it," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to resonate in her bones. His free hand returned to her breast, pinching her nipple sharply, making her gasp. "That's my good girl. Let it happen. The hormones know what you need." His thumb brushed the sensitive skin just below her navel, a feather-light touch that sent electric jolts through her. "Give in. Show me how ready you are."

His fingertip finally descended, pressing firmly against her clit through the slick heat. Padmé cried out, her hips jerking violently upward against his hand. The contact was immediate, overwhelming – a direct line to the molten core of her need. Anakin chuckled, a low, satisfied sound as he began to stroke her in smooth, unrelenting circles. "There it is," he breathed, his eyes locked on her face, drinking in every flinch, every tremor. "Look at you. Soaking for me already." His fingers moved with practiced precision, the pressure perfect – firm, insistent, utterly inescapable. He watched her body arch, her thighs tremble, her breath come in ragged gasps as he worked her clit with ruthless efficiency. "That's it. Let go. Stop thinking." His other hand slid down to grip her hip, holding her steady against the relentless rhythm of his fingers. "Just feel."

The chemical tide surged, obliterating thought. Obi-Wan’s icy words, the sting of being called an asset, the looming threat of containment – they dissolved like sugar in boiling water. Padmé’s world contracted to the searing point of friction between her legs, the possessive grip on her hip, the dark satisfaction in Anakin’s eyes. Her mind went white. Rationality drowned. Every nerve screamed for one thing: More. More of his touch, more of his possession, more of the thick, heavy heat she craved deep inside. Her hips bucked wildly against his relentless fingers, chasing the cresting wave. A raw, guttural sob tore from her throat – not pain, but desperate, aching need. The hormones weren't just igniting her; they were rewriting her. Her back arched violently, breasts thrust forward, nipples painfully tight peaks begging for his mouth, his teeth. "Please," she gasped, the word ragged, stripped bare. Her hands, trembling, clawed uselessly at the silk beneath her. "Anakin... please."

He watched her unravel, a predator savoring the frantic thrashing of captured prey. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face, sharp and utterly pleased. "Good," he murmured, his voice thick with dark approval. "So responsive. Perfect." His fingers never ceased their relentless circling, driving her higher, forcing choked whimpers past her lips. With deliberate slowness, his other hand released her hip and moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it with precision before tosing it aside. He then moved to the buckle of his own belt, his gaze pinned hers as he shoved his tailored trousers down his hips, kicking them aside. His erection sprang free, thick and already flushed, pulsing against the taut plane of his abdomen.

Padmé’s eyes fixated on him. The sheer size, the veined hardness—it sent a fresh wave of liquid heat flooding her core, like it always did. She whimpered, her hips lifting off the silk coverlet, instinctively seeking him, needing him buried deep within the aching emptiness. Anakin moved behind her, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her firmly back against him. The swollen head of his cock slid through her slick folds, finding her clit instantly. Padmé gasped, her entire body jolting at the contact—hot, blunt, and perfect. He rubbed himself against her, back and forth in slow, deliberate strokes, coating himself in her wetness while the ridge of his crown dragged over her swollen nub with each pass.

"Ah!" The cry tore from her throat as her head fell forward, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Every nerve ending screamed, the friction igniting sparks behind her eyelids. She pushed her hips back, grinding against him shamelessly, chasing the exquisite pressure. The hormones amplified every sensation, turning the teasing glide into torturous ecstasy. His low groan vibrated against her spine, his grip tightening on her hips as he matched her rhythm, grinding harder, faster. The familiar coil began tightening low in her belly, a molten wire winding tighter with each deliberate thrust of his hips against her. Pleasure radiated outward in electric waves, making her thighs tremble violently.Her breath hitched into shallow gasps. "Anakin... please..." The plea was raw, stripped of pride or pretense, pure animal need. She needed him inside. Needed the brutal claiming that would shatter the unbearable tension coiling tighter, tighter inside her core.

Anakin growled low in his throat, a feral sound that vibrated through her skin. His hands clamped onto her hips like steel vices, fingers digging into the yielding flesh. In one brutal, decisive motion, he yanked her back, pulling her flush against his pelvis. The sudden, intimate contact forced a choked cry from Padmé’s lips. His cock, slick and thick, ground hard against her clit, the swollen head catching perfectly against her hypersensitive bundle of nerves. His rhythm became punishing – sharp, rapid thrusts that rubbed his entire length along her soaking slit, the ridge of his crown dragging mercilessly over her clit with every pass. "There," he snarled against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Take it. Take what you're made for." 

His hips pistoned, driving the friction deeper, harder, faster. The relentless pressure, the sheer force of his claim against her most vulnerable point, shattered her last shreds of control. The coil inside her snapped violently. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and blinding, radiating outwards from her core in seismic waves. Her back arched impossibly, a silent scream tearing through her as her body convulsed against him. Muscles clenched and released in frantic, involuntary spasms, her inner walls fluttering wildly around nothing but slick heat and the brutal pressure of his cockhead grinding her into oblivion.

The aftershocks left her trembling, slumped forward onto her palms, gasping for air. The haze momentarily cleared, replaced by a hollow ache, a profound emptiness deep within her womb. It felt cavernous, yearning. She stared down at the faint swell of her belly beneath her. Not enough. Not filled. A desperate whine escaped her throat. Driven by pure, primal instinct, she shoved her hips back harder against him, grinding against his slick shaft. Her thighs trembled as she deliberately spread her legs wider, knees sliding apart on the silk, offering herself. Anakin’s low chuckle vibrated against her spine, darkly amused. His hips pulled back sharply, denying her entry. The sudden loss of contact, the withdrawal of that searing pressure against her clit, drew a sharp, keening cry from Padmé. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her firmly away. 

