Page 20 of Egg Me On

Dylan nodded, looking genuinely interested. "Smart. Mobile business model, lower overhead. And then you get to meet people like us," he grinned, gesturing around the campfire. "Lucky you."

"Lucky me," I agreed, returning his smile.

Cash abruptly stood, the movement drawing my attention immediately. He stalked over to us and stopped directly in front of us, looking down with barely contained... something. Anger? Jealousy? His chest rose and fell with slightly too-rapid breaths, fists clenched at his sides.

“Hey, Cash,” I said, grinning up at him.

He reached down and wrapped strong fingers around my wrist, tugging me to my feet with surprising gentleness despite the obvious tension radiating from him.

"You want to go to bed? So soon?" I asked, bewildered but undeniably thrilled by his touch, by the possessive way his fingers encircled my wrist.

He was already pulling me away from the fire, from Dylan, from the curious eyes of the FRMC crew.

"Don't mind us," Dylan called after us, laughter in his voice. "Just pretend we're not even here."

A few chuckles followed us as Cash led me across the clearing toward our tent, his grip on my wrist never loosening. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could feel my pulse beneath his fingertips. What did he want to show me? And why the urgency, the barely contained emotion that seemed to vibrate through him?

"Cash," I began, confused but exhilarated. "What are you—"

Cash unzipped our tent and guided me through the tent flap, the nylon rustling, and his hands gentling as he helped me inside. The small space was illuminated only by a battery-powered lantern hanging from a hook in the center, casting everything in a soft, amber glow. I stumbled forward, thrown off balance by his urgency and the awkward crouch needed to enter the tent, and my foot caught on something solid—Cash's duffel bag, sitting open on the tent floor. I pitched forward with a startled yelp, arms windmilling uselessly as gravity took over.

My hands hit the sleeping bags first, breaking my fall as the duffel tipped onto its side. Items cascaded out across the tent floor—a toiletry kit, a folded t-shirt, and then... oh.

Oh.

Three foil packets skittered across the nylon floor, followed by an unmistakable bottle that rolled to a stop against my knee. Condoms. And lube. High-end stuff, too, not the cheap shit from gas station bathrooms.

The tent filled with thick, stunned silence. Cash froze in a half-crouch at the entrance. He’d just finished zipping the door closed, and one hand sat on the zipper, eyes wide as he stared at the scattered evidence of his... preparations. I stared too, my brain short-circuiting as it processed what this meant.

Cash had brought condoms. And lube. To a tent he knew we'd be sharing.

Slowly, I reached out and picked up one of the foil packets, turning it over between my fingers. It caught the lantern light, shiny and new and full of possibilities.

"Planning ahead for something?" I asked, trying for casual but hearing the slight tremor in my voice. I looked up at Cash, finding his face flushed dark beneath his stubble, jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear his teeth grinding.

He moved suddenly, dropping to his knees and scrambling to gather the items, shoving them back into his bag with uncharacteristic clumsiness. His movements were jerky, almost panicked, so unlike his usual precise control.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Cash's head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. The raw hunger there stole my breath.

"You've been staring at me all night. You nearly broke that beer bottle watching Dylan flirt with me. Maybe you should have been flirting with me instead."

Cash's nostrils flared, muscles in his forearms flexing as his hands curled into fists against his thighs.

I twirled the condom between my fingers, watching his eyes track the movement. "And then you marched me to our tent like you were staking a claim."

A muscle jumped in Cash's jaw.

"I’m not complaining. I'd rather be here. With you."

Cash exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. When he dropped it, his expression had shifted from embarrassment to something darker, hungrier. But he didn’t move. What was he waiting for? Another month of quiet touches and hungry glances?

Fuck subtlety.

I lunged across the tent and kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders for balance. The first press of our lips was clumsy, off center, tinged with desperation. Cash stiffened against me, body going rigid. For one terrifying heartbeat, I thought I'd misread everything. That he’d been fucking with me. The condoms and lube were all a joke.

Then he growled—actually growled—deep in his throat, and suddenly his hands were in my hair, angling my head, lips crashing back against mine with bruising force. He kissed like he did everything else—with precision and intensity that left no room for half-measures. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, exploring, telling me exactly how thorough he'd be with the rest of my body.

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