Lumberjack's Luscious Lady (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 1)

by Elaria Ride

  By now, I know he was joking with that weird comment about how he’d “never forget someone as sexy as me.” Of course he’d never forget a fat chick. He doesn’t seem like the type who gets out much, who sees how women look in the real world.

  I realize that if I stay here for much longer, I’ll be breaking that vow I made after dumping Connor. I promised I’d avoid body-shamers, ones who make me feel like a lesser human for just being me.

  No… I deserve better than this.

  I push my chair back from the table, on a new mission to leave as quickly as I came. I throw my napkin down onto my plate, refusing to let this moron see that I’ve actually been crying—

  “Wait, Jessie! What are you doing?”

  For someone who has just been hysterically laughing over the fact that I’m fat, he almost sounds surprised that I don’t want to spend time with him. How very, very typical.

  “Leaving.” I stand up and push in my chair. I’m disgusted that I actually fell for his routine — the one where he pulled the chair out for me before I sat down. What a colossal prick.

  I turn to leave, but has Huck already zipped around the table, his massive form blocking the exit to the dining room. He’s surprisingly agile for someone that huge. Still, I’m not afraid of him, even as he stands there. I know, somehow, that he wouldn’t actually hurt me.

  “Why?” His brow furrows.

  I pause for a moment, considering my options. Six months ago, I would have responded to his question with a vague non-answer about “woman problems” and prayed that it got him off my back.

  But to be totally honest, this dinner interaction has just solidified that I am prolifically done with people like him. I’m done with body-shaming. I’m done hiding what I look like under baggy clothes and big purses. I’m done with doctors who equate size and health. I’m done with raised eyebrows at family dinners while I try to eat in peace. I’m done with how the media portrays fat people as being lonely and unworthy of love.

  And I’m especially done with people who make jokes at my expense.

  So with a newfound sense of strength, I give him the response he’s waiting for.

  “Well, Huck,” I begin frostily, meeting his stare. “Laughing at someone is a rude thing to do. And when you’re laughing at a fat woman, it’s especially rude.”

  He flushes a little at my words, but doesn’t comment. So I plow on, my words dripping with condescension.

  “When I shared that personal anecdote about my ex-boyfriend,” I continue, “it was meant to show you how not to be. Because cheating on a long-term partner is a really, really fucking disrespectful thing to do.”

  He opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up my hand to forestall any interruptions. He meets my gaze and promptly shuts his mouth. Good boy.

  “As I was saying, I’m sure it’s hard for you to believe that a fat girl could have any plans on the weekend. But guess what?” — I give a dramatic gasp — “I could definitely find some plans, if I wanted to! In fact, I might even be able to find someone to hook up with, if I were so inclined. So…”

  I clear my throat and gesture past him towards the hallway. “Kindly get out of my way. I have a long drive, and I need to find someone more worthy of my time.”

  I give him a pointed look, but he doesn’t move. He just stares back at me, eyes wide, chest heaving.

  I’m a little taken aback to find that the silence between us doesn’t bother me. In fact, I feel vaguely empowered, like maybe something I said got through.

  Good.

  I shift my weight and arch an eyebrow, already feeling more confident. Damn, if that’s all it takes to put someone like him in his place, then —

  His gruff voice rips me from my thoughts.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I blink at him. What the —?

  This expression he’s wearing right now is not one I expected… he doesn’t look bashful, like he’s been called out for being a jerk. Instead, his eyes are piercing, determined. His gaze never wavers from mine, and he looks strikingly similar to how he looked earlier, back when he told me he’d never forget me.

  I hate to admit it, but he almost… seems sincere.

  Still, I have no time for games.

  “Well, what did you mean?”

  He swallows, finally looking away. “I… uh… " He rubs his hands over his face, which has turned bright red. It seems like the shame has caught up with him.

  “Shit, Jessie,” he eventually mutters. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not good at explaining this.”

