Rey hurled herself into the Falcon right before the door closed. She lay panting on the floor for a moment before forcing herself back up on her feet. Her limbs were heavy, and her entire body ached. None of her injuries were of the life-threatening kind, but she could already tell she was going to have the body language of a frail old lady for a couple weeks.

Chewie made a concerned noise from the cockpit.

"I'm okay," she shouted. "Let's get out of here before the First Order figures out what happened."

When the engines started humming, she was already staggering toward her cabin. Her blood still boiled with fury. If it hadn't been for her, thousands of civilians would have died today. Because of a rumor of a rebel base, the First Order had blown up an entire underground city, trapping its citizens hundreds of feet below the planet's uninhabitable surface. The Resistance hadn't been able to stop the attack, but by placing herself in the city's center and pushing upwards with all her might, Rey had been able to postpone the collapse long enough to finish the evacuation. She was the last one to leave—and the only one who hadn't already fled the area when the city imploded.

After entering her cabin, she rummaged through her drawers, fishing out bandages, pain killers, and a set of clothes that weren't covered in ash and blood. She was just about to head into the 'fresher when an all-too familiar presence took shape in the corner of her eye. With his broad shoulders and unreasonable height, the dark figure immediately made the room feel cramped.

"What were you thinking?" he asked quietly, his voice vibrating with rage. His fists were clenched, and the intensity in his eyes would have made a wiser woman run for the hills.

"What were you thinking?" she countered, her rage sharpening every word. "Hundreds of thousands of civilians would have been dead right now if your plans hadn't been stopped. They would have been dead because of you, you murderous swine!"

"General Hux has been given the order to find the Resistance. He's allowed to execute it the way he sees fit—with one exception." He took a step closer. "You."

"Oh, no, you don't get to do that," she said, raising her voice. "Don't make this about me. This is about you and—"

"If I hadn't called off the third wave of TIE bombers, you would have been dead right now," he interrupted, taking a step closer. "I saw it. Your body, buried under tons of dirt on an abandoned planet, leaving the last remnants of the Jedi legacy to rot. A useless sacrifice for a useless cause."

She raised her chin and forced herself not to take a step back as he closed in on her. "It was worth the risk."

"You don't get to make that decision." His fists trembled. His body was like a rubber band stretched to its limits, tensed up and ready to snap. "You don't get to throw your life away as if it means nothing."

"Is that an order?" She snorted. "You have no power here, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren."

Her back slammed into the wall—her wall, his wall, she had no idea—so hard it nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. Gloved fingers encircled her neck, tilting her head back. The pressure against her throat was light, barely even noticeable, but his grip was as unyielding as a collar of steel. The gesture wasn't meant to injure—it was meant to control.

A wiser woman would have feared this man. Rey didn't. She stood tall, meeting his furious gaze without blinking. She wasn't like his subjects in the First Order. He couldn't frighten her into submission, no matter how much he tried.

But that didn't mean he didn't affect her in different ways.

His thumb stroked the sensitive skin under her jaw, tracing her racing pulse. She forced herself to hold still, to repress the emotions his touch ignited. She liked to pretend that this was just another type of battle between them, as impersonal as a lightsaber duel or a shouting contest, because the truth was considerably harder to deal with.

"You don't get to disappear on me." His voice was soft, but every word was tainted with red-hot anger. "I won't let you."

A quick glance at her lips was all the warning she got. His lips crashed into hers. It was a kiss born out of fear and rage, as smothering as it was passionate—not a gesture of affection, but a demonstration of power and control.

When she kissed him back, she gave as good as she got. She ran her hands over his broad chest before grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned softly, and she hungrily swallowed the sound. The pressure against her throat increased slightly, forcing her up on her tiptoes. She answered by biting down hard on his lip. He hissed in pain and released her neck, burying his hand in her hair instead. His free arm circled her waist and held her tightly, eliminating the distance between them completely. Her anger transformed into scorching heat. Her body pulsated with need—and so did his, judging by the hardness pressed against her stomach. The mere thought of it made her tremble.

He noticed, of course. He always did. His lips formed a smug little grin. She swiftly wiped the expression off his face by shifting her hips ever so slightly, causing him to hiss sharply and dig his fingers deep into her hip. She smirked. He wasn't the only one who knew how to play this game.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. She knew that. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren was a power-hungry, unredeemable monster, despised by the entire galaxy—including a major part of the First Order, if rumors were true. Unstable. Impulsive. Broken. A man beyond saving. Yet she still kept ending up like this, trapped in his arms, needing him more than she'd ever needed another person.

Just like he needed her.

