HOT BLOODED | Soldier Boy

5. MORALITY CAR WASH

I'm not sure at what point, or which encounter after that threw me into this Casablanca motive, but Ben sure played Rick Blaine's part pretty damn well.

The room is bathed in a dim, warm light. The bed sheets are rumpled, and the air is still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. I'm lying on my side, my back against Ben's chest. His arm is wrapped around me, his hand resting gently on my hip. His breathing is slow and steady, a stark contrast to the quick, harsh breaths I'm still trying to catch.

He had called me over, he wanted to see how I'd fit the new set of lingerie he had delivered to my door just a few days ago, preceded by a ridiculously expensive fur coat, and gold jewelry for a total amount that could beat the worth of my apartment building all together

I had protested, of course, the prices of the gifts ridiculous, but he wouldn't listen. He seemed to take a certain pleasure in pampering me, spoiling me with lavish gifts and luxuries.

I had tried to keep myself from enjoying it too much, knowing that this wouldn't last, but it was hard. The feel of the silk and lace against my skin, the weight of the gold against my neck... it was intoxicating.

And now, here we are again, his strong body pressed against mine, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my skin. I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, against my back. He's quiet, but I can sense that he's not asleep.

I shift slightly, turning a little bit in his arms so I can look at him. His eyes are open, watching me intently. There's a soft expression on his face, a tenderness that's rare for him.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask quietly, my voice still a bit hoarse from our previous activities.

"Just looking at you," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup my face. His thumb brushes over my cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture. "You're beautiful," he says, his gaze intense. "So goddamn beautiful."

I internally furrow my brows, I had never seen him like this, and I sure never expected to. At the end of the day, I'd always go back to my shitty home, getting ready for another party or whatever they liked to call it these days, and do my job, I was a hooker, not a suburban neighborhood mom. And Ben, well, Ben went back to being Soldier Boy, saving the city with his team, and his girlfriend, dropping a few cheesy lines for the cameras that made every viewer with a pulse cross their legs to secretly search for friction between their legs.

I'm not delusional, I knew that our relationship, if we could even call it that, was limited to these stolen moments, these secret rendezvous. It wasn't sustainable, it wasn't practical. We were two very different people, from two very different worlds.

And yet, in these moments, it felt real, it felt right. His touch, his words, they made me feel seen, wanted in a way I had never experienced before. And that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

But, as much as I wanted to indulge in this fantasy, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't let myself fall too hard, because I knew the fall would be devastating.

"I have to go," I say quietly, gently disentangling myself from his embrace. I sit up on the edge of the bed, reaching for my clothes.

He rolls onto his back, watching me get dressed. "You could stay," he says, his voice low. "You know that."

I sigh, pulling my dress over my head. We've had this conversation before. And each time I had to remind him the public eye knew him to be something else, to be with someone else. He'd just laugh and tell me he could do whatever he wanted, that Vought was depending on him and he had them by their necks. But he never fell through, I'd say goodbye shortly after, and on the news, the next day would be him and Crimson Countess.