  I arch an eyebrow again. It’s left unspoken, but he knows what I mean: Give me answers or I’m walking.

  He takes a deep breath, staring at the floor. Then, he clenches his fists, like he’s steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say. I’m about to question it, to tell him to get a move on, when —

  “I’m only attracted to curvy women.”

  The words leave him in a rush, like they squeezed all the air from his lungs. His admission has left him red-faced and bumbling, a far cry from the suave gentleman who made me dinner.

  …well, that’s not what I thought he’d say.

  In fact, I immediately realize that I’ve never seen someone’s demeanor change so quickly. Huck is not laughing, or joking, or tossing around light flirtations. Instead, he’s avoiding looking at me, almost like he’d be looking into a bright light if we made eye contact. It’s like he’s been laid bare, like he has nothing left to expose.

  He’s… stoic. Serious. Even vulnerable. Shit.

  With an inaudible gasp, I realize that I actually believe him. But that doesn’t stop me from pressing him for more information.

  “You’re only attracted to curvy women?” I challenge, eyes narrowing.

  He sighs, running a hand over his face again. “Yeah. It’s kinda… " He trails off, gesturing towards the front of the house. “It’s kinda our thing. On this mountain.”

  I feel my jaw drop as I gape at him.

  He can’t be serious.

  He absolutely, 100% must be lying.

  Is he actually trying to convince me that the mountain is some kind of…fat girl paradise?

  “Being into fat chicks is your thing on this mountain.” My voice is deadpan. There’s absolutely no way I understand him correctly.

  He shrugs. “It’s who we’re into. I don’t know what else to tell you. Bigger girls were always the most popular ones in school. Most skinny girls leave after they graduate. And,” he adds, “the hometown big girls tend to get married pretty quickly, so — ”

  An unexpected peal of laughter bubbles from my lips, cutting him off sharply.

  I can’t help it. It’s the type of laughter that starts from deep in your stomach, the kind of laughter that makes you double over until you can’t breathe. Because now I know he’s joking. Big girls were actually popular in his high school? More so than thin girls?

  Yeah, it’s time for me to call this what it is — a crock of shit.

  But when I finally stop laughing for long enough to look up at Huck, he’s not laughing… he’s glaring.

  Like I’ve actually said something to offend him...like my laughter offended him as much as his offended me.

  I wipe the tears away from my eyes and stare up at him, and I’m a little alarmed by what I see. His brow is furrowed, his arms are crossed over his muscled forearms… and I think I even see a hint of red spreading on his chest. It’s like my laughter enraged him, stirred an ire beneath his skin.

  “I’m not sure why that’s so hard for you to believe,” he says cooly. “Can you control who you’re attracted to?”

  Oh.

  Suddenly, nothing is funny about any of this.

  My faces heats as my mind races back to a few hours ago… to watching Huck lift the branches off my car as his flannel shirt rode up just right, to staring at his muscles as he slung my bag over his shoulders.

  And then I remember how I took out my vibrator the second he g
ot me settled upstairs, how I thought about those same muscles pounding away on top of me as I rocked myself to the fastest orgasm of my life.

  “No,” I answer him quickly.

  He chuckles and uncrosses his arms. “So why do you blame us for who we’re into?”

  I shake my head, unsure of what to say. Could he actually be telling the truth?

  “It’s just… I’ve never met someone like that,” I try to explain, my facing still burning. “Someone who actually prefers big girls. Much less… a whole town of them.”

  He snorts. “Jessie. I’m sure you’ve met men who are into big girls. Whether or not they’ve told you is a different thing. But you, of all people." He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  I’m not quite sure what he means by that, but he doesn’t allow me the time to ask.

  “I’m sorry you thought I was laughing at you,” he finishes, kicking at the floor.

  “It’s whatever,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

  Now I’m a little embarrassed that I freaked out on him — and then openly laughed at him. But I guess that’s bound to sneak up on you when people have treated you like shit your whole life.

