He seemed to agree, shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower. Accepting a towel he handed you, you wrapped yourself in it defensively. He toweled off his hair and wrapped one around his waist, striding out of the refresher. You followed, unsure of what else to do, and sat down at the foot of his bed.

"Did I say you were allowed on my bed?" he said coolly without turning, rustling through drawers with his back to you.

You swallowed. "May I please sit on your bed, sir?" you asked as sweetly as you could muster.

"No," he replied simply, whipping around and dragging you off the end and bringing you to your knees. He held out a sweater with his other hand—the sweater he wore last night, though your vomit had now been cleaned off it. "Here."

"Thanks," you muttered, pulling it over your head quickly, desperate for the warmth and cover. It fell to your knees. He remained where he was; you looked up quizzically.

"I don't think that's how you thank me," he said, thumb brushing your lips. His anger seemed to be fading, at least, though he was now insisting on the formalities he liked.

"Thank you for the clothing, Master," you breathed, face flushing as you said the words.

He smirked. "You're welcome." He strode back to the dresser, throwing the towel aside. Your breath hitched slightly, and you yelled at yourself silently for feeling attraction. You watched his broad shoulders flex slightly as he pulled on a black undershirt—looked on as his tall frame bent to step into soft-looking loose pants, which he tied carelessly at his waist. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the slight wetness between your legs from watching him touch himself and dress. You were kneeling for the man. This is wrong, you hissed at yourself bitterly.

Then he picked up his datapad, beginning to key in a few commands.

"Do you eat meat?" he asked without looking up. "Not just fish?"

"Sometimes, when I can…" you stumbled over the words awkwardly. You ate mostly what you foraged for, rarely travelling into the city, and could hardly bear to kill animals most of the time. Mostly you stuck to fishing the and fruits, vegetables, and nuts you collected, or cheap meats in the city.

"Do you like meat?" He was still punching things into the pad.

"Yes."

He looked up with mild disapproval.

"Yes, Master," you added quickly. He nodded and went back to ordering, keying in a few last things before setting the pad down. He sat on the bed, just behind and to the left of where he had made you kneel. One hand snaked into your hair, winding it idly around his fingers.

"We'll eat soon," he reassured you, sensing how hungry you were.

Your eyes fluttered a few times as silence fell, increasingly weak from the days of starvation and the exertion of showering with him. Forcing yourself to breathe, you took a gamble; you leaned into the leg beside you, resting your head against his knee. He seemed to pause for a moment. Then he stroked the side of your face gently, expressing his approval.

"Tired?"

"Yes, sir," voice betraying your drowsiness.

"I'm sorry, love. You can sleep soon."

You felt a kind of warmth wrap around you when he uttered the pet name. This is sick! your mind screamed at you, but you stamped out the thought. His praise felt good; you needed to feel good right now. I'm fucked up.

You stared down at your hands; he seemed to be back in a good mood, fingers still stroking your cheek with a strange kind of possessive tenderness. Curiosity burned within you, however ill-advised you knew it to be. Time for another gamble.

"Can I ask you a question, sir?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not sure you're going to like it."

"Best not to speak then," he chastised. You fell silent again, obeying the suggestion. He sighed heavily a moment later—you had forced the question out of your mind so he couldn't pry it from you easily. "What is it?" he asked.

"No one names their child 'Kylo'" you whispered hesitantly. His hand stopped on your face, and you dared not breathe—until he chuckled.

"You're right. It wasn't my birthname… which is none of your business." It wasn't fully a rebuke, but he said it just firmly enough for you to know not to press it.

You fell silent for a moment as he played with your hair again.

"'It's red'," you echoed quietly.

He snorted.

"Will you tell me something else from your life, then? Please."

He paused, seemingly surprised you wanted to learn about him at all.

"Something else? Something else." He made a small noise of thought.

He looked down at the girl, twisting his fingers in her hair. It was a perfect moment; she was on her knees at his feet, resting against him, taking an interest in him. Her question seemed genuine—she wasn't kissing ass anymore. She wanted to know his name. He wouldn't share it; he didn't want her repeating it in her mind like she had been with 'Kylo'. He smirked at the thought, winding locks of her hair around his index finger. He thought for a moment, searching for something he wouldn't mind sharing—something personal.

