Page 32 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

I blink, caught completely off guard, and let out a surprised and nervous laugh. “W-what?”?

His lips curve into a wide, mischievous smile. “I have a hard time being serious, my little Darko, but right now? I’m deadly serious. Put your hands on the glass. Back to me. Now.”

A shiver runs through me, anticipation coiling tightly in my belly as I turn and do what he instructed.

My palms press against the warm plexiglass that divides us from the chickens, my eyes falling on Chickaletta who’s peacefully asleep.

Her soft brown feathers rise and fall with every gentle breath, and the warmth from her little enclosure seeps into my hands, grounding my body.

Behind me, Cash moves closer, his hands trailing up my sides, slow and soft. His touch feels like a promise, and when his fingers undo the button of my jeans in the front and drag the zipper down, my breath stills like there’s no oxygen left in the facility.

“Too many days without touching you,” he growls, his voice rough with need.

In one fluid motion, he tugs my jeans and underwear down together, the cool air caressing my now bare skin. He nudges me to lift each foot, pulling the fabric away completely before tossing my pants aside. I’m exposed, utterly vulnerable, my hands braced against the glass as he kicks my legs wider.

Standing up, he reaches for the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head in one swift motion until I’m naked.

“Fuck, you’re a sight.” His voice is thick with admiration as he steps behind me where I can’t see. I can feel his eyes on me, tracing every curve, every inch of bare skin that’s visible just for him. “I’m just going to stand here and admire you for a minute.”

Goosebumps ripple across my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rushing up my neck and into my cheeks.

I keep my eyes on the sleeping hen, pretending I’m not coming apart just from being this…

bare. This seen. Usually, I’d want the lights off.

A playlist humming in the background. Covers pulled up and wrapped around me like armor.

Or at the very least not to be the only one who’s naked.

But with Cash’s eyes on me, steady and reverent, all I feel is power. Not vulnerability. Power. Because I’m the one holding his full attention. I’m the one he’s looking at like this.

His hand slides out, cupping and kneading one ass cheek, slow and purposeful.

The other wraps around, fingers grazing my front strongly.

When they find my clit—firm, sure, exactly where I need him—I let out a moan I don’t even recognize.

Raw and wrecked and real. Like maybe this version of me, the one who isn’t over thinking everything, wants him more than I thought.

“You turned on because we have an audience, Stormie?” he murmurs, his tone teasing but laced with heat. "Or is it just me?"

I shake my head no. “More like your tenderness with them. I never thought I’d find that so attractive.”

I can feel his smile against my neck as he plants a soft kiss there before slipping a finger inside of my opening and letting out a groan. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. I’ve missed this cunt.”

He pumps in and out of me languidly, his other hand moving to my clit as he rubs it firmly and my legs begin to shake. It’s a hard angle, slightly tilted forward while steadying myself against the warm, double paned glass but I can tell, he’s in the mood to take his time tonight.

He licks a line up my neck, right across the pulse point that I know is beating out of control, and then one hand moves to my chest, squeezing and kneading the warm flesh on my breasts.

I squirm, needing more friction from his fingers that are teasing my clit, but he pulls away, dropping to his knees and bringing his face down to my ass before he parts my opening.

“Pretty pussy,” he grumbles, then his mouth dives into me, tongue spiking deeply as he sucks on my core. “Dammit, you taste good.”

“Fuck, Cash," I whimper, "I don’t know how long I can stand here like this.”

“You’ll stand there all day if I tell you to while I eat you. And if you get tired, you can sit down on my face and take a rest.”

Ugh, why is that the hottest thing a man has ever said to me?

My knees shake as his mouth hums against my clit, pleased, fingers pumping in and out, sweeping around in my opening like a hook designed just for me. His tongue flicks at my clit punishingly, and I can tell, I’m going to be wrecked by this orgasm not just physically, but mentally as well.

“Cash, I’m going to come,” I pant.

“No, you don’t. Not yet,” he says, standing up and pulling his face and fingers away.

“Why are you teasing me?” I whine, looking over my shoulder at him. His hazel eyes are warm, with wrinkles at the edges as he grins wolfishly, his hands move around my waist and back to my breasts where he squeezes.

“Best tits I’ve ever held. So heavy. I’d like my cock to be crushed between them.”

I groan and lean back into his grip, practically humping the air now that my clit is being ignored.

“I’m not teasing you, baby. I just don’t want your first time coming tonight to be on my mouth. I want it on my cock. The way I’ve been imagining it for weeks now.”

Oh… hell that sounds good.

Of course, my mind immediately jumps to the fact that this will be the first and last time we do this.

Isn’t that what everyone keeps telling me about Cash?

Once he fucks a woman, the chase is over, and he moves on.

So why am I wishing that wasn’t true now?