  Now though? I’m pretty confident this dude’s the real deal. He’s honest. He’s sincere. And maybe, just maybe, he’s into me.

  He scoffs at my retort. “It’s not whatever, Jessie. I’m really sorry you thought I was laughing at you. I’m guilty of not reading social situations, yeah… but I’m not a bully.”

  I try to shrug it off, but he takes a step forward. He’s close enough again that I can smell that same fresh, earthy scent.

  He warm fingers gently lift my chin up to meet his piercing blue eyes. They have that penetrating, intense look again. A shiver runs through me as the blood begins to pound below my waist.

  “All I meant,” he says, his voice noticeably deeper, “is that it’s… actually laughable to me. That some douche bag dumped you for your weight.” The tiniest hint of disbelief flits across his face, but it’s gone in an instant.

  I draw a deep, shuddering breath, and as I do, his eyes are drawn to my mouth.

  When he speaks again, it’s in a low rasp. “Because Jessie… "

  I peer up at his heavy-lidded eyes, at this look on his face that I’ve been pretending I didn’t recognize.

  But now, I’m done denying what this look is called. It’s raw, carnal lust. And it’s directed at me.

  “You,” he says, with deliberate slowness, his blue eyes dark and sensual, “are the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I bite back a whimper. How am I supposed to react to that? A second later, my body decides for me. Without even intending to, I dart my tongue out to moisten my lips… and then it’s like something inside him has snapped.

  With a strangled growl, he pulls me tightly against him, so tightly that I can feel the peaks and valleys of his chest, the sheer brawn of his physique. I can’t even imagine feeling all of him, seeing all of him. It’s like every single one of my lurid fantasies has come true.

  Before I have time to contemplate what any of this means, his hands drift to the small of my back, and we continue to draw deep, ragged breaths. I can safely say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’ve never been this turned on… and we haven’t even kissed.

  With an aching, almost impossible, grating slowness, he finally drags his lips to my ear.

  “And Jessie,” he whispers, nipping at the outer shell of my ear, “I’d be honored if you’d... let me prove that.”

  His words vibrate through my chest, and I let out a hoarse moan.

  Clearly, that does it for both of us.

  Our mouths come together so quickly that it’s impossible to tell who moves first. All that matters is the feeling of Huck's hot, demanding mouth on mine, his tongue pressing against my lips, the splay of his hands on the curve of my ass.

  I let his tongue in with a muffled whimper, and I’m surprised to find that it only enflames me more when his caresses mine. That’s never done it for me, never once... but now I find myself imagining that tongue on other parts of me, and all I can do is release this high-pitched keening sound. I’m getting lightheaded very, very quickly…

  He seems to know that the lack of air is becoming an issue, because he pulls back a second later before cradling my head in his soft, warm hand. Huck presses scorching kisses on the freckles that pepper my jaw. I can’t help the second moan that escapes my lips as he sucks on a sensitive spot below my ear — one I didn’t even know I had.

  Fuck, I’m wet.

  The light trickle I felt the first time I saw him is nothing compared to the insistent pulling I feel now, that pounding, needy feeling between my legs that’s only getting stronger. I don’t need to look to know that my panties are absolutely drenched.

  Maybe he senses this, because a second later he’s pushing me up against the nearest wall with a grunt, even as he continues to bite and suck at the skin below my ear. One of his thick legs works its way between my parted thighs, and without a second thought, I start to grind myself against his knee, trying desperately for something — anything — to relieve the mounting pressure…

  I moan in earnest as I begin to thrust up and down, then gyrate my hips in a more concentrated swirl.

  I needn’t have worried, though; Huck knows what I need.

  He presses his leg against my center even harder as he leaves a trail of kisses down the column of my neck. He gently eases one strap of my camisole off my shoulder, then the other strap, all the while nipping and sucking at all of the exposed skin. His actions seem graceful, deliberate, even, like he’s just thankful he has the chance to touch me.

