Anakin loved Padmé, that fact was undeniable. He wouldn't have dreamt about her for years after their first meeting if he didn't. He even risked being expelled from the Jedi Order to marry her. Despite this, Anakin found himself fucking Padmé's closest friend and handmaiden for the last month.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he growled, grabbing a handful of hair, pulling your head back to bite down into the flesh of your neck. What he was doing was wrong—not only was he secretly married, but as a Jedi, he shouldn't be forming attachments, not more attachments anyway. Especially not with you.

Anakin lifted you, tossing you onto Padmé's bed. He climbed on top of you, kissing with a hunger he knew he shouldn't feel. Every kiss with you felt like fire, consuming his consciousness with every peck. With unsteady hands, Anakin shrugged off the outer layers of his robe, his fingers sliding up the hem of your handmaid gown, bunching up the soft orange fabric at your hips.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered into your ear, his hands glided up your thighs, teasingly playing with the elastic of your underwear. "I want to fuck you on every surface of this apartment."