Page 44 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

Cash drops to the ground in front of me, his knees hitting the barn’s dirt floor as he yanks my denim jeans and underwear down in one seamless motion.?

“Geez, Cash, a little warning would’ve been nice!” I gasp, caught off guard but not complaining.

His lips curl into a wicked smile as he looks up at me, his eyes dark and blazing. “What fun would that be?” He grips my hips, pulling me closer. “Brace yourself.”

The only thing within reach is a large glass container filled with crickets and mealworms, the one that they use for winter chicken feed when they can't venture outside as much as usual. Not exactly the most romantic setting, but when Cash’s hot tongue flattens against my opening, all thoughts of unsexy barn critters evaporate.

He places a soft kiss there before plunging two fingers inside me, his other hand gripping my thigh to hold me steady.

“So, fucking wet for me already,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel as he pumps his fingers inside me. “That picture turned you on, huh?”

I let out a whimper, my body arching into his touch. “Yes.” But before I can beg for more, he withdraws his fingers, standing and freeing his cock. He stands then lines himself up with me, the thick head nudging my entrance.

“Gonna go fast,” he mutters, his voice strained. “Wanna show you the chicks before they go to sleep.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, equal parts shock and delight, because of course he’d say something like that right before fucking me in a barn.

Did I ever expect to hear something so absurd and sweet in this moment?

Not a chance. And did I think I’d find it romantic?

Also no. But this is Cash—a man who’s wildly devoted to his chickens…

and to me. It’s ridiculous and perfect. The kind of messy magic I never knew I needed.

Then he thrusts into me in one, hard motion, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck, Rae,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “You feel so damn good stretched around me like that, baby.”

I push back against him, tilting my hips to take him deeper. “Fill me,” I whisper, the words spilling out before I can think. “Fill me with your cum.”

Cash freezes, his body going rigid as he processes my words. “Seriously?”

I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. “Yes.”

We've been having sex for months with him pulling out right at the point before he releases, but tonight feels different like I want to feel every part of him and not have him saving the good parts for the ground, my tits or my ass.

I want all of him.

His jaw tightens, his eyes locking on mine like he’s trying to confirm I’m not messing with him. Then he curses under his breath, his grip on my hips tightens as he begins to move again, harder, faster, each thrust more intense than the last.

“Fuck, Rae,” he growls, his voice low and guttural. “You’re pulling my cock in like you never want me to leave.”

“Harder,” I gasp, my fingers curling around the edge of the glass container for support.

He lets out a groan, slamming into me with a force that has my body trembling, my head dropping forward as my release builds. I squeeze around him each time he bottoms out which has him cursing even louder.

“Cash,” I cry out, my voice breaking. “I’m close.”

“Come all over my cock,” he grits out, his thrusts growing erratic. “Milk my orgasm out of me, Rae, and I’ll fill you up.”

His words push me over the edge, my body shattering as I come around him, my walls clenching and pulsing in time with his movements. Cash lets out a strangled groan, burying himself as deep as he can go, and I feel the hot rush of his release spilling inside me freely.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against my shoulder blade as he stills, both of us panting and slick with sweat.

When he finally pulls out, I feel the evidence of his orgasm dripping down my thigh in a hot, wet mess.

“Shit,” he mutters, quickly yanking up his jeans and disappearing into the small office off the barn. He returns moments later with a wet paper towel, crouching down in front of me.

“This isn’t ideal,” he says, his tone softer now as he carefully cleans me up. “But it’ll do until we get to the main facility. There’s a bathroom there.”

I watch him, a small smile tugging at my lips as he slides my underwear back into place and tugs my jeans up over my hips. He buttons them with the same care he’d handle one of those fragile baby chicks before leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of my nose.

“Can’t say I’m upset about the fact you’re going to be walking around with my cum dripping out of you for this next part,” he says, grinning, “Now, let’s go see these baby chicks.”

The path from the barn to the warehouse is quiet now, the night sky blanketing Whitewood Creek Farmstead in darkness.

Small lanterns line the dirt walkway, casting soft, golden halos of light on the ground as Cash takes my hand in his.

His grip is warm, steady, and he walks with an easy confidence, his other hand in his pocket, like he’s done this a thousand times.

But for me, every step feels electric, like something big is about to happen.

The warehouse looms ahead, a familiar silhouette against the night sky. Inside, it’s quiet, still, save for the faint hum of heaters keeping the chicks warm.

