What her touch was doing just to the back of his neck was ample evidence that 'fulfillment' was not going to be a problem. In fact, Luke privately wondered if he should be the one afraid of performance, given his age and his utter lack of familiarity with, at this point, even his own body--let alone another person's.

He still felt that she was making a huge mistake, but he was no longer willing to fight it. Of all the people in the galaxy, she'd come here, and chosen him, and it didn't seem fair--to her. But he was so tired of shouldering the blame. And tired of hiding, even though he had no momentum to do anything else.

"You've nothing to fear, on that score," he said softly. "I'm well-practiced at making myself unhappy, at this point. Nothing you could possibly do is going to contribute to that. If I am moody, if I am gruff--it's not you, Rey. I have no doubt that anything you do is going to be... more than satisfying."