Her Mission: Accomplished

His hands had strength to them. It came from years of labor, and their rough edges on her soft skin made her shiver. That touch was electric as he grasped her hip, occasionally dipped into her thigh, and then wound up the gentle curves of her stomach to cup her breast. His thumb was rough in a welcome way on her nipple, and even more welcome when his hand raised to her face and she took the digit into her mouth to suckle.

Relena relished the warmth inside her as she rocked her hips in rhythm with his. And his length, growing ever harder with each thrust, brought her closer and closer to a heavenly release.

Oh, she loved this. She lived for this. She wished she'd had the guts to do this sooner.

Sometimes she imagined what it would be like to make love to him in his prime. He'd been fit, a catch even though she knew from photos that he never had a body like Heero's. But once she realized Heero would never love her like he did, that body didn't matter. She wasn't initially seeking lust. What she wanted more than anything, what she searched for in all the wrong places for years, was to experience love. Without family, because Milliardo still didn't feel like he counted, she'd been desperate for any honest affection.

The boys and girls who followed her at school praised her, but they didn't love her. She didn't want their touches, didn't want their kisses while knowing they all had some kind of ulterior motive. They claimed to love her, but they wanted her power, riches, and status. She was a conquest for them to show off like a prize. But the man buried deep within her didn't need her riches, didn't want her status, and didn't care at all about her power.

And when she finally approached him, courageously putting on a front and slowly stroking him erect while she described how lonely she was, and how for years she'd known only one man could end her loneliness... He said no.

But he was a man, after all. And in the limited experience that brought her through her teen years and into her official adulthood, she expected men to have certain weaknesses. Though his rejection crushed her, she kept her cool. And she kept propositioning him and putting the idea into his head. She even went so far as to touch herself and moan his name when she knew he could overhear. It was while touching herself and imagining him inside of her that she understood her love fully crossed over into lust.

The months without progress didn't bother her, for she was a patient young woman. And then all of the sudden, at a diplomatic conference a little more than a year ago, he came to her hotel room late at night.

And he came to her in her bed.

She didn't initially seek lust with him. But delicious lust found her, anyway.

They never had sex. There was no fast release, no driving need or sensational hunger. She was never carried to bed, nor lifted into any obscene positions. He didn't want her that way. He called her too precious and too beautiful to defile. He would never fuck her. A lady, he told her, was worshiped.

They made love. It was always tender, always slow, and always fulfilling. His pants, her moans, his whisper of her name like a prayer and her return of his, needier but no less passionate. She loved to ride him, and feel him take hold of her when she picked up speed, guiding her back into his steady rhythm. She loved when he got on top of her, dragging her thighs to meet his as he settled into her. She loved the feel of his back when she held onto it and lost herself. Mostly she loved how precious she was to him as a woman. If she lost everything, he would still love her just as much. A dignified man like him didn't need her extras. He only needed her.

Relena took the hand that cupped her face, removed his thumb from her mouth, and guided the hand back to the gentle curve of her stomach.

"Five more months."

He smiled and pulled her into an unusually hungry kiss, the hand on her hip leaving to thread into her hair and hold the back of her head as he leaned upward and into her. She gasped into that kiss, his sudden motion driving him deeper into her, hitting an amazingly sweet spot.

They didn't anticipate her pregnancy, but there was no doubt in her mind she should bring his child to term. She wanted part of him forever with her. She wanted proof she was once deeply loved. And he was surprisingly amenable to the idea of raising another child, especially when the child would actually be his and actually look upon him as a father.

Their kiss ended only when they needed air. She gripped his shoulders and bucked against him a little harder, a little faster. He didn't tame her need when she reminded him of her pregnancy. In those times he rose to meet her, thrusting deeper, harder, his hands digging into her hips and pulling her to him until they couldn't be any closer.

Her neck arced back. Her eyes fluttered shut. She knew he was close. They both were. And he was the epitome of a considerate lover, always making sure she came first, releasing seconds after. To Relena, this was a challenge. And she succeeded several times in making him climax first. In recent weeks she won this game more frequently. There was no denying his kink for her pregnancy, and the more his handiwork showed on her body the less he was able to hold back.

With her eyes still shut and her whole body curved up to the heavens she repositioned herself, making sure that growing bulge in her stomach rubbed him with each thrust. The effect was nearly immediate, and he came hard, pouring his seed into her body as he whispered her name, Relena, like the holy prayer it was. The way a man ought to cry the name of his princess, his queen. The way her name should be said. She wanted to be a goddess. And she was, for him.

The feel of being filled by him brought her over the edge, and she gasped as he shot into her again and again with diminishing returns, then let out a long moan mixed with his name.

Pagan.