I learned a long time ago not to make much noise in here. The older hens need peace to conserve their energy for laying, especially now, deep into spring and the start of egg-laying season.

Cash pushes open the door, and we step into the quiet, tiptoeing like we’re sneaking into a sacred space.

We weave through the rows of neatly organized crates and supplies until we reach the back corner, where the newest batch of baby chicks is housed.

A large, heated enclosure glows softly, and the air is filled with the high-pitched cheeps of the tiny, fuzzy creatures.

“It’s like a tiny little heated bed for them,” I whisper, leaning closer to take in the sight.

The chicks move about, little yellow balls of fluff stumbling and bumping into each other, their tiny wings flapping as they try to make sense of their new world.

“It’s adorable,” I murmur, a smile spreading across my face.

Who would’ve thought I’d be standing here, tears filling the corners of my eyes, getting all emotional over a bunch of baby chicks?

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have even known what an egg farm smelled like, let alone spent my nights admiring tiny, feathered dinosaurs.

But now, here I am, completely and utterly enchanted by them, by Cash, by all of it.

“Cash—” I turn to speak to him but realize he’s not next to me anymore. My eyes dart around until I spot him kneeling down a few feet away.

In one hand, he’s cradling a single chick, its soft cheeps filling the air. In the other, gleaming under the soft light of the enclosure, is a diamond ring so dazzling it might outshine the sun and the moon.

My breath catches as he brings the chick to his cheek, brushing it gently while grinning up at me.

“Rae,” he begins, his voice steady and sure.

“People used to tell me I didn’t have a type.

That I’d be a perpetual bachelor, never settling down.

And you know what? I agreed with them. I figured I wasn’t the kind of guy who’d ever find someone worth changing for and the thought of anything stealing my joy, well that sounded like hell.

Turns out, I was just waiting for the right woman.

The dark to my light. The night to my morning.

The moon to my sun. A woman who challenges me in ways I didn’t even know I needed—professionally, personally, all of it.

You didn't steal my joy, you multiplied it. Gave me someone who could handle my banter and dished it right back even better. You stole my heart the moment I met you at the bar, and I don’t want another day to go by without you as my wife.

So,” he takes a deep breath and smiles, “Will you marry me?”

My heart feels like it’s about to burst. I nod, unable to speak at first because the question in any life would have the same answer.

Of course I’d end up here, in the middle of an egg farm, surrounded by baby chicks, saying yes to marriage with Cash Marshall, the one and only Mr. Whitewood Creek while I hold the title of Mayor.

“Yes,” I finally manage to get out before laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Oh, God, I can’t believe this.”

Cash grins, sliding the ring onto my finger with gentleness. I reach for the baby chick, cradling her in my hands, marveling at her soft, downy feathers and tiny, blinking eyes.

“I'm so happy right now. I can’t believe we’re getting married.”

He smiles. “Couldn’t do it without my chick friend.”

She’s perfect,” I whisper, stroking her tiny wings.

“I thought you might like her,” Cash says, his grin widening. “You get to name her.”

It only takes me a second before the perfect name comes to me. “ Torchic ,” I announce, smiling as the chick blinks up at me.

His brows knit together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s from Pokémon ,” I say, biting back a laugh. “Torchic is a little yellow chicken with a flame crest. Inside its belly is a flame sac filled with fire. When it’s hugged, it feels warm, but when it’s attacked, it shoots fireballs and scorches its enemies.”

Cash chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer, brushing a kiss against my forehead. “Sounds a lot like you when I first met you.”

I grin up at him. “Yeah, but here’s the thing. Torchic evolves into Blaziken eventually—a total badass chicken Pokémon.”

“Yeah?” he says, his lips brushing my temple now.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I thought I could keep most people away. That I would push you off with my personality, keep you at arm’s length. Hell, I thought that about this whole small town. But you know the crazy thing about Blaziken?”

“Hm?” His voice is a low rumble, his lips still lingering near my skin.

“Its’ feathers burn off from repeated exposure to fire, but new feathers always grow back, stronger. It’s how I felt. You burnt off the old parts of me. Helped me shed those things that I used to cling to, and I grew into something new here in Whitewood Creek. Something better.”

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze warm and unwavering. “And do you like this new version of your life here with me?”

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. “I do.”

He leans in and kisses me slowly, his hands cupping my face like he never wants to let me go. Like I'm the most important person in the world to him. And I believe that I am.

“Me too, baby,” he murmurs against my lips. “Me too.”

The End.