Why am I letting myself hope, even for a second that I might be different, and this might not be the beginning of the end.

I feel pathetic—horny, desperate, all the things—but none of that stops me from shifting back a little farther, craving the friction of him against me again and grinding my ass against his front.

I hear the telltale sound of his jeans unzipping and falling to the floor before the thick crown of his cock nudges at my opening.

He groans low and rough. “Motherfucker, your pussy got me so distracted I almost forgot the condom.”

I hear him pull back, reaching for his jeans, the crinkle of foil following, and then he’s back, his now-covered tip pressing against me again. And damn it if I don’t wish I trusted him enough to let him take me bare right now.

“I’ll go slow. Gonna be a tight fit, judging by the way you squeeze my fingers,” he murmurs.

I already know he’s thick from that night in the haunted house, but knowing and experiencing it are two very different things. Cash pushes in just a little, then pulls back, testing my limits.

“Play with your tits, baby,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Need you extra wet for me.”

Obediently, I grab my breasts with one hand and keep the other on the glass, rolling my fingers over the hardened peaks as I close my eyes and try to relax. He thrusts again, firmer this time, and the stretch of him sends a gasp out of me.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” I breathe, unable to hold back.

His grunt is low and ragged. “And you’re so tight. Give me a second. Can’t bust this fast. I’m not even inside you yet.”

He pushes in a little more, waits, then again, until finally, he stills, panting hot against my neck. Then, slowly, he drags himself all the way out—every painfully long, thick inch—before sliding himself up between my thighs to nudge his tip against my clit where he presses like a button.

“Fuck me,” he groans. “I’m gonna come too fast.”

“Please, Cash,” I pant, glancing over my shoulder. “I need more of you.”

His control snaps. He slams back into me, hard enough to rock me forward against the glass with a slight thump.

“Dammit, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I say though Chickaletta’s eyes are open now, and for one absurd, fleeting moment, I swear the hen smirks at me.

Then she closes her eye again, utterly unbothered like she knows it’s her owner who she worships fucking me right now.

And frankly, I get it, Chickaletta. I really do get why she’d worship him.

He pulls out, and thrusts back in, each time getting me adjusted to his width until it’s one long, smooth motion of him fucking me forcefully repeatedly.

He’s relentless, his hips snapping into mine with a desperate, consuming rhythm.

My hands brace against the glass, trembling as he grips my hip with one hand, the other trailing down to knead my ass.

And then I feel it—the sudden, sharp sting of his palm spanking me.

“Shit!” I gasp, my body jerking as my pussy clenches down hard around him.

He chuckles darkly, his breath heavy. “You like that, sweetheart?”

I nod, breathless. “I think I do.”

He tests it again, spanking my other cheek harder this time, and my reaction is instant—my body tightens, trembles, and clenches as soon as his palm meets my skin.

“Dammit, you’re squeezing me like a fucking glove,” he groans, his voice breaking on the words. “Do it again.”

So, I do, clenching hard as he lets out a string of expletives and spanks me.

He does it over and over again, his hand cracking against my skin while he drives into me deeper, harder with grunts that fill the warm space.

I’m helpless against the onslaught, the pleasure building until it’s all-consuming.

“Love the way your ass shakes when I smack it,” he groans. “I’m gonna come, Rae.” His thrusts are more erratic now, and there’s little rhythm behind what we’re doing as we both chase our release.

“Me too,” I gasp, my voice breaking.

“Give me your cunt. Squeeze it out of me.”

And finally, it hits. My orgasm hits like a lightning strike, every nerve ending sparking as I shudder and clench around him.

He groans loudly, his hips stuttering as he pulses inside me, his release spilling into the condom in a warmth that I wish was filling me instead.

It feels like his orgasm lasts forever, holding me suspended in the moment as he keeps me upright, steadying me through the ripples, murmuring words of praise as we both come down from a high like I've never experienced in my life.

When my senses finally return, I blink back into focus and find myself locking eyes with Chickaletta.

She’s awake again, her gaze steadily locked on me.

I can’t tell if she’s mad that we interrupted her sleep or impressed.

The whole situation is strangely erotic.

Sure, I’ve had sex outside. Once, in a tent with a high school boyfriend, surrounded by nature.

But this? This is completely different. The chickens feel like an audience and now I feel like I’m half insane.

Like Cash has changed my brain chemistry permanently with his dirty talk, big cock and sweet chickens.

Cash slowly pulls out, his hands steadying me as he spins me around and guides me to sit on the floor.

“You might be a little dizzy from hanging out in that position,” he says, his voice softening. “Have a seat.”

I sink down to the floor, and he follows, settling behind me with his large body shielding and holding mine. My back presses against his chest as he wraps his arms around me, both of us still completely and utterly spent, naked on the warehouse floor.