Graceful with a saber, he was clawing and clumsy, now, afraid of not being gentle enough with her. Afraid of being too gentle. Fear was a dangerous thing, but this time, it felt like healthy fear. It felt too similar to the hope, the completion, the acceptance he'd felt in his last moments on Exegol, exhilarating and right.
His broad hand slid along the shape of her body, feeling along the curve of her side, the dip at her waist, the swell of her hip. Higher again, he felt the swell of her breast through the satin of her pajamas, his thumb brushing over the tightened point of her nipple.
He hadn't imagined this. Any of this. He hadn't allowed himself, even in the most abstract of ways. Her hand touching his had seemed an unfathomable revelation, and from that moment on, he had cared for nothing but his obsession with having her at his side. Only he'd been wrong about the how of it, or the why, fixated on the vision of the two of them ruling on a throne together, when that had never been their destiny.
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His broad hand slid along the shape of her body, feeling along the curve of her side, the dip at her waist, the swell of her hip. Higher again, he felt the swell of her breast through the satin of her pajamas, his thumb brushing over the tightened point of her nipple.
He hadn't imagined this. Any of this. He hadn't allowed himself, even in the most abstract of ways. Her hand touching his had seemed an unfathomable revelation, and from that moment on, he had cared for nothing but his obsession with having her at his side. Only he'd been wrong about the how of it, or the why, fixated on the vision of the two of them ruling on a throne together, when that had never been their destiny.