"Naughty," he murmured, his voice thick with condescension. He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. "You forget your place, Padmé. You’re my broodmare. Mine." The word landed like a brand. "I decide when. I decide how." His hand slid possessively over the swell of her belly, fingers splaying wide. The touch was unexpectedly gentle, almost reverent against her stretched skin. Warmth radiated from his palm, sinking deep. Padmé’s breath hitched – not just from the denial, but from the confusing comfort blooming beneath his hand.

"I know what you need," Anakin murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles just below her navel. "That ache? That emptiness?" His voice dropped lower, vibrating against her spine. "I’ll fill it. Completely. Until you’re screaming my name." His promise was rough, primal, yet undeniable. 

He pressed down firmly, the pressure grounding her amidst the hormonal storm. A strange solace spread through her. For a fleeting moment, the cold corporate label – asset – dissolved. Here, under his hand, she was simply vessel. Purposeful. Protected. He shifted behind her, his knees nudging hers wider apart. The blunt, swollen head of his cock pressed insistently against her slick entrance. Padmé held her breath, every muscle coiled. Then, with agonizing slowness, he eased forward. Inch by thick, deliberate inch, he filled her. A choked moan tore from Padmé’s throat – pure, shuddering relief. Her inner walls fluttered wildly, clenching down on him with an instinctive, desperate strength, welcoming the stretch, the burning fullness that chased away the aching void. He bottomed out, hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt. She felt impossibly stretched, impossibly occupied.

Anakin groaned, low and guttural, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades. For a heartbeat, he remained utterly still, savoring the clenching heat enveloping him. Then he withdrew, almost completely, leaving her trembling and hollowed. Before she could whimper, he slammed back in with brutal force. "Ah!" Padmé gasped, her spine arching violently. He set a relentless rhythm immediately – deep, piston-like thrusts that drove the air from her lungs. Each powerful surge dragged against her inner walls, igniting sparks along hypersensitive nerves. The friction was exquisite, unbearable. Her body moved with him instinctively, hips rocking back to meet every plunge, her breasts swaying heavily with the motion.

The hormones responded instantly, flooding her bloodstream like molten honey. The thick, syrupy haze descended even further, muffling thought, amplifying sensation. Every nerve ending screamed more. Her inner walls fluttered wildly around his invading thickness, clenching and releasing in frantic pulses designed to get him deeper. Pleasure radiated outward in scorching waves from her core, pooling low in her belly, making her thighs tremble uncontrollably. She felt stretched, impossibly full, yet craved deeper penetration. A raw, needy cry tore from her throat with each driving thrust. "Anakin!" His name was a plea, a prayer lost in the slick slap of flesh against flesh.

He growled in response, a feral sound vibrating against her sweat-slicked spine. His hands slid possessively up her sides, fingers splaying wide over her ribs before closing abruptly, brutally, over the swollen mounds of her breasts. His thumbs dug into the soft flesh, pinching her stiffened nipples hard. The sharp, exquisite pain sliced through the haze like lightning. Padmé gasped, her back arching violently, forcing her breasts deeper into his punishing grip. The sensation was electric – agony and ecstasy fused into one unbearable point. Her entire body seized, muscles locking rigid as a white-hot detonation ripped through her core. Another orgasm crashed over her, deeper and more violent than the first, tearing a ragged scream from her lungs. Her inner walls convulsed around him, in a pulsing, rhythmic vise.

Anakin roared, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate pistons. He slammed into her, burying himself impossibly deeper with each brutal plunge. Padmé felt it then—a distinct, powerful swell deep inside her. His cock thickened impossibly, hardening further, pulsing against her clenching walls. It was primal, undeniable. Her body recognized it instantly, instinctively. The hormonal haze surged, overriding conscious thought. Her inner muscles responded with frantic, eager spasms, clamping down hard around the burgeoning heat desperately, demanding the promised flood. A low, guttural sound escaped her, half-whimper, half-purr—pure animal instinct driving her body to claim its purpose. His hand flew from her breast, flattening possessively against the swell of her lower belly. The warmth of his palm seared through her skin. As he drove home one final, shuddering thrust, holding himself impossibly deep, Padmé felt it. A torrent. Scalding heat erupting inside her womb, thick and potent. It wasn't just sensation; it was volume. 

Underneath his pressing palm, she felt her own belly tighten subtly, distending ever so slightly beneath his fingertips—a reflexive accommodation to the sheer influx flooding her occupied womb. Anakin groaned, a raw, triumphant sound vibrating against her spine, his hips grinding hers as he pumped relentlessly, filling her beyond capacity. Her inner walls clamped down hard, locking him inside her with fierce, involuntary spasms. It was instinct deeper than thought—her womb responding to the flood, pulsing around the base of his cock like a greedy fist, milking him for every last drop. Each contraction drew another thick pulse from him, another scalding jet deep into her core. The sensation was overwhelming—a profound stretching fullness coupled with the deep, internal ache of her womb greedily accepting its purpose. A low, ragged moan tore from Padmé’s throat, her body trembling violently against his, suspended in the brutal intimacy of being utterly filled, utterly claimed. Her womb continued its rhythmic milking long after his own pulsing ceased, extracting every last vestige of seed, ensuring the flood settled deep.

Anakin remained buried within her, his hips pressed flush against hers, his hand still splayed possessively over her lower belly. He felt it beneath his palm, the subtle distension, and a low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest. "Perfect," he breathed against her sweat-dampened shoulder blade, his voice thick with triumph. "Taking it all. Every drop." His thumb stroked the stretched skin just below her navel, a gesture that felt disturbingly like approval. "My good girl." He shifted slightly, testing the grip her body still held. "Let go now," he commanded softly, his tone already shifting towards the next task. "Need to get you ready again." 

Padmé whimpered, her cheek pressed against the cool silk beneath her. Her entire body felt liquefied, trembling with aftershocks. The profound, stretching fullness inside her womb pulsed with each fading contraction. "I... can't," she gasped, the words barely audible. Her inner muscles clenched reflexively around him again, a deep, involuntary spasm locking him deeper still. The sensation was overwhelming – a primal, biological imperative her conscious mind couldn't override. "It... won't release." The admission burned with humiliation, laying bare the extent to which the hormones and her own treacherous body dictated her responses.