"One of my parents was a pilot," he started. "They taught me."

Her head shot up, and she turned on her knees, looking up at him in awe. "You're a pilot?" She wore a wide smile, as though he had never hurt her before at all. Her eyes were wide and excited; she was beautiful.

He nodded, dropping his hand to caress the side of her face.

"What do you fly?" she asked, completely forgetting his rules for addressing him in her excitement. He let it slide; she looked too sweet to yell at.

"A TIE Silencer, usually. "

"Holy shit. Those are really rare."

He smirked. Adorable. "The onboard systems were made for me, based on my post-flight reports."

"What does it feel like?"

"Well, they're made for speed and handling—"

She cut across him eagerly. "To fly, I mean."

He paused. "To… fly? You've never flown?"

She shook her head, a little wrinkle appearing between her brows. "This is the first time I've been on any kind of ship."

He paused, looking down at her in shock. "You've never flown," he repeated quietly. A look of embarrassment flashed across her features, and she rested her head against his knee again, dropping her eyes. He brushed her mind gently; she felt ashamed, outclassed again by his wealth and experience—she had never had experiences like flying. He brushed her hair out of her face, tucking stray strands behind her ear.

"I could probably take you," he murmured quietly after a moment.

She straightened up slowly. "Are you joking?"

He resumed petting her, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Not if you're good for me. I can do whatever I want."

She blinked a few times, surprise etched across her features. There was a little hint of regret, too—maybe for grappling with him in the shower, or—

His train of thought was cut off by a knock at the door. Stretching out his hand, he grabbed hold of the pillow that flew into it and threw it down in front of one of the dining table chairs. "Kneel there," he commanded, pointing to the spot.

You obeyed, too hungry to object, moving to the spot as he stood and answered the door.

A droid carried the serving tray of food to the table. "Lord Ren," it acknowledged him, setting it down and bowing its head as it left.

He snickered; she already looked confused, though she knew enough not to question him. The blaster door slid shut again as the droid exited, and he took the seat in front of her.

He sat, spreading his legs slightly for you. "Come here," he murmured, curling two fingers towards you, beckoning you forward. You obeyed hesitantly, positioning yourself between his legs, eyes flickering towards his crotch.

He chuckled. "Not this time," he remarked, patting one of his thighs.

You forced yourself to swallow, resting your head against his thigh nervously. Strong legs rested on either side of you as he leaned back a little in the chair, eyes scanning the tray the droid had delivered.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly, meeting your eyes for a moment.

You wet your lips, gulping down the shame you felt. "Yes, Master," you whimpered compliantly, cursing yourself for being so pathetic.

But he appreciated it, strong hands collecting your hair and draping it over one shoulder. Then they left, and he appeared to be cutting something above you. He held something out—a thin slice of steak, pinched between his thumb and index finger.

He's going to make you eat out of his hand. The realization swam around you in a dizzying fashion as he held it out expectantly. You could feel your face glowing what you were sure was a bright red from the shame.

"That's humiliating," you barely dared to breath, recoiling from between his legs. "I'd rather not eat at all."

He sighed, popping it into his mouth instead. He chewed and swallowed, a look of exaggerated bliss covering his face. "It's good," he teased, "and it's going to get cold if you waste time."

You said nothing, tears of frustration growing in your eyes. You trained them on an object across the room instead of looking at him.

He sighed again, hooking the same fingers under your chin and making you look at him again. He leaned forward, face nearly level with yours.

"Something's only humiliating if there's someone there to humiliate you—to judge. We're alone. It's just us now."

You blinked, choking on the words as a tear ran down your cheek. Your stomach betrayed you with a growl. "There is someone to humiliate me—you."

He shook his head, thumbing away your tear and stroking the side of your face. "I'm not judging you. You're with me, where you belong. I want this; I don't think you're stupid for giving me what I want."

"'You're nothing'," you echoed his words from the day before, voice hitching with emotion on the last syllable.

"But not to me," he purred, pinching another piece of steak and holding it out.