He tugged at her hair and forced her chin up, baring her throat. His lips traced her pulse just like his thumb did earlier, trailing harsh kisses down her neck. Her knees threatened to buckle when his teeth grazed her skin. The bastard knew exactly how to make her bones melt. She buried her fingers in his shirt, focusing on remembering how to breathe.

The fog in her mind cleared up a little when she felt a familiar sting where his lips met her skin.

"Watch it," she hissed. "People will notice."

"Let them," he murmured before latching on to her skin again right above her collarbone. She didn't need a mirror to tell that the mark would still be visible in the morning.

"You…" She groaned in frustration. "You're horrible."

"I am."

There was no shame in his voice. No regret. Just calm, casual, infuriating acceptance. And even though he made her blood boil with anger, she still didn't stop him when he pushed her sleeveless jacket down her shoulders. If he stopped now, she wasn't sure what she'd do. The fire within her had to be dealt with, or she was going to explode.

He'd won that round, but the game was far from over.

Moving him with physical strength was like moving a mountain, so she placed her hands on his chest and summoned the Force to push him a step back. She ripped his ridiculous cape off his back and proceeded to peel his clothes off, layer by layer. It was fascinating, really, how even his sense of fashion managed to tick her off. Just freeing his upper body took way more time and effort than she'd ever spent on an outfit of her own. In the end, he tore off the last layer himself. He never seemed to turn down an opportunity to lose his shirt, and she could understand why. His torso was a work of art.

The width of his shoulders had to be twice the size of hers, and his upper arms were bigger than her thighs. He was so damn huge, and hell, she loved it. In his eyes burned the untamable, uncontrollable flame that had brought an entire galaxy to its knees—still restrained, but on the verge of breaking free. His self-control was wavering. He was an explosion waiting to happen.

She ran her hands down his chest, tracing his scars. No matter how many times she touched him like this, she always found a new one. He had countless of them. Burn marks, blaster wounds, badly healed scrapes—and a deep cut from a lightsaber. Her fingers followed the path her weapon once drew on him.

He trembled.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach. She made him like this. He was probably the most powerful being in the galaxy, and there he was, falling apart beneath her fingertips.

Her hands slid lower down his abdomen.

"Rey…"

She palmed him through his pants and ignited the explosion.

The scene shifted. She was suddenly no longer in her cabin but in a room with a glass floor and dark steel furniture with smooth black surfaces. His living quarters on his ship. Before she could even blink, he'd picked her up and placed her on the tall conference table in the middle of the room. With a quick wave, files and piles of paper flew across the room, clearing the surface. He kissed her hard before ripping her tunic apart.

"Hey—"

"If you just had some self-perseverance, this wouldn't be a problem." He tore her boots off her feet and threw them away. In the distance, she heard one of them knock something to the floor back in her own cabin. "You're off limits. The First Order knows it. The entire galaxy knows it. There's not a single soldier or bounty hunter out there who doesn't know what would happen if they hurt you. And yet you still manage to nearly kill yourself."

His eyes fell on a large bruise that was forming on her sternum. His face hardened. "The entire galaxy knows you're mine. No one's allowed to do you harm." He pressed his lips against her chest, his hot breath dancing against the bruise. "No one. And that includes you."

She wanted to argue, to crush his delusions about his claim on her, but her brain refused to form intelligible sentences. In mere seconds, he managed to rid her of all her dusty, blood-stained clothes—the wraps on her arms being the only exception. For some reason he always left them on.

She shivered. The table's surface was cold against her bare skin. Her blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized that she was already wet enough to leave stains.

"Rey." He exhaled her name like prayer as he his eyes roamed over her naked body. Her nipples pebbled under his gaze. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again with the desperation of a starving man.

"You don't get to disappear on me," he whispered. "You don't get to leave me here all alone."

She swallowed hard and forced herself to remember how to speak. "Then stop slaughtering civilians."

A pained expression briefly swept over his face. "You naïve little fool."

He grabbed her thighs and pulled her hips toward him. Her elbows slammed into the table. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly went down on his knees. He spread her legs and hooked them over his shoulders, exposing her completely. She closed her eyes, her cheeks burning. She never got used to him looking at her like this.

"Come to me," he murmured. "I'll be good to you. You know I will."

"It's not enough. Being good to just me is not enough."

His lips twitched. "We'll see."

His fingers dug into her hips, and then his mouth was on her. Her back arched, and a loud gasp escaped her lips. In the beginning, he'd been nervous and fumbling when he went down on her, but that insecurity was long gone now. He played her body like an instrument, and he knew exactly how to make her sing.

