[ It honestly wouldn't even have been her first time fucking in devastation of her own making — but she's existed long time, and most of that time has been spent looking for ways to feel alive or ways to tempt a glorious death, and it's hard to say if anything checks both those boxes harder than mixing risk and sex. But she's far from complaining about doing the fucking now — probably wouldn't even care if they were back in that filthy alley behind the cantina where they met the day before, so long as he keeps touching her just like that, giving her friction and pressing his fingers up inside her.

She eases up a little with her thigh, just enough to make room so she can feel out the hard outline of his cock against her hand through the barrier of his trousers, rubbing her palm against it roughly. It's low and mocking when she answers, both mean and wanting at the same time: ]

Guess there's always the next gig. [ An unsteady little exhale. ] Fuck me like you fucked me last night, and I might just stick around again.