Reveling in her eager and passionate response, and not daring to question it, Han licked deeper into her mouth, taking full advantage of the new position to slide both hands beneath her shirt, fingers skimming the edges of her bra and moving in time with the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed.

Someone moaned aloud – had it been him? - and he didn't know quite when - or how - it had happened, but somehow his hands were cupped around the roundness of her backside, drawing her ever tighter against his own growing need.

Han abruptly broke off the kiss, his need for air outweighing any other needs for a moment. But then his mouth was moving with purpose along her jaw and down along her throat, his curious fingers undoing the top two buttons of her shirt, baring her neck and collarbone. With a surreal sense of wonder, he dipped his head even lower to taste her skin with his exploring lips.

The rational, sober part of his brain was waiting for her to protest, to push him away as she always had. Surely she would stop him before he went too far.

Her fingers closed around his, but instead of resisting his touch, she was leading him, willingly, to the rest of her buttons, and soon he was pushing the edges of her shirt aside, leaning in to press his mouth against the flat place between her breasts, tasting the salt of her sweat with his tongue.

The blood that was pounding in his ears very nearly drowned out the voice of reason that hid deep inside his head. The voice was telling him to stop, stop, stop... and yet he couldn't make himself let go. This was Leia in his arms.

She was as soft and as perfect as he'd always known she would be.

Against his cheek, a quivering nipple rose, hard and tightly crinkled, against the satiny fabric of her bra, and there was nothing to do but cover it with his palm. His thumb began to tease the nipple, through the fabric, and she gave a small cry and clutched at him with her knees.

He knew that his touch had sent a tug of desire straight down into her deepest and most secret places, knew her soft folds would be growing slick and wet with need as he slid his hand beneath the lacy edge and caressed her breast.

She'd begun to rock slowly, her hips moving against his lap in a tantalizing rhythm and his body responded automatically, rising and thrusting in time with each breath.

Yes. Oh, yes.

She wanted him.

He could feel it. He could taste it in her kiss.

And oh, how he wanted her.

He wanted to slide into her and bury himself in her warmth.

He wanted to take her and make her his.

He wanted… to love her.

There was an unexpected and terrifying strangeness to that word - "love" - and it sent his head whirling in a very disconcerting manner.

Where did that come from?

He went very still for a moment and one answer came through, loud and clear: You are drunk, Solo. And so is she.

Dismayed at his sudden inactivity, she reached up, took his face in her hands and guided it back to her own. Her mouth was hungry and pleading, and he was drowning in her scent - it was more intoxicating than the wine he tasted on her tongue.

"Han..." her breath was warm against his mouth. "Han, please..."

In that moment, he knew he could have her.

She wants this. You know she does.

He could pick her up in his arms and carry her to his bunk and bring to life every single one of his fantasies.

Maybe she does want this right now, but she will hate you for it in the morning.

Instead of cooling his desire, this thought conjured up an extremely vivid mental image of her lying naked in his bunk tomorrow morning. He could see her long hair strewn across his pillow as she slept beside him… Leia Organa, in his bunk, exhausted and spent after a long night of wanton sex.

That's not helping. Think about Hutts. Think about... logarithms.

He struggled through the fog of desire, trying to think clearly for just a moment.

He knew what she'd been saying for weeks. And he thought he had a good idea how she really felt, even if she didn't.

But this... this wasn't Leia changing her mind. This was the wine crumbling her already weakening defenses and loosening her inhibitions.

And that was the reason he had to stop. Now.

She swayed in his arms and the voice of reason thundered to be heard over the pounding of his heart.

She's drunk, and this is not... not... not what she'd want if she was sober.

Her tongue stroked his and the blood pounded in his ears and he was drowning, being dragged under by the waves roaring over his head.

She's drunk, Solo. Drunk, drunk, drunk.

Does it matter?

It does matter, damn it.

If... when... something happened between them, it had to be her decision.

You have to stop… stop, stop...

She wasn't capable of making a decision right now.

Maybe someday. But not like this.

The trouble was, Han Solo wasn't entirely sure he was man enough to turn a woman away just because she came to him for the wrong reason.

Especially this woman.

Especially tonight.