Anakin chuckled, a low rumble of pure satisfaction vibrating against her spine. His hips shifted minutely, testing her grip. Her womb pulsed tighter in response, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. "Ah!” he breathed, the word thick with dark pleasure. His hand slid possessively over her lower belly, fingers digging gently into the subtle distension beneath her skin. "So eager. Already locking me in." His thumb traced the stretched skin just below her navel. "Nature knows its purpose." There was undeniable pride in his tone. “Still . . . I am going to need that back.”

His hands slid firmly beneath her hips, fingers biting into the soft flesh. In one powerful, fluid motion, he lifted her entire lower body, twisting her onto her back beneath him. The sudden shift forced his cock impossibly deeper inside her stretched passage. Padmé cried out, her hands flying instinctively to grip his forearms as her spine arched off the silk coverlet. The movement stretched her neck tautly, exposing the long, vulnerable column of her throat. Anakin hovered above her, his dark eyes blazing with possessive hunger. His hips remained anchored deep within her, pinning her to the bed. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth descended. Not gentle. Not teasing. His lips sealed hotly over the frantic pulse point at the base of her throat. He licked—a broad, possessive stroke from collarbone to jaw—before his teeth scraped the dampened skin. Then he bit.

Padmé gasped, her fingers digging into his sweat-slicked shoulders. The sharp sting bloomed into heat, merging with the deep, throbbing ache where he filled her. His hips rolled, a slow, grinding motion that dragged his still-hard length against her sensitized inner walls. She felt the thick spill within her shift, pooling deeper under the pressure. A helpless moan escaped her lips. Anakin released her throat, leaving a throbbing mark. His gaze burned down at her, predatory and satisfied. He trailed his tongue down her sternum, slow and deliberate, tracing the valley between her breasts. The wet heat of his mouth made her shudder. He paused, breathing hotly over one swollen nipple, watching it tighten impossibly further. Then he struck. His mouth closed over it, sucking hard and deep. His tongue lashed the stiff peak relentlessly, a rough, rhythmic assault. Simultaneously, his teeth grazed the tender flesh beneath.

Padmé gasped, her head thrashing back against the silk. Fire lanced straight from her nipple to her core. Her hips bucked involuntarily beneath him, forcing his cock impossibly deeper. The deep ache inside her womb flared anew, a molten counterpoint to the sharp pleasure radiating from her breast. Her inner walls clenched around him, a reflexive spasm that drew a low groan from Anakin. He switched breasts, attacking the other nipple with the same ruthless intensity—sucking, licking, biting the sensitive underside. Each pull sent fresh waves of liquid heat flooding her core. The hormonal haze surged, thick and syrupy, drowning coherent thought. She felt her body preparing itself with terrifying efficiency. A familiar coil tightened low in her belly, deeper this time, anchored in the profound fullness Anakin had already given her. 

Pleasure built in heavy, undeniable pulses. Anakin felt the shift. He released her nipple with a wet pop, his gaze snapping up to hers. His eyes, dark and predatory, saw the surrender flickering behind her dazed pupils. "Now," he commanded, his voice rough gravel. His hips drew back slightly—a deliberate withdrawal—before slamming home with brutal force. Padmé cried out, her spine arching violently off the bed. He set a punishing rhythm—short, deep, piston-like thrusts focused entirely on grinding the swollen head of his cock against her deepest spot. The friction ignited sparks behind her eyelids. Each plunge forced the thick seed already inside her to shift and churn, a scalding reminder of her purpose. The coil snapped violently. Pleasure detonated, a blinding white explosion that tore through her entire body. Her inner walls convulsed wildly, clamping down on him in frantic, milking spasms. A raw, ragged scream tore from her throat as her hips lifted off the bed, suspended in pure, obliterating ecstasy.

In the shuddering aftershocks, Padmé felt her body soften, yielding. Anakin seized the moment. With a low groan of effort, he pulled back sharply. His thick cock slid free with a slick, obscene sound. Padmé gasped at the sudden emptiness, a hollow pang echoing deep in her womb. But her body reacted instantly. Even as the emptiness registered, she felt a distinct, powerful clench deep inside—her cervix snapping firmly shut, sealing the floodwaters within. A low, involuntary whine escaped her lips. She felt swollen, impossibly full, yet achingly empty where he’d been moments before. Her thighs trembled violently against the silk sheets, trying instinctively to press together, trapping the heat pooling inside her. A thin trickle escaped despite the seal, tracing a warm path down her inner thigh—a visceral reminder of the sheer volume he’d deposited.

Anakin watched her collapse forward onto her elbows, her entire frame trembling violently. Her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths, sweat plastering damp strands of hair to her flushed neck and temples. The muscles in her back quivered visibly beneath her skin. He traced the prominent curve of her spine with a possessive fingertip, the touch unexpectedly gentle against her overheated skin. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with exertion but lacking its usual sharp edge. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Trembling like a newborn fawn." His hand slid down to rest firmly on the small of her back, a heavy, grounding weight. "Exhausted."

Padmé whimpered, burying her face deeper into the silk sheets. The scent of sex and sweat filled her nostrils. Her limbs felt like waterlogged lead. Every muscle screamed protest, yet beneath the bone-deep fatigue, a hum of profound satisfaction resonated deep within her womb – swollen, heavy, impossibly full. Anakin’s hand remained firm on the small of her back, radiating warmth through her trembling skin. His fingertip traced a slow, possessive line up her spine. "You're pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, his voice low but unexpectedly devoid of its usual sharp command. It was an observation, laced with something almost like… concern? Padmé tensed, the unfamiliarity jarring her exhaustion-addled mind. "Those dark circles," he continued, his thumb brushing the delicate skin beneath her eye where she knew bruise-like shadows lingered. "They weren't there last week."

