You could feel it in every move he made. It felt like a heater had been turned up to full or you were laid on the Tatooine desert dressed in full winter gear; when he entered the room a slither of sweat would worm its way down your neck and into the...
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You sit on the bed until the water dries and your skin pebbles, tucking the towel under you arms. The Commander stood, looking down upon you, asking a silent question that you weren't willing to answer.
The force was part of you. You could hide your mind – if you wished it- surely. You imagine a wall in your head, a solid, thick, a ships wall. You see it standing tall and strong, holding the image like a shield, but this man always knew how to break your walls. There is a tug that snaps you to reality, his face burning into yours. The face that haunts your every moments.
For once, you have the intelligence to be scared.
He grips your chin in his hand, pulling your face up to his eyes that beheld you with a darkness that has you paralysed.
"Why would he want to see you?"
You pull your chin out his hand, "He does prefer a feminine touch"
Kylo's use of the force was punishing. Yours felt like an electric current that sways and flows, Kylo's was piercing, a push of a knife the was vivid and filled with the cosmos. It pushed at your wall. You could feel the cracks and chiselling pain, but your wall stood. For now.
"I sense your deceit" he says, those cracks let something slip, "Do you lie to me often, little one?"
He thumbs your bottom lip and you kiss the tip of his finger. Being sweet could be a distraction, you would just have to play innocent, obedient, a smart little whore.
"No, Sir" you pout, fluttering your eyelids like a proper wanton mistress.
Although Kylo is an insufferable, bucket mask wearing, man-child, but don't say he isn't a sucker for a pretty face. He brushes his thumb over one of your eyelids and along your cheekbone. He was someone else when He became like this, attractive in a gentlemanly manner, his arrogance rubbed away and replaced by consumption, greed, desire, but – most importantly- compassion.
It's gone again as he rips your towel from your body. The red on your face spreads from your ears to your cheeks, more a maiden than the seductress; a blushing virgin. He doesn't touch you, just stands away and looks. And look he does. He starts at your wet hair, each droplet of water brushing your skin gaining equal attention, he gazes at your face, burning with need and exposing exactly what you want.
He glides his eyes along your collar bones. His ears flushing red when he catches the bite marks on your skin, still raw and deep. He clenches his hands and you arch your back, if he were to touch them, you wouldn't be against it. Instead, he meanders over the swell of your breasts, watching you chest rise with the attention and artist gives their work.
He doesn't need to tell you to open your legs, you open them with just a look from him. Letting him drink his fill.
He rolls his shoulder. Relaxed, commanding and controlled all at once.
