Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(9)

He dropped his eyes to the hot f*ckin’ sight of his hands on her breasts. In the dim light of the setting sun, the tall grass turned a golden lavender, and Mary-Louise moaned her approval as he plumped one breast in readiness for his mouth.

“Your cousin. W-Woodman,” she sighed.

“Uh-huh,” said Cain, bending his head to suck one bright pink bud between his lips. Mary-Louise arched against him, moaning with pleasure, and his cock, already as stiff as the stone of the gazebo, twitched eagerly behind his zipper.

“Ain’t surprised . . . the banker’s kid . . . was invited,” said Mary-Louise between gasps of pleasure. “Wasn’t it . . . wasn’t it the, uh, the little girl’s birthday today? Poor . . . little thing.”

Cain flinched, and his teeth grazed her nipple a touch more roughly than he’d intended. Mary-Louise cried out in pleasure, digging her fingers into Cain’s hair and raking his scalp with her sharp nails.

Part of the reason Magnolia McHuid had been so pissed about Ginger’s broken arm on her sixth birthday was that Ginger had only just recovered from major surgery to fix her heart. Because the McHuids were as close to royalty as anyone could find in Glenndale County, everybody had known about Ginger’s broken heart, and few, including Mary-Louise Walker, who had zero personal connection to the McHuids, had forgotten.

“That was a long time ago,” he said.

“Ain’t seen that l’il gal in an . . . age. They still . . . homeschool her, right?”

He wanted to yell at Mary-Louise to stop f*cking talking about the princess because now a picture of Ginger’s pretty face was firmly lodged in Cain’s head. Thoughts of her fingers entwined with Woodman’s made his eyes narrow. And thoughts of his own lips so recently pressed against Ginger’s sweet skin made an unexpected flash of guilt steal his breath as he thought about where his lips were now: suckling at Mary-Louise’s nicotine-scented tits.

He huffed in frustration, sliding his hands from Mary-Louise’s breasts and panting raggedly as his palms skimmed her sides, finally resting on her waist.

“Aw, honey,” said Mary-Louise, mistaking his abrupt halt for concern and reaching for his face. Her eyes were soft as she licked her lips. “You’re sweet, worryin’ about that kid.”

“Ain’t worried about her,” he muttered, clenching his jaw, trying to resist the memory of Ginger’s little breasts pushed up against her sweet yellow and white dress as Mary-Louise stepped closer to rub her naked tits against his T-shirt. “Her heart ain’t broken no more. They fixed it. Probably stronger’n yours or mine now.”

“Ain’t no shame in carin’ ’bout someone, Cain,” said Mary-Louise in a meaningful tone as she reached for his belt buckle and dispatched it with practiced finesse. “In fact, I think it’s awful sweet.”

His button and zipper came next. Hooking her thumbs into his jeans and boxers, she yanked them down as she dropped to her knees before him. And not a moment later, all thoughts of Princess Ginger were banished from his dirty mind.





Chapter 3


Woodman



Two things fought for Woodman’s attention as he watched his cousin swagger away toward the old distillery, leaving him and Ginger behind despite her pleas for him to stay.

The first? Mary-Louise Walker was only “sweeter’n cake” if that cake had been licked by every member of the Apple Valley High School football team. Multiple times.

The second? It bothered Woodman to hell and back that Ginger had chosen not to jump this year, but it bothered him even more to watch her face fall as Cain walked away.

Damn it, but it had always been like this.

Cain was like a twister, wreaking havoc everywhere he went, without a care in the world, while Woodman stayed behind to clean up the wreckage.

After fifteen years, he was getting sick of it.

Turning his glance from his dickhead cousin’s retreating form, he looked at Ginger, placing his hand on the small of her back in a lame attempt to comfort her.

“Don’t fuss over him,” he said, his anger toward his cousin mounting as Cain walked farther away. “He’s always been a jackass, Gin.”

“He isn’t!” Ginger cried, flashing angry eyes at him.

And there was this, too. Every woman in the world—or at least at Apple Valley High School—was always so danged eager to defend him, like he was some wayward foundling angel who could do no wrong, even as he carelessly broke their hearts.

He saw the way women of all ages looked at his cousin, with a mixture of enchantment and hope, wondering if Cain would give them one of his megawatt smiles before swaggering away. Ginger was no different, and he hated it fiercely that she seemed so taken with Cain lately. He wanted her flashing eyes to look at him the way she looked at his cousin. To grab his arm and beg him to stay. To moan “oh” to his retreating form, like she wished she could keep him in her pocket and never let him go.

Patience, Woodman. Be patient, he reminded himself. Slow and steady wins the race. And Cain ain’t one to be kept in a pocket anyhow.

Still, some part of him couldn’t help being annoyed. Cain had just left despite her pleas. Woodman was still standing here beside her, and she didn’t even seem to notice, didn’t seem to care.

“He’s your cousin,” she said, her voice softer, her eyes filled with tears.