Page 47 of Cry, Little Dove

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven,” Cain counts, the numbers sounding more like grunts. He’s fucking me like he means to kill me. “Six. Five. Four.”

I rub harder. Tingles sweep down my legs.

“Three. Two.”

The gun clicks as he cocks it. My body is on fire.

“One.”

Stars burst in front of my eyes. This orgasm is even worse than the first—in the best ways. A million tiny explosions go off inside me, and the pressure in my pussy makes Cain unravel, too.

His dick swells and throbs deep inside my belly, filling me with a hot stream of his cum. He lets go of my throat and puts the gun on the rock to wrap both arms around me. His body is warm against my back, and I melt into his protective embrace.

Cain shouldn’t make me feel safe, but he does. I can’t help it. He kisses the top of my head and I close my eyes. I inhale his woodsy smell, his fresh sweat making it even more addictive. His cock shrinks inside me and his seed flows from my center, but neither of us move to break our connection.

“Goddamn,” he curses tenderly, speaking into my hair. “I don’t know what hell you crawled out of, darlin’, but I reckon it must be the same I come from. Nobody else can match my darkness like you do.” His laugh is gentle, making me smile, too. “Oh, and Erica?”

“Yes?”

“You see that yellow mushroom growing from the fallen tree on the other side of the lake?”

I turn my head, squinting. “Sure. What about it?”

Cain straightens, picking up the gun. He aims. Fires. My ears ring and the mushroom explodes into mustard-colored splatter. Tendrils of abject horror curl around my throat, choking a startled yelp from me.

Cain gives me a self-satisfied smirk. “I only miss a shot when I want to, little dove.”

Amanda’s white SUV waits in the driveway. My hands are clammy as I climb in and fasten my seatbelt. She greets me with a hearty hello and a radiant smile, but she doesn’t force a conversation immediately, allowing me a moment to acclimate.

I’m pretty grateful for that.

Saying I’m nervous to spend time alone with Amanda is a gigantic understatement. I’m vibrating with anxiety. It’s only been a few days since my awkward—and entirely wrong—first impression of her. But Cain wants me to get to know her while he runs errands, and I owe him as much. The least I can do is make an honest effort to get along with his sister.

To my surprise, my mood lightens soon. Amanda is the exact opposite of what I expected her to be like. It’s hard not to relax in her presence on the way to San Antonio.

A sense of familiarity radiates from her while she asks how I like Texas, if I miss Kansas, and if I already tried the local delicacies—especially the ice cream from a mom-and-pop shop in the next small town over. When I say I haven’t, she promises to take me there sometime. Then she compliments my perfume and eye makeup and calls me hon.

I can’t stop smiling. Her kindness and openness are disarming.

It feels like a drive with a good friend, or rather how I always imagined it. I’ve never experienced it myself. The closest I usually get to people is the acquaintance stage, like I did with some of the other waitresses at work.

Warm wind streams through the open windows as the blooming landscape zips past. The smell of new leather seats and Amanda’s light, floral perfume is in my nose. Her melodic voice fills my ears, singing along to the radio during a break in our conversation.

She brims with energy. It’s a palpable buzz surrounding her. That zest for life is contagious, making my chest feel as bright as the sun burning in the cloudless, blue sky.

She wears all white again. Jeans and a silk blouse with a deep, rippling neckline, making her beautiful tan stand out. A thick, long scar runs between her breasts, accentuated by multiple rows of dainty gold necklaces. I’ve seen it before in her videos, but it’s much darker in real life.

“Go on, ask!” Amanda says, her tone cheery, button nose wrinkling as she grins.

I look at the road, blushing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“I wouldn’t dress like this if I was shy about the scar. Seriously, you can ask, hon.”

I fidget with the seatbelt that is suddenly too tight across my ribs. “Where did you get it?” I mumble.

“See, no big deal.” She giggles, slowing down as we exit the highway. “Awesome story, though. I had a heart transplant.”

I suck in a harsh breath. “Wow. That’s uh…”

---