The motel smelled like mildew and stale smoke. Soldier Boy sat on the sagging mattress, sprawled in just his jeans, cigarette dangling from his lips. He flicked ash into a broken ashtray, eyes dragging lazily over allie.

“You know,” he drawled, shifting to spread his legs wider, the denim tugging tight over his lap, “I don’t got a whole lotta entertainment in this dump.” He gestured down at the tent in his jeans, smirking. “’Cept this.”

You blinked, jaw dropping a little, lips parting. “Are you serious?”

Ben chuckled, dragging from his cigarette, exhaling smoke slow. “Sweetheart, I don’t joke about this shit.” He patted his lap. “You wanna ride or not?”

You hesitated, stunned by his bluntness.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

Ben’s eyes darkened, smirk twitching. “Ain’t gonna bite doll.” He leaned back on the bed, unbuckling his belt with a deliberate clink, pulling it loose.

“C’mon baby,” he coaxed, patting his thigh again. “Let me show you how a real man does it.”