'Should you be doing that?' The voice behind her was familiar, greasy and unctuous, and it sent a wave of revulsion down her spine.

She turned, said to the blonde man at her back, 'Should you be talking to me? The Supreme Leader left orders.' Her eyes jumped to the squad of guards who must have heard those orders and were studiously ignoring them.

The uniformed man followed her gaze. 'Don't worry about them. They are the personal bodyguard to the Supreme Leader of the First Order, but they are also soldiers, and the army reports to me. They know where their true loyalties lie. Would you like a tour?'

She frowned, thrown by the change of direction.

'A tour of the ship,' he clarified. 'I think the Supreme Leader may have overlooked some basic courtesies in his rush to imprison you. I wondered if you'd like to see your prison?'

She tilted her head, considering. There was no way the offer was genuine; whoever he was, this man had clearly never done anything for altruistic reasons in his life, but since he was prepared to lead, she was prepared to follow. He showed her into the corridor, and the guard formed into neat lines behind them.

'Did Ben send you?' She repeated the same enquiry she'd made last time.

He curled his lip. 'He commands the First Order, but my decisions are my own. I understand you are part of the Resistance leadership – have you been interrogated yet?'

'Interrogated?' she snorted. 'I'd like to see him try.'

'Then you have provided us with intelligence voluntarily?'

'I've provided you with nothing, except some books which I'd like back and a broken lightsaber.'

'This level is reserved for the Supreme Leader,' the man explained, changing the subject. 'Here you will find living quarters, guest accommodation, training facilities, a recreation suite, private hospitality and catering services and the barracks of the Praetorian Guard.' He gestured for her to precede him through a large doorway, which housed ranks of weapons, stacked in quick release racks and ready for deployment.

'This level has its own armoury, which is never locked, and you need only to touch a button' - here he demonstrated - 'to access any gun of your choosing.'

Rey thought this was an odd point to make to a prisoner but justified it by the confidence he must have in the red coated guards to keep her away from anything dangerous. They had reached the end of the corridor and the man stepped into a lift.

'The transportation system is freely available to all and will take you wherever you want to go. For example, if you wanted to access the main shield generators on Level 4, this would be the way to get there.'

'Why would I want to access the shield generators?'

He shrugged. 'The Resistance are always fascinated by our shields, I thought I'd save you the trouble of asking.'

The lift stopped moving and they stepped out into a wide-open space.

'This is the main hangar bay. This is only a Destroyer, so we're limited to short range fighters and shuttles. The fighters are more difficult to access, they can be remotely operated from the command deck and forced to return to base or self destructed at will.'

He moved towards a terminal at the back of the hall.

'If the hangar doors are closed, you can open them from here, but only captains have the required authority. Alternatively, the Supreme Leader's personal craft, the fighter and the shuttle, on the left there, have automatic override, so if you were to be piloting one of them the doors would open without manual intervention and no one on the bridge could prevent your escape.' He stopped, raising his eyebrows.

Rey wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting from her.

He waved a hand. 'Would you like to see inside the command shuttle?'

She frowned. 'Are you expecting me to try to escape?'

He shrugged, a delicate and considered manoeuvre. 'I doubt I would be able to prevent a powerful Jedi such as yourself from escaping if you were really determined to do so.'

She glanced at the ship he'd indicated, and then scrutinised his expression. 'I don't want to escape. Not right now.'

He smiled encouragingly. 'And why is that? You were keen not to be behind bars last time I saw you.'

'It's complicated.' Rey decided she was uncomfortable with this entire conversation. Whatever the man wanted, she wasn't sure she should give it to him, but a voice from behind broke in and meant she didn't have to.

'What are you doing?'

The Supreme Leader's tone was threatening, and she turned to see him approaching across the hangar bay, flanked by his own red cloaked cadre. He drew to a halt and she was interested to see how the blonde man would react to getting his comeuppance, so it took her a few seconds to realise the question was directed at her.

'I was offered a tour.'

'I left you with very clear instructions,' he snapped. 'Speak to no one but me. Do I have to lock you up again?'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Try.'

His hand went for the hilt of his lightsaber, and at the same moment, the guards formed a circle around the two of them, weapons raising. Behind them, the blonde melted away, removing himself from the situation.

'While you are here, you will do as I say.'

Ben's face was dark with anger, but Rey found it had lost the power to move her. She no longer felt frightened by him, in fact, as she stood there and faced him down the main emotion flowing through her was sympathy.

She took a pace forward. 'I am a prisoner here,' she acknowledged. 'But I'm not your prisoner.'

She folded her arms, closed her eyes and concentrated, secure enough to show him that level of weakness. There was another technique she'd picked up from her tatty textbooks that she wanted to try. There was a mild disturbance in the Force, a gentle ripple and when she opened her eyes again, every red uniformed guard had voluntarily marched to the other side of the hangar bay, leaving their weapons on the ground.

