Page 95 of Fairground

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 Iwant to feel every part of him and not have him saving the good parts for the ground, my tits or my ass.

I wantallof 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 returnsmoments 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. Alarge, 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.

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