  Suddenly, I feel the loss of pressure against my neck.

  I blink like I’m in a drunken stupor, and when I look up he’s staring at me with dark, heavy-lidded eyes. A vein is pounding on the side of his neck; he’s having difficulty holding himself back.

  “Can... can I?” he pants, his blue eyes piercing mine as his fingertips just grace the swell of my breasts. I cock my head, puzzled. Have I actually been with someone who asked before diving right in?

  I realize he’s still waiting for permission, and I nod leaning back against the wall again.

  “Thank God,” he rumbles, and I laugh as he changes tactic, sliding his hand up underneath my shirt instead. I arch against his knee when he finally reaches my breasts, cupping them in his massive palms.

  We groan together at the contact as he flicks his thumbs over my hardened nipples.

  They actually fit, I realize, a little delirious… his hands are so big that they offer perfect support for my heavy, aching breasts, the ones that have been made all the more sensitive by his ministrations.

  I’m still rutting my center against him even more forcefully, like I’m being compelled by some unseen power. I know I should be embarrassed for blatantly humping him, but for the first time in a long time — maybe in forever — it just feels so damned good to have that part of me in contact with someone who actually appreciates my body for what it is…

  I can also tell that Huck is lost in his own thoughts; he doesn’t seem to mind, not one bit. He’s busy inching my camisole up over my stomach, and he moans from deep in his throat at each uncovered patch of skin. I don’t have it in me to try to shield myself; based on the sounds he’s making, he’s clearly enjoying the sight of my stomach, rolls and all.

  “So beautiful,” he whispers reverently, confirming my thoughts. He leans in again to kiss my ear and hikes his knee up even higher between my thighs. I’m fully, completely aroused, but not so far gone that I lose sight of what I want — what I need.

  “Just take it off,” I pant, plucking at my camisole, which has now ridden up to just under my heaving breasts.

  “Whatever,” he chuckles, repeating my phrase from earlier, the one I’d uttered before I’d realized how serious this was.

  His big warm hands glide back down to my stomach, rubbing easy circles as they linger on the rolls around m
y bellybutton. In spite of his gentle, caressing fingertips, I start to feel a little self-conscious — my stomach is my least favorite part of my body. And to be honest, this is probably the most I’ve ever let someone touch it.

  I pull back from his hands. “What’s taking so long?” I breathe, hoping to distract him from the faded stretch marks zig-zagging across my midsection. Maybe it’s dark enough in the faded candlelight that he hasn’t seen them...

  “I just like looking at you,” he says, nuzzling against my neck.

  I roll my eyes and move to cover my wide belly. Huck's sweet, but come on.

  But then his hands are on mine, stilling them. Everything on his body freezes in place as he pulls back.

  “Is it... too much?” he asks, peering at me.

  Oh. I let out a slow breath.

  He thinks he’s taking advantage of me.

  How can I possibly explain that nothing could be further from the truth? I shudder a little as I realize that I’ll just have to be honest with him, even if talking about my stomach is the last thing I want to do right now. My relationship with Huck — whatever it is — has already been mired in too much misunderstanding.

  “I just...don’t like it. That part of me,” I confess, biting my lip and staring at the ground.

  We stand there in silence for several pained seconds, and I’m about to start extricating myself from his leg, when—

  “C-can I... show you?” he finally stutters.

  I swallow, confused. “… show me what?”

  He’s still panting a little as he removes his hands from their place on top of mine. I give him an awkward shrug, fully aware that my Lycra camisole is now bunched beneath my breasts, further accentuating my rolls of fat.

  But he doesn’t seem to care, not about any of that. He smiles and takes my right hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

  “This,” he whispers, and he begins inching my hand down down down... past the juncture of his thighs, straight to —

  …Holy shit, is that what I think it is?!

  “Oh!” The startled gasp escapes me before I can help it. He releases his grasp on my hand. I quickly launch into a half-assed, lurching attempt at damage control.