Padmé tried to form words, to dismiss his scrutiny, but her tongue felt thick and useless. Her thoughts swam in a syrupy haze, a potent cocktail of spent hormones and bone-deep fatigue. Instead, a weak, involuntary sound escaped her lips – half-protest, half-need. Her hips, acting purely on primal instinct, arched back weakly against his thigh where it pressed against hers. It was a ghost of her earlier desperation, a silent plea for the friction, the fullness, the oblivion only he could provide. Her body screamed more, even as her muscles trembled with depletion. Anakin’s low chuckle vibrated against her spine. "Insatiable," he murmured, the word thick with dark amusement and undeniable approval. But instead of answering her body’s silent demand, he shifted decisively. With surprising gentleness, he rolled her limp form towards him, turning her onto her side. His strong arms encircled her, pulling her back flush against the solid heat of his chest. One arm draped heavily over her waist, his palm settling possessively once more over the swell of her lower belly. His other arm slid beneath her neck, cradling her head. His knees tucked behind hers, effectively cocooning her trembling body within his own.

Padmé whimpered, a sound of pure frustration muffled against the pillow. Her hips instinctively pushed back, seeking friction against his thighs, but his hold was firm, immovable. The desperate ache between her legs pulsed in vain. "No," Anakin commanded softly, his lips brushing the damp hair at her temple. His voice held a rare note of finality that wasn't cruel. "You're spent." His thumb stroked the stretched skin beneath his palm, feeling the subtle distension beneath. "You need rest. The twins need rest." He pressed a kiss, startlingly tender, against her shoulder. "Sleep now, Padmé." The unexpected softness of his lips on her sweat-slicked skin cut through the hormonal haze like a shard of ice. Padmé froze. Her breath hitched. Tenderness? The word echoed in her exhausted mind, discordant and jarring against the brutal claiming moments before. Was she hallucinating? The fatigue, the hormonal storm… it had to be a trick. Anakin Skywalker didn't do tenderness. He possessed, commanded, filled. Assets weren't kissed like this. Yet, the warmth lingered on her shoulder, a phantom touch far more unsettling than his bite.

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer against the furnace of his chest. The steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat resonated through her back, a rhythmic counterpoint to the frantic pulse still hammering in her own throat. It was a primal sound, deep and anchoring. Against her will, the tension coiled in her muscles began to unravel. The desperate ache between her legs, the frantic need for more, receded, replaced by a profound heaviness seeping into her bones. Her eyelids fluttered, impossibly heavy. The possessive hand splayed low on her belly felt less like ownership and more like… protection. Comforting support. Holding the impossible fullness within her, holding her together as the tremors subsided.

