For a long, agonizing moment, there’s only the crackle of the fire and the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
Ace doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me, chest heaving. His cock is still hard in his fist. A bead of precum glistens at the tip. For a horrifying second, I think he’s going to lunge at me, use all that muscle and strength to punish me for this violation.
But he doesn’t. Instead, a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face. There’s no anger in it. No shame. Just something that looks a lot like amusement.
“Decided to join the party?”
My face burns. I open my mouth to apologize, to explain, to say something, but nothing comes out. I can only stare, frozen in humiliation.
Ace keeps grinning. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, the sleeping bag pooling around his waist, and he doesn’t even try to cover himself. Just sits there, completelyexposed, that massive cock still jutting up from between his legs, and watches me.
“I, uh…” I finally manage to stammer out. “I’m so sorry. I thought… I heard a noise, I thought something was wrong…”
“Wrong?” He glances down at himself, then back up at me, smirk still in place. “Nah. Just needed to get this out of my system. High altitude gets the blood pumping, you know? Gets me all... antsy.”
The casualness of it throws me off completely. He’s not mad. Not embarrassed. He’s acting like I just walked in on him doing push-ups instead of something intensely private.
“Right,” I say, my voice sounding thin and reedy. “I’m just… I’ll wait outside. Give you some privacy.”
“What? No.” Ace shifts over in the small space. “We’re sharing this tent. Get in here and get some sleep. I’m basically done anyway.”
“Done?” I squeak, looking from his face back down to the erection that shows absolutely no signs of flagging.
“Yeah, well.” He adjusts himself casually, putting the huge thing back into the confines of his boxers. The outline of it is still clearly visible, a thick ridge against the dark fabric. “I don’t have to finish to get what I need out of it.”
I don’t know what that means, and I’m too flustered to ask.
Ace pats the sleeping bag next to his, the two of them laid out side by side in the tiny tent, pressed right against each other. “Come on. Let’s crash.”
My legs feel stiff and uncooperative as I crawl into the tent. I peel off my outer layers, the fleece and hiking pants I’ve been wearing all day, and pull on the thermal shirt and pants I packed for sleeping. My hands shake as I change, painfully aware that Ace is right there, only inches away.
Ace zips up the flap, plunging us into near-total darkness. The only light now is the faint orange glow filtering through thethin nylon walls. The air in the tent is thick with the musky, clean scent of him.
I finally lie down on my back in the sleeping bag, my body rigid, every muscle clenched. I’m still hard, the insistent throb of my erection a source of burning shame. I try to think about anything else—the prints we found, the statistical likelihood of a successful sighting, the geological formation of the valley—but all I can see behind my closed eyelids is the slick, furious motion of Ace’s fist.
The tent is small. Too small. Our shoulders are almost touching. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, hear the sound of his breathing. If I rolled over even an inch, I’d be pressed against him. The thought makes my stomach clench.
“You think it’s coming back?” Ace asks.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammer. “Maybe? It seemed pretty… uh, persistent.”
Ace goes quiet. “Persistent?”
“Yeah. You know. It was so big, I’ve never really seen one like that before.” My face burns. “Not in person, anyway.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Ace bursts out laughing. “Dude, I’m talking about the yeti.” He shoves me playfully, his shoulder bumping mine. “What did you think I was talking about? My dick?”
I could die. I could literally die right here in this tent. “The yeti,” I manage to croak. “Obviously the yeti.”
Ace quotes me, “‘It was so big, I’ve never really seen one like that before.’” He’s full-on laughing now, a deep, booming sound that makes the fabric of the tent tremble.
“I was clearly talking about the footprints,” I lie, my voice tight. “The size of them. They’re huge.”
“Right.” His laughter subsides into a chuckle. “The footprints. Got it.”
I close my eyes, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, nudging me again. “I’m just fucking with you. It’s all good.” His voice is warm, close to my ear. “But for the record, the answer is yes. I do think it’ll come back.”
