[ Trust Poe Dameron to rile her up when she's already like this — charged with that restless energy and literally covered in the blood of her enemies. But he's never lacked for nerve, and no matter how annoyed she gets, there's always a part of her that likes that about him. She might know a dozen ways to break a man's neck, but he always knows just how to get under her skin.

It's predictable when she catches his arm again, but her grip doesn't yield this time — it's hard, like her stare, putting pressure on the small bones of his wrist. For a moment, her expression is unreadable — but then the corner of her mouth quirks upward in a way that's a little unkind, her voice unrepentant and mocking when she responds: ]

I don't know. You could light me a cigarette. [ She tilts her head up, baring that bloody-streaked throat in at least half a challenge. ] Or you could quit asking useless questions and just go down on me already.