The scent of him – sweat, sex, and something uniquely Anakin, sharp and electric – filled her nostrils, strangely soothing now. His breath warmed the nape of her neck, slow and even. She felt cocooned. Protected? The thought was alien, ludicrous after the raw claiming, the transactional coldness she’d overheard. Yet, the warmth radiating from him seeped into her chilled skin. His thumb traced a slow, absent circle on her stretched belly skin, a gesture devoid of command, almost… contemplative. She shifted lazily beneath the pressure, responding to the warmth and the deep vibration of his heartbeat before falling softly asleep.

``````````````

Sunlight, sharp and intrusive, sliced through the gap in the blackout curtains, painting a harsh stripe across the silk sheets. Padmé blinked, disoriented. Her limbs felt heavy, deliciously leaden. She stretched slowly, luxuriously, muscles protesting pleasantly. A deep sigh escaped her, carrying the remnants of bone-deep satisfaction. The profound ache between her legs was a dull throb now, a comforting reminder of the fullness within. She felt… rested. Deeply, impossibly rested. And warm. Solid heat pressed against her back, an arm draped possessively over her waist, a large hand resting on the pronounced swell of her belly. Anakin. Still here. Still holding her.

Her mind felt hazy, thoughts drifting like lazy fish in a sun-warmed pond. Harvard? Lectures? The frantic scramble to hide her pregnancy? It all felt distant, blurred, unimportant. The sharp anxiety that usually greeted her mornings was smothered under a heavy blanket of contentment. She nestled back against the furnace of his chest, his slow, even breaths stirring her hair. A soft, involuntary hum vibrated in her throat. This warmth, this solid anchor against her back, this profound sense of completion… it pushed everything else away.

Then, like a bucket of ice water, it hit her. Study session. Sabé. Cordé. Dormé. Verse. Commons. Today. Her eyes snapped open, fully alert now. Panic, sharp and jagged, sliced through the lingering haze. She twisted awkwardly in Anakin's embrace, her gaze darting frantically to the sleek digital clock glowing on the nightstand. 10:07 AM. The number pulsed like an accusation. Cordé’s text flashed in her mind: Commons, 10 sharp. Bring the Con Law notes.  Her stomach plummeted. She’d been asleep for hours? Deeply, completely asleep? Impossible. Yet the clock insisted. She’d overslept catastrophically.

Anakin’s arm tightened instinctively around her waist as she tried to lever herself up onto one elbow. “Mmh?” His voice was thick with sleep, rough gravel against her ear. His eyes remained stubbornly closed, his face pressed into the curve of her shoulder. His hand slid lower on her belly, possessive even in unconsciousness. Padmé gritted her teeth, pushing against the solid wall of his chest. She needed leverage. Now. “Let go,” she hissed. She twisted violently, managing to swing one leg over the side of the bed. Cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin, shocking her fully awake. Anakin groaned, his eyes finally slitting open. Dark, bleary, and utterly unconcerned.

His arm snaked out, fingers closing like a steel band around her wrist. "Where?” he mumbled, voice thick and low. His thumb rubbed slow circles on her pulse point. Possessive. Annoyingly casual. Padme wrenched her arm free, scrambling to her feet. The sudden movement made the room tilt. She braced a hand against the cool wall, breathing hard. "School,” she snapped, grabbing her discarded silk robe from the floor. She shrugged into it, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her sweat-dampened skin. "Study session. I’m late.” 

Anakin pushed himself up onto one elbow, the silk sheet pooling around his waist. Sunlight carved sharp lines across his bare chest. He watched her frantic movements with hooded eyes, utterly unperturbed. "It’s Saturday," he stated flatly, his voice still rough with sleep but perfectly clear. She rolled her eyes hard, a sharp exhale escaping her lips. "I know that,” she retorted, her voice tight with lingering adrenaline and annoyance. She finished tying the sash with a sharp tug. “But I have a study session with my friends today. Right now. I’m already late." She gestured sharply towards the accusing clock. "Ten-fifteen!” 

Anakin pushed himself fully upright, the sheet falling away completely. His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Padmé—“ he began, his voice shifting from sleepy rumble to low command.

She didn't wait to hear the rest. The frantic pressure in her chest was too urgent. Whirling away from his protest, she snatched her discarded underwear and hastily pulled them on beneath the robe, ignoring the slick discomfort. Her bare feet slapped against the cool marble floor as she hurried towards the penthouse foyer and the elevator bank beyond. Each step felt jarringly heavy, the fullness within her shifting unnervingly. Focus, she commanded herself. Get to campus. Explain later. Just move. 

The elevator call button glowed under her frantic jab. As she waited, the world tilted violently. The sleek chrome doors swam before her eyes. Her vision tunneled, darkening at the edges like ink bleeding onto paper. The rich scent of Anakin's imported coffee beans from the nearby kitchenette suddenly smelled cloying, sickly sweet. Her knees buckled, folding like paper. The marble rushed up to meet her—cold, unforgiving, impossibly distant. There was no sound, only the terrifying sensation of falling endlessly before darkness swallowed her whole.

—————

Consciousness returned in disjointed fragments. A deep, rhythmic vibration pulsed against her cheekbone. Warmth radiated through thin fabric onto her face. The sharp scent of expensive detergent mixed with something uniquely male—salt, exertion, a faint metallic tang. Her eyelids felt glued shut, heavy as lead. She groaned weakly, the sound muffled against fabric stretched taut over solid muscle. Disorientation choked her. Where the elevator? Where was she? Her vision faded in and out.

“Easy.” Anakin's voice, low and unexpectedly close, vibrated through the bone beneath her ear. His hand rested heavily, possessively, on the crown of her head, fingers tangled in her disheveled hair. Not restraining, but anchoring.

Padmé blinked, her vision swimming into focus not the elevator, but on the intricate weave of a sofa cushion inches from her nose. The scent wasn't sterile elevator lobby; it was leather, Anakin's skin, and the faintly sweet metallic tang of her own sweat. Confusion came as her gaze tracked upward, past the strong line of Anakin's forearm supporting her shoulders, to the familiar, soaring windows of his penthouse living room. Sunlight streamed in, highlighting dust motes dancing above the low coffee table where a half-empty glass of water sat sweating condensation onto a coaster. 

"Easy,” Anakin murmured again, as if she hadn’t heard him the first time, his voice a low rumble directly above her. His other hand rested firmly on her belly, a steadying weight. “You fainted.” His thumb brushed a stray strand of hair stuck to her damp temple. The touch wasn't rough, wasn't demanding. It was... careful. Alarmingly so. His gaze, when she tilted her head back to meet it, held none of his usual predatory intensity. In it’s place was an expression she didn’t quite recognize, he looked almost . . . Concerned?

