The tent’s zip begins to slide up, the tiny sound scraping against my raw nerves.
“NO!” The word erupts from me, sharp and frantic, and the zip halts. My stomach twists. “I … um … I’m not … decent. I’ll be out in a bit.”
Missy pauses, then simply says, “Okay.”
Fortunately, I hear no suspicion lacing her voice. Her footsteps retreat, growing softer until I can’t hear them anymore.
Relief crashes over me, stealing the breath from my lungs and behind me, Ford shifts, carefully withdrawing his touch. He sits up, draping his arms over his knees, head dipped forward. The unsaid hangs over us like a grey cloud.
What’s he thinking?
Does he regret this?
And then the full weight of reality settles onto my chest like a boulder.
What were we doing? What was I thinking?
I hadn’t even considered Missy—her feelings, or the betrayal this might be. Ford is her brother. She’s become a close friend, someone who has stood by me when I needed her most. And now? Now I’ve thrown that loyalty into question. What kind of friend does that?
I know she was invested in the whole ‘Ford likes you’ thing. But we never actually talked about it. Not really. Not about whether there could be something between us. Whether it would be okay. Whether it would hurt her.
And now I’ve probably crossed a line.
The silence stretches between us uncomfortably. I shift beneath the sleeping bag, pulling it higher, suddenly aware of the cold now that Ford’s body heat is gone.
He runs a hand through his hair.
"I should go."
His voice is quiet and restrained, but there’s an edge to it. Guilt. Hesitation … Regret? Something else I can’t quite place. I glance at his hand, and the memory of what we were just doing floods through me. I swallow hard. I should say something.
"Ford …" I start, but the words falter. What do I even say?
That was one of, no, that wasthemost incredible sexual experience of my life. I know it wouldn’t seem like much by anyone else's standards, but to me? It was everything. The anticipation. The way he made me feel. The way my body sang from his touch. No one has ever cared for me like that before, wanted to give me what I need, rather than taking.
But was it wrong? Was it a mistake?
His eyes meet mine, and my heart stutters. I can’t read him. I don’t know what he’s thinking.
Ford’s eyes trace my face before he finally murmurs, “We’ll talk later, okay?”
I nod, and he begins crawling over my legs towards the tent door. His body brushes against mine, and a wild impulse to grab him, pull him close, and find out what his lips taste like strikes. But instead, I shift, pulling my legs up and crossing them into a sitting position, trying, really trying, not to focus on how wet I am for him right now.
Ford slowly pulls on the zip, carefully peering through the gap. He exhales a breath of relief, then glances back at me once more. And for a moment, he just looks at me. Then, barely there, the corners of his lips twitch into a small, unsure smile, and then he’s slipping out of the tent, moving as quietly as possible, cautious not to draw attention.
I wait a few moments, then reach forwards, pulling the zip closed behind him.
With a sigh, I flop back onto the sleeping bag with a thud. My mind is a whirlwind of everything we just did. The tent ceiling blurs above me as I replay every touch, every word. And the thought of it makes my stomach flutter. Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies set loose inside me.
30
Ford
Breakfast around the campfire is as awkward as you’d expect, as I attempt to avoid eye contact with Stormy.
Not that it helps. She's everywhere in my head. The feel of her skin against mine, the sweet scent of her hair, how she gasped and whimpered, so fucking responsive to every touch.
It’s like an intoxicating kind of torment. The memory curls around me like smoke escaping fire, impossible to ignore. My cock twitches, reacting with a mind of its own, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to look at her.
