Terribly forward, utterly inappropriately so. A proper Alderaanian princess would be blushing through this on her wedding night, no doubt, or at least lying on a slightly less worn mattress--her aunts gave conflicting advice on this point, all of which she's jettisoned in favour of bedding a smuggler on his busted ship.

She is, at least, blushing her way through it, damn her cheeks, though while she's trying to get his pants off of him, it's a little easier to ignore. It's when she's gaping wide-eyed at him, feeling painfully innocent and unscoundrel-like as he lounges there, soaking up her attention, that she can feel just how pink-faced she must be.

She's filled with a heady mix of desire and uncertainty, the hunger to say something and the knowledge that just about everything she could tell him would sound idiotic at best. Lacking any suitable outlet for everything swirling around in her chest, she leans in to press a kiss to his shoulder--then, on a whim, bites down.