Padmé blinked, the fog clearing rapidly now, replaced by cold dread. Her friends. The Commons. The study session. "I'm fine,” she insisted, her voice urgent. She pushed against his chest, leveraging herself upright on the sofa. The room stayed mercifully still. "Just stood up too fast." She waved a dismissive hand, already swinging her legs off the cushion, planting her bare feet firmly on the plush rug. “I need to go. Now.” She ignored the lingering tremor in her limbs, the deep ache where his seed still sat heavy within her. Duty called. 

Anakin’s hand shot out, clamping onto her forearm. “Padmé, sit down.” His voice was low, edged with command, but that unfamiliar undercurrent of concern was still there, grating against her urgency. “You just passed out."

"I didn’t pass out," she insisted, shaking off his grip. The dizziness had subsided, replaced by the frantic drumbeat of her pulse. Sabé’s impatient texts were practically burning a hole in her phone. "I got lightheaded and I stumbled and fell. It happens.” She took a deliberate step toward the foyer, then another, focusing on the sleek elevator doors like a lifeline. Her legs felt steadier now. “See? Fine.” 

Anakin rose swiftly, blocking her path with the sheer breadth of his shoulders. "Padmé—“ His voice held a warning growl, but she sidestepped him, fueled by impatience and the lingering shame of his earlier corporate dismissal. Asset. Volatile. The words echoed, hardening her resolve. She wouldn’t be another liability he managed. 

“I'm fine,” she snapped, pushing past the sleek chrome barstool towards the elevator vestibule. Her bare feet slapped the cool marble. Three steps. Four. The dizziness was gone, replaced by the frantic drumbeat in her chest. Sabé would be pacing, Cordé tapping her pen impatiently. This study session was important, the last one before professor Organa’s quiz. She had to—A wave of dizziness washed over her, the soaring ceiling tilted violently, becoming a dizzying kaleidoscope of steel beams and skylights. Her knees buckled, folding with terrifying suddenness. The polished marble rushed up, cold and unforgiving—but never connected. Strong arms locked around her waist and shoulders, hauling her back against a solid wall of heat.

Anakin’s chest pressed against her spine, his breath hot and sharp against her ear. His grip was iron, preventing her collapse but also trapping her against him. She sagged, her head lolling back against his shoulder. The world spun—chrome elevator doors warping into funhouse mirrors, the abstract tabled sculpture near the entryway tilting precariously.

He didn’t speak. Not a command, not a critique. Just silence, thick and heavy as the humid Boston air trapped behind the penthouse glass. His arms shifted, one sliding beneath her knees, the other cradling her shoulders. He lifted her effortlessly, her silk robe falling open to reveal the taut swell of her belly, the damp flush on her skin. Padmé’s protest died as another wave of dizziness washed over her, leaving her limp.

The plush leather of the sofa sighed beneath her weight as he laid her down, his movements unnervingly precise. Sunlight caught the dust motes dancing above them, highlighting the stark lines of his jaw, clenched tight. He turned away, his bare back a landscape of coiled tension. Padmé watched, dazed, as he strode to the wet bar, snatched a crystal tumbler, and filled it from a chilled pitcher. The ice cubes clinked like tiny bells – a jarringly mundane sound. He returned, crouching before her. The glass pressed into her hand, cold condensation bleeding onto her palm. “Drink.” His voice scraped low, stripped bare of its usual command. It wasn't gentle, not exactly, but the raw edge beneath the word made her fingers tighten instinctively around the glass. His gaze, locked on hers, held no anger, no calculation. Just a fierce, unnerving intensity that felt… exposed. Vulnerable? The thought was absurd, yet it prickled her skin more than the chill of the tumbler. She obeyed, the cool water a shock against her dry throat.

Anakin remained utterly still on his haunches, watching her swallow. Every shift of her throat muscles seemed to fascinate him. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, the damp hair clinging to her temple, the faint tremor in her hand as she lowered the glass. The silence stretched, thick and humming, broken only by the faint clink of ice settling. He wasn't examining his asset. He was studying her. The vulnerability she’d glimpsed moments ago wasn't fading; it was deepening, etched into the rigid stillness of his posture, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. He looked like a man holding his breath, grappling with something unfamiliar and unsettling. The fierce possessiveness was still there, coiled beneath the surface, but momentarily eclipsed by this raw, silent intensity.

Then, like a breaker flipping, the tension dissolved. He blinked, the unnerving depth in his eyes vanishing, replaced by a familiar, sharper focus. He straightened abruptly, the coiled power returning to his frame. The implacable CEO returned. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture that managed to look both dismissive and strangely deliberate.

"Right,” Anakin stated, his voice regaining its characteristic low rumble, edged now with a familiar, almost arrogant certainty. He gestured sharply towards the half-empty tumbler still clutched in her hand. “Finish that. All of it.” The command was back, laced with the effortless swagger she knew all too well. "Clearly, your brilliant legal mind forgot the basic physics of carrying twins.” He arched a brow, a ghost of his usual smirk playing on his lips. "Standing up like a jack-in-the-box after that kind of exertion? And skipping breakfast? Textbook recipe for hitting the deck.”

Padme bristled, pushing herself more upright against the sofa cushions. Her head swam only slightly now. “I didn’t hit the deck,” she protested. The panic flared anew. “And I need to go. My friends are waiting. My Justice quiz—”

“Cancel it.” Anakin’s voice cut through hers, flat and final. He didn’t look at her as he spoke; he was already moving towards the sleek, minimalist kitchen alcove adjacent to the living room. His bare feet made no sound on the polished concrete floor. “One missed study session isn’t Armageddon, Padmé. Text them. Say you’re sick. Which,” he added, pulling open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator with a soft hiss, “isn’t entirely a lie.”

Padmé opened her mouth, frustration warring with the lingering lightheadedness. “Anakin, I can’t just—”

“You can.” He emerged from the fridge, arms laden. A carton of organic eggs, a bowl of plump blackberries glistening with condensation, thick slices of sourdough bread, a small tub of something creamy white. The sheer domesticity of it, juxtaposed against his bare torso and the raw intensity still simmering beneath his controlled movements, was jarring. “You’ll have other quizzes. Your friends will survive.” He began assembling items rapidly on a large bamboo tray: plates, cutlery, a small pitcher of orange juice. “You, however, collapsing in the Commons? That ends worlds.” 