Your eyes flitted back to his, where he held them. You searched for any sign that he was mocking you, but you found none. He wanted to hand-feed you—wanted to feel you submit, wanted to feed you himself.

"You're overthinking this," he murmured reassuringly, cutting off your train of thought. "It feels intimate, doesn't it?" His voice was low and gentle, wrapping around you as if a hug. "It is." He held it out again, stopping before your lips. "Eat with me."

You choked down the last of your pride and parted your lips slightly, allowing him to place the food on your tongue. You closed your mouth quickly as he withdrew his fingers, following him with your eyes as he reached up to cut another piece. You chewed quickly, trying not to enjoy it—but you could tell it was good steak. His steak. The kind of steak the Commander of the First Order would be served.

"Breathe," he instructed gently, sensing that you weren't. His voice wrapped around you like velvet, warm and subduing. "Stop thinking," he murmured, holding out another piece. "Your thoughts are so loud. Quiet them." He popped another piece of steak in your waiting mouth, watching you chew and swallow with approval.

"That's my good girl." My. It hung heavy in the area, strangely comforting. He patted his thigh again, and suddenly you understood—your head felt light; you felt vaguely as if you were floating.

"Stop it," you whispered weakly as you rest your head against his thigh. He raised an eyebrow. "You're doing something to me. You're doing something… with, with the force." You winced—you sounded stupid.

"I'm not doing anything with the force, love." He speared some steak for himself. "You're just starting to feel the endorphins. Let it happen. Relax. You're safe with me."

One of his hands stroked her hair gently as he ate a few bites, letting her adjust to the feeling of subspace. He monitored her breathing, watched her reactions as he fed her. He reached out with the force occasionally, brushing against her mind. Her thoughts were starting to calm. She was no longer wondering if she looked stupid with every morsel she accepted from him. Instead she was starting to enjoy the flavors—and the intimacy of being fed, of resting on him, accepting his care.

You watched as he brought wine to his lips, eyes latching onto yours as he drank. He leaned forward, offering you the same glass.

"Do you want some, beautiful?" Beautiful. Weirdly, you believed him.

You nodded slightly, eyelids growing heavy as you started to feel full.

"Only a little," he murmured, letting you take two small sips. You rarely had alcohol; it was too expensive in the city, and too much effort to try to make yourself. Plus, none of the native Zoess fruits lent themselves well to wine.

The flavor filled your mouth, rich and smooth. You knew just enough to know it was good wine, expensive—like everything else here. He lifted the glass to his mouth again, taking larger sips, no doubt used to drinking wine like this all the time. You wondered vaguely what his childhood was like; had he always been comfortable? One had been a pilot; he had learned it from them. What about the other parent? Did he keep in touch with them? Did they miss him desperately—

"Shhh," he whispered, instantly silencing your wandering thoughts. He held something fruity up to your lips, and you accepted without a second thought.

He fed her a bit more, sharing a dessert, before her eyelids seemed to be weighing on her.

"Do you want more?" he asked gently.

"I don't think so," she whimpered softly, trembling a little between his legs.

"You're full?"

She nodded.

"Do you want to sleep?"

Another nod.

"Don't try to get up on your own," he murmured, standing and bending down to hook both arms under hers, pulling her up with ease. He wrapped an arm around her waist and carried her to the bed, setting her down gently against a pillow. He pulled the covers back, helping her wiggle under them, the hem of his sweater riding up, exposing her lower half to him. She seemed not to notice, and he pulled the covers up over her, tucking her in. She was too spacey and too tired for sex.

He left the tray where it was, climbing into bed on the other side and scooting over to her. Rolling onto his side, he draped an arm over her, letting her know he was there. Her smaller hands reached to rest on his forearm, seemingly wanting him close.

"I—" her shaky voice started, but he cut her off.

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing his fingers to her lips. "No talking."

"But I want to—"

"Not in this state, love. You'd tell me anything. Go to sleep now."

And he rested his own head next to her, nuzzling her into his neck. Her breathing soon went shallow, eyes shut peacefully as she slept.

He waved a lazy hand, and the lights went out.