She'd never been with anyone else, but she suspected that if she ever were, she'd be gravely disappointed.

His tongue circled her, over and over, always with the perfect pressure and pace. Her gasps turned into desperate moans.

Almost there.

She lay back on the table and buried her hands in his soft hair. Her thighs clenched around his head.

Almost.

He stopped. The bastard just stopped. He released her legs stood up. The pressure from her thighs had caused his ears to turn red. If he turned around, she knew there would be two heel-shaped bruises on his shoulder blades. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Am I being good to you, Rey?" he said softly.

She clenched her jaw, her body trembling as it yearned for release. Damn him for doing this. Damn him.

He slid a hand under her back and pulled her up until she was once again sitting upright. Limp as a ragdoll, she let him maneuver her as he pleased. He pressed her against him and rolled his hips.

"Well? Am I?"

The pulsating need within her was growing intense enough to hurt. She swallowed her pride and nodded.

"Say it."

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

"Yes," she breathed. "So good."

A shudder ran through him, and his hips jerked against hers. His restraint was clearly wearing thin, too.

"Tell me you won't do that again." He brushed a strand of hair from her face and cradled her cheek in his hand. "Tell me you won't put yourself in danger for them."

"Do you want me to lie?"

He pressed his forehead against hers. "No. I don't want that." He paused for a moment. "Then tell me you'll try. At least give me that. Tell me you'll try to stay safe."

She considered it. All things considered, it wasn't an unreasonable request.

"Fine. I'll try. Now would you please just do something?"

She didn't have to ask him twice. Moments later, his pants were gone, and he finally, finally, entered her. They groaned in tandem. The euphoria of becoming one spread through their bond. It was a rush she'd never experienced anywhere but in this strange in-between place she shared with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him as he began to move. He grabbed her hips and held her still as he pounded into her, harder and harder until she couldn't really do anything but hang on and enjoy the ride. And enjoy it she did.

The veil between their minds grew thinner. Images from his mind crashed into hers. For a moment, she could see herself through his eyes—her head thrown back in pleasure, her back arched, her breasts pressing against his chest—and she could feel his burning need to claim her, just to make sure no one else got to see her like this. He wanted this side of her to be his, and his alone.

She couldn't exactly judge him. She didn't want anyone else to see him like this either. This Ben belonged to her.

The heat grew even faster within her this time, picking up where it left off minutes earlier. She dug her heels into his back, probably leaving even more bruises, but she didn't care. She just wanted more. More, more, more.

"Ben," she moaned. "Be—"

One of his hand found its way to where their bodies met, and with a precise flick of his thumb, he pushed her over the edge. The heat was suddenly everywhere all at once. She cried out as the waves of pleasure spread through her body, pulsating through her veins like liquid wildfire. The high was incomparable to anything she'd ever experienced before she met him. They were two parts of a whole, becoming one in the most primal way possible. The satisfaction the union caused was out of this world.

Seconds later, her euphoria was joined by his. With a groan, he spilled himself inside her. Her head lulled against his shoulder. She was out of breath and out of stamina, and she had a hard time holding on to the anger that started all this. She hated him, probably, but she couldn't quite remember why.

He pulled out of her and gently ran his fingers through her messy hair. He looked as disheveled as she felt. After quickly pulling up his pants, he scooped her up with ease. The scene changed, and they were suddenly back in her cabin. He put her down on her small, uncomfortable bed and then proceeded to lie down next to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, tucking her head in beneath his chin. She hesitantly adjusted herself until she'd found a comfortable position. Cuddling wasn't generally a part of their routine, but his need for intimacy was so severe she couldn't bring herself to throw him out.

She'd scared him today. Genuinely scared him. He'd lost his father, his uncle, his master—and now, he was facing the fact that he might one day lose her too.

He was way too large for her bed—for her entire cabin, really—but it didn't seem to bother him. He absently combed her hair with his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. His thumb drew circles on her hip. The contrast between this man and the one ruling the First Order was jarring. She had a hard time understanding how a violent warlord, infamous for having the most explosive temperament in the galaxy, could be so unbelievably gentle.

She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Her tense muscles relaxed. No one infuriated her like he did, but nothing calmed her down like being near him either. He made her feel safe. She blamed the bond. It had to be the bond.

There and then, it was hard to pretend that what had transpired between them was just an ordinary, impersonal battle, but she'd probably come up with some unconvincing excuse later. Fooling herself was, after all, way easier than facing the truth.

"I…" He cleared his throat. "I'll try too."

She raised an eyebrow. "Try what?"

"I'll try to make the First Order stop slaughtering civilians."

She let out a short laugh. "That's a start."