He cracked eggs into a bowl with sharp, precise movements. The rhythmic whisking filled the sudden silence. She watched, trapped by his unnerving efficiency and her own treacherously weak body. The scent of butter melting in a skillet drifted over, rich and comforting. He sliced sourdough thickly, dropping it into a sleek chrome toaster. The snick echoed. He didn’t speak, focused entirely on the task. The focused intensity he usually reserved for Skytech schematics or her body was now channeled into scrambling eggs. It was bizarrely intimate. Padmé leaned back against the cool leather, the frantic drumbeat of panic fading slightly, replaced by a hollow ache. Hunger, she realized. Deep, gnawing hunger. 

Within minutes, he returned, the bamboo tray balanced effortlessly. He placed it across her lap with deliberate care. The plate held a generous mound of fluffy golden eggs flecked with herbs, two slices of toast dripping melted butter, a small mountain of glistening blackberries, and a dollop of thick Greek yogurt. The orange juice shimmered in its glass. It looked like a monument to basic sustenance, prepared with startling speed. “You, eat.” Anakin commanded, his tone brooking no argument. He remained standing beside the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, watching her. “All of it.”

 The possessiveness had shifted; it wasn't about her womb now, but her compliance. His gaze tracked her hands as she reluctantly picked up the fork. Padme stabbed a forkful of eggs. They were perfect—fluffy, rich with butter, flecked with chives. The scent was maddeningly delicious. Her stomach growled, betraying her. "I told you," she muttered, shoving the bite into her mouth, “I'm fine. And late.” The words were muffled, defiant even as she chewed. The toast was thick-cut sourdough, crisp outside, yielding within, soaked in melted butter that pooled golden on the plate. She tore off a piece savagely.

Anakin leaned against the chrome barstool nearby, arms crossed. He watched her eat with unnerving focus, his earlier intensity banked but still simmering beneath a veneer of cool control. "Fine?” he echoed, a dry chuckle escaping him. He rolled his eyes skyward, a gesture so exaggerated it bordered on theatrical. “Sure, Padmé. You're 'fine.' That's why you folded like origami twice before breakfast." His tone was light, almost teasing, but the underlying steel was unmistakable. “Text your friends. Tell them you have the flu. Or food poisoning. Blame the cafeteria sushi.” He waved a dismissive hand towards her phone lying forgotten on the coffee table.

Padme glared, stabbing a plump blackberry so hard juice bled onto the plate. “They'll worry,” she protested weakly, her mouth full of toast. The tangy sweetness burst on her tongue, momentarily distracting.

Anakin snorted, pushing off the barstool. He retrieved her Blackberry from the coffee table, tossing it onto the sofa cushion beside her hip. The screen lit up, displaying Sabé’s latest text: WHERE ARE YOU??? 

“Worry?” he countered, his voice dropping into a low, deliberate cadence. “If they’re truly your friends, Padmé, genuinely care about you…” He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air thick with the scent of butter and eggs. "...then they’d want you resting right now. Not dragging yourself across Cambridge and fainting halfway there because you’re terrified of disappointing them." His gaze was piercing, stripping away her excuses. “Real friends wouldn’t demand martyrdom over a quiz."

Padme stared at the glowing screen, Sabé’s frantic words blurring. The truth in his words landed like a physical blow. She sighed, the sound ragged and defeated. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the screen. The lie tasted bitter before she even typed it. Food poisoning. Cafeteria sushi. So sorry. (It was for fortunate she’d actually had sushi the other day). Each tap felt like a betrayal—not just to her friends, but to the driven student she’d been before the twins, before Anakin’s contract. She added Feel awful, will catch up later, then hit send before she could rethink. The immediate ding of Sabé’s sympathetic reply— OMG NO! Rest!!! We’ll send notes <3 —only deepened the guilt coiling in her gut. 

Padmé shoved the phone away as if it burned. She picked up her fork again, attacking the remaining eggs with mechanical precision. She didn’t taste the herbs or the butter now. Each bite was swallowed quickly, efficiently, fueled by resentment rather than hunger. The toast followed, torn into jagged pieces and consumed without pause. The blackberries were gulped down, their tartness sharp against her dry throat. She drained the orange juice in one long pull, the acidity biting. The yogurt vanished next, scraped clean from its tub with clinical thoroughness. Every movement was stiff, deliberate, radiating icy silence.

She placed the fork precisely on the empty plate. Without a word, without meeting his gaze, she pushed the bamboo tray aside. It slid across the polished teak coffee table with a soft scrape. Then, she curled onto her side facing the back cushions of the deep leather sofa. Her silk robe tightened around her swollen belly. She drew her knees up slightly, a shield, her back a rigid curve. Her voice, when it finally came, was flat, devoid of inflection, muffled slightly by the leather cushion pressed against her cheek. “Happy?”

Silence stretched, thick and charged. Padmé didn't turn. She stared at the intricate stitching of the sofa seam inches from her eyes. She heard the sharp intake of breath behind her. Then, a low, frustrated sigh escaped him – not the commanding growl she expected, but a sound almost… weary. It scraped against her nerves. “Fine,” Anakin stated, his voice clipped, regaining its edge. Footsteps retreated across the concrete floor. “Rest. For now.” He paused near the kitchen alcove. “If you’re not dizzy again in a couple of hours… you can leave.” The concession was grudging, delivered with the tone of a CEO reluctantly approving a suboptimal budget line. The footsteps resumed, fading towards the hallway leading to his office suite. A door clicked shut with finality.

Padme remained rigidly curled on the sofa, the leather cool against her flushed cheek. The silence expanded, thick with the phantom scent of scrambled eggs and his lingering detergent. The guilt over her friends warred with a deeper, unsettling confusion about Anakin’s shifting demeanor – the possessiveness, the sudden tenderness, the unnerving vulnerability beneath the command. She couldn’t face him yet. Couldn't face the questions crowding her mind. Asset. Volatile. The words echoed, but so did the rough scrape of his sigh.

Blindly, she fumbled for her discarded wristwatch on the coffee table. Its familiar weight, a relic from her pre-Anakin life, felt grounding. The clasp clicked softly. She twisted her wrist awkwardly, setting the small digital alarm for ninety minutes. Ninety minutes, she bargained silently. Then I walk out. Prove I'm fine. She pressed the tiny button, the faint beep swallowed by the penthouse stillness. Curled  against the cool leather, Padmé squeezed her eyes shut. Sleep was a distant country, impossible to reach. Instead, her mind drifted faintly. 

Images flickered: Sabé’s worried frown, Cordé’s tapping pen, the harsh fluorescent lights of the study carrel. Then, Anakin’s face, morphing rapidly – predatory smirk, chilling dismissal “assest”, unexpected tenderness, the raw vulnerability in his eyes before the mask slammed down. Each shift jarred her awake with a gasp, heart pounding against her ribs. She’d drift again, only to jerk awake sometime later, disoriented, convinced she’d heard footsteps approaching the sofa. The alarm felt impossibly far away.