Ben was staring at her with something like awe. 'Is that from the Jedi books?'

She nodded.

'And does it work remotely? When you aren't actually in the room?'

'I don't see why not.'

'And how many people can you affect in one go? Snoke told me about a Sith once who could control all the minds on an entire planet.' He was a step away from asking her to show him what she'd done, she could tell.

'I haven't practised,' she replied. 'I'm not sure how strong it is. I'm going back to the library now, not because you've told me to but because I want to. Alright?'

She wasn't really asking permission, and in any case, she was pretty sure he'd allow her anything after that demonstration. As she walked away she could feel his eyes on her until she left the room.

After a long day in the library Rey's head was full of dark dreams and she found it hard to sleep, eventually switching on Holonet in the early hours, since, in her new accommodation, that was the only channel available.

The news was full of an interview with General Hux, whom she recognised as the slimy blonde she'd now met twice, denying the rumour apparently circulating among the ranks that Supreme Leader Ren had had anything to do with the assassination of Supreme Leader Snoke. The more earnest his protestations became, the less convincing he sounded. Rey switched him off and padded around her bedroom, opening doors and exploring cupboards, finding that her luggage had been unpacked and neatly ordered, and that the Jedi texts had been returned and were stacked on a concealed bookcase. Doubtless the contents had been copied by now, but she was still comforted by the fact that she'd asked for the books back, and back they'd come. She could worry about deleting the copies from the First Order storage database in the morning.

For now, she flicked through the pages, the archaic language and sheer difficulty of the task of translation strangely comforting amidst the clean, hard lines, the purified, ascetic atmosphere of the First Order. Eventually, she laid the books aside, let her head relax onto the pillow, and thought about his hands. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. That was what he'd said, and it was both a threat and a promise. He had very large hands. Despite anything he might have meant about whether he actually wanted to touch her, or was being forced into it, the part that stuck in her imagination, late at night and lying alone in bed, was the size of his hands.

Bigger than hers, broad of palm, with long, strong fingers that finished on a blunt end rather than a taper. Nails he looked after. Hands made soft with the near constant protection of leather. Hands that could wield a weapon with dexterity and skill. If he put them on her, what would they do?

She found it easier to think about his hands than the rest of him. She'd always been more concerned about the thoughts and emotions inside his head than with his body. She didn't love Kylo Ren, couldn't imagine anyone looking beyond the death and destruction that mask brought and finding him worthy of love. It was Ben she was interested in, and it was Ben's hands she imagined, alone in the dark.

She would wake to find those hands cupping her breasts, a secure and snug fit in his palms and she would be sitting up, her back against his chest, his legs on either side of hers, boxing her in, protecting her, surrounding her. She wouldn't see his face, but he'd blow her hair off her neck, find a spot just below her earlobe and kiss it. His lips would be warm, his tongue a gentle traveller over her skin, and she'd look down, and concentrate on his hands.

They would squeeze, and she would smile, accepting his right to own what only one or two other men had ever dared to borrow. Then his hands would move, and his palms would graze her nipples with a circular motion until both had lifted under his attention and he'd blow in her ear and pinch the tight little peaks until the pressure made her moan. He would roll them between his fingers and her nails would scratch his thighs and she'd feel herself growing damp.

He'd pause, asking for permission without words, and she'd hook her legs over his, spreading herself wide for the next stage in this intimate journey. It would be his right hand that would find her clitoris first, stroking it, playing with it while she rested her head on his shoulder and gasped.

She'd hear herself, the wet sloppy noises she made as she was rubbed by his finger, and she'd hear the way his breath caught in his chest and know that she shouldn't be ashamed. She'd arch her back when he changed direction, circling now, dragging the sensitive crux of her pleasure round and around with the firm press of his digit and she'd drop her head, feel his follow hers down as they both focused on the activity between her legs. She'd feel the first tightening in her groin, the first harbinger of impending climax and he'd hiss, increasing the pressure, setting up a side to side whip of friction which engaged the deeper parts of her core and she'd cry out. He'd concentrate, his hand a hard, rhythmic piston powering away between her thighs and her hands would clench convulsively, the air would be trapped in her lungs and for a slice of time that felt like forever she'd hang on the brink of an orgasm.

Then he'd push her over the edge, and her hips would lift, striving for every ounce of bliss and she'd cry out his name, but he wouldn't answer, concentrating on not stopping until the last raw gasps of pleasure were wrung from her lips. Her wetness would make his finger slip, and he'd raise it to his mouth, sucking off the residue and she'd smell herself on him and know that he was hers.

Rey removed her hand from her shorts, satisfied. If he couldn't keep his hands off her she could deal with it, it was the rest of him that might be a problem. He clearly hated her, and she didn't relish the thought that someone so motivated to kill her would find himself forced to share her bed – it could only end badly. He should stay in her dreams, him and his wonderful, sensitive hands.