Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(13)
Cherry lifted her head and grinned at him, backhanding her messy scarlet lips as he jackknifed up and ripped open the condom, rolling it over his slick and straining erection before reaching for her hips and turning her around. With her facing away from him, he pushed her back forward and pulled her down onto his cock. She was hot and wet, quivering around his pole, and Cain clenched his eyes shut as his neck fell back in pleasure.
Keeping his hands firmly clasped on her hips, he pushed her away, then pulled her closer, sliding her back and forth on his slick cock until her gasps became moans and the moans became cries of pleasure. Pushing her forward to her knees and elbows, he rose up on his knees behind her and continued to thrust into her from behind, reaching forward to cup her swinging breasts and tease her tight, pierced nipples.
“Fuck, f*ck, f*ck, fuuuuuck!” she screamed as her inmost muscles spasmed around him.
Once she had found her pleasure, Cain slid his hands back to her hips, holding her tightly as he hammered into her twice more before biting down on his lip and growling into the climax of his own orgasm, which he rode out, pushing gently into Cherry’s willing body until he was completely spent.
Reaching for the condom, he pinched it tightly before pulling out of her. Slipping it off his glistening cock, he tied a knot in the open end and threw it into the metal bucket near the foot of the mattress.
Cherry fell onto her stomach, and Cain sat back, leaning against the wall beside her, watching her back rise and fall with her panting. His gaze wandered away, and he looked out the half-shattered, grimy window that remained in the once-grand sill to his left, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.
“Well, this was fun,” he said, smacking her ass to signal that it was also over.
She raised her head, propping it on her elbow and looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Wait a sec . . . That’s it?”
No stranger to this particular conversation, Cain cocked his head to the side and opened his eyes wide, staring at her wordlessly.
She sat up, her gaudy lipstick smeared and cheeks still flushed from sex, looking at him like he’d just confessed to drowning puppies. “Are you f*ckin’ serious?”
“About what?”
“You want me to go? Just like that?”
He stared at her—at her angry face and bare breasts, bright pink from the bristles on his unshaven jaw. An hour ago, when he ran into her at the Gas & Sip, she’d seemed wild and edgy with her bright red hair and lipstick. Now she just looked . . . used.
He shrugged.
“You’re an *,” she said, grabbing her bra and panties off the dusty concrete floor and standing up to get dressed.
So I’ve heard.
He thought about saying I didn’t force you to come here. In fact, you practically insisted on followin’ me. And from all that racket you just made while I was f*ckin’ you doggie style, I think you got as good as I gave. I don’t remember either of us makin’ promises. So what’s the problem?
But Cain knew from personal experience that that particular speech would, at a minimum, get him a slap across the face, so he didn’t say anything—just looked up at her, his face void of emotion, because, well, he didn’t feel anything. In fact, Cain had yet to feel anything significant when he flirted and f*cked. He felt the same physical pleasure any normal, hot-blooded eighteen-year-old would feel, of course, but his heart remained unmoved, no matter how many women he bedded, and the list was long and ever growing.
Like my cock, he thought, smirking.
“Are you laughin’ at me?” Cherry what’s-her-name demanded, her voice screeching a little when she said “me.”
He schooled his expression to bored and shook his head no.
“You are a total f*ckin’ *,” she said, zipping up her jeans and swiping her T-shirt up from the floor. “You know what else? I hope they send you to Iraq. I hope you don’t make it home.”
He flinched, just barely, and she gave him a mean smile before grabbing her shoes from the floor and hurrying toward the stairs.
When the rickety stairwell door slammed behind her, Cain stood up and stretched leisurely, walking to the window to watch her stomp away from the building, through the opening in the fence they’d used to enter, and back to her car. She burned rubber pulling away, and Cain rubbed his jaw, thinking of the red marks on her breasts and thinking he should probably shower and shave before he headed to McHuid’s to say good-bye to his father . . . and to Ginger.
***
An hour later, Cain pulled his motorcycle up the gravel driveway of McHuid Farm, turning right at the first pass, and headed straight to the barn, as he had thousands of times in his life. Today was his last chance to say good-bye to his father before shipping out to Navy boot camp bright and early tomorrow morning.
Since his parents had divorced, two years ago, Cain had been living with his mother in a small apartment on Main Street, while his father, who decided to sell their family home, had moved into the tack room at McHuid’s. In a move completely sanctioned, if not encouraged, by Ranger McHuid, Klaus’s work and life were seamless now, and Cain doubted his father left the farm more than once a week, and only then when he ran out for groceries or beer.
Pulling his fully restored 2001 Yamaha R6 into the gravel lot beside the barn, Cain cut the engine, pushed down the kickstand, and unhooked his helmet. Throwing his leg over the seat, he sauntered toward the barn.