When the sharp electronic beep-beep-beep finally pierced the silence, it was almost a relief. Padmé blinked, groggy, the penthouse coming into focus. Sunlight streamed across the polished concrete floor. She sat up slowly, deliberately. No dizziness. Good. She swung her legs off the sofa, bare feet touching the cool marble. Standing felt steady. Better. She smoothed her silk robe, its fabric clinging slightly. Ninety minutes. Time to leave. She retrieved her watch, silencing the alarm, its familiar weight anchoring her resolve.

She didn’t look towards Anakin’s office door. Didn’t call out. Instead, she padded silently across the vast living space towards the guest suite she rarely used. Inside, she found a set of her clothes folded neatly on a chair – dark leggings, a loose Harvard hoodie. Practical camouflage. (Fortunately she’d had the foresight to start bringing actual clothes to the penthouse for the morning after). She dressed quickly, efficiently, the soft cotton swallowing her swollen shape. Grabbing her purse, she slipped out the suite door, moving like a ghost through the penthouse.

The elevator ride down felt interminable. She leaned against the mirrored wall, avoiding her reflection. When the doors slid open onto the sleek lobby, she walked out briskly, head down. As she pushed through the heavy glass doors the scent of exhaust and hot pavement replaced Anakin’s lingering detergent and scrambled eggs. Relief, sharp and sudden, washed over her. She quickly headed to her car parked on other side of the street, gratefully sliding into the driver’s seat. She couldn’t wait to get away from the penthouse.

——————

Padmé closed the door to her dorm softly behind her, leaning against it, eyes closed. Just for a moment. Just to breathe air that wasn’t filtered through Anakin’s penthouse.

"Padmé?" Sabé’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp with worry. Padmé’s eyes snapped open. Sabé sat cross-legged on her own bed, textbooks abandoned, her dark eyes narrowed. She wore yesterday’s Harvard Debate Team t-shirt, her hair piled messily atop her head. "You look terrible," Sabé stated flatly, gesturing at Padmé’s hoodie-clad form. "And you weren't here. Resting. Like your text claimed." Her gaze lifted pointedly to meet Padmé’s eyes. "Where were you?! When I came back and you weren’t here, I almost called campus security!”

Padmé’s mind raced. The penthouse. The collapse. Anakin’s unnerving tenderness. She forced her voice to be steady, leaning casually against her desk. "Calm down, Sabé. Seriously. I told you—food poisoning." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "I felt awful, I needed something stronger than water. So I went down to the pharmacy near the Square." The lie slid out smoother than she expected, bolstered by the lingering tremor in her hands. "Grabbed some anti-nausea stuff. Ginger chews. Figured walking might help settle things." She shrugged, pulling her hoodie tighter. "Fresh air did wonders. I feel much better now." 

Sabé’s sharp gaze softened. She unfolded her legs, hopping off the bed. "Oh, Padmé," she sighed, crossing the small room in two strides. Her arms wrapped around Padmé’s shoulders in a brief, fierce hug. "You scared me half to death. Texting about sushi poisoning, then vanishing? Next time, tell me you're staggering to CVS." She pulled back, holding Padmé at arm's length, her dark eyes searching Padmé’s face. "You still look pale. Sit." She nudged Padmé toward her own desk chair. "Hydrate. Avoid dairy and rest."

"I promise," Padmé murmured, sinking into the chair, grabbing the half-empty water bottle from her desk before taking a long sip. Sabé perched on the edge of Padmé’s bed, her earlier suspicion dissolving into gentle teasing. "Honestly, Padmé, collapsing over bad sushi? Dramatic, even for you." She nudged Padmé’s knee with her bare foot. 

Padme did her best to give her friend a reassuring smile. “Can’t argue with you there. How was the study session?” Her face morphed into fond exasperation. “Please tell me you actually took notes instead of updating your ‘who’s the hottest on campus’ list?”

Sabé grinned, pulling a battered legal pad from her own backpack. "Here. My notes, Corde’s hieroglyphics too, Good luck deciphering her panic shorthand – she circled 'tortious interference' about ten times."

Padmé took the pad with genuine gratitude, her fingers brushing Sabé’s. "Thank you," she breathed, the words thick with unexpected emotion. She flipped pages, scanning Cordé’s frantic annotations on fiduciary duties. Focus, she commanded herself. Law school. Your future. But the neat lines of Sabé’s summary blurred. Instead of torts, she saw Anakin crouched before her, the cold glass pressed into her hand. Not the CEO barking orders, but a man stripped bare, his gaze holding a terrifying rawness she couldn’t reconcile with the chilling word he’d used – asset. The vulnerability in his stillness had been palpable, a fracture in his usual titanium control. It warred violently in her mind with the overheard conversation: "...volatile asset... requires careful management..." His voice, cold and analytical, discussing her like a problematic stock option with Obi-Wan Kenobi, his stoic CFO. Which Anakin was real? The predator who’d claimed her body with ruthless intensity, or the man with glancing at her with worried eyes as he’d whisked eggs after she’d collapsed? The dissonance scraped her nerves raw. She traced a frantic annotation Cordé had made about ‘mitigation of damages,’ her pen hovering uselessly. The stark contrast was impossible to ignore. Here, in her cramped dorm smelling of ambition and lavender, Sabé’s genuine care was a warm anchor. Anakin’s penthouse offered luxury, but laced with possession and unsettling contradictions. His sudden tenderness felt like a trap, a manipulation designed to keep her compliant. Yet, the memory of that stripped-bare vulnerability lingered, unsettlingly genuine. It didn’t fit the narrative of the detached exploiter. Was there something beneath the control? Or was she just desperate to see humanity in a transaction built on her womb?

Padmé slammed the legal pad down harder than intended. The sharp thwack made Sabé jump. "Whoa, easy! The trick questions got you that rattled?" Sabé chuckled, grabbing her own water bottle.

Padmé forced a tight smile, fingers smoothing the crumpled page. "Just… frustrated. With myself." She traced Cordé’s frantic circle around tortious interference. Anakin’s voice – asset – slithered through her mind like cold smoke. She shoved it aside violently. Stop. It didn’t matter what he called her. Not really. This internship, this… arrangement… it was a means to an end. A brutal, humiliating means, yes, but the end was crystal clear: zero student debt, a Harvard Law degree, a future where she wasn’t drowning before she even started. Her hand drifted unconsciously to rest on her belly, hidden beneath the baggy hoodie. The twins existence was the price. Anakin’s twisted desires? Irrelevant noise. His fleeting moments of confusing tenderness? Distractions. She was buying her freedom, one pregnancy at a time. That was the contract. That was all that mattered. She picked up her pen, digging the tip into the paper. Focus on fiduciary duties, Naberrie. Not him.