Pleasingly Plump (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 2)

by Elaria Ride

  I shake my head, glaring mutinously down at my crotch. What the hell is it about Marina that’s turned me into a total bumbling moron?!

  I’m just glad I haven't received any more visitors since Sylvie left. Even if some of this stain is dry, there’s no way that I’d be fully able to mask the smell.

  Which is absolutely disgusting, I know.

  I groan, running my hands down my face. If I weren’t so embarrassed, I might get up and tell Justin and Marina to go ahead and leave. I don’t think Marina has shared the details of our… encounter… but Justin isn’t the type who misses much.

  Don’t get me wrong — he’s a great employee. I’d specifically requested Justin’s transfer from Sylvie’s location, mostly because he’s so damn observant; he’s great at recommending wine pairings and keeping me informed about customer preferences and trends.

  Of course, Justin's observational skills wouldn’t do me any favors right now.

  Leaving my office (and risking being seen) is a huge no-no until I can get home and shower.

  Of course, there were legitimate things I should have been doing today, instead.

  If you’ve ever had the pleasure of owning your own business — and opening it from the ground-up and running it yourself — you might know that there’s not a lot of pleasure involved.

  Not at first, anyway.

  Starting a new business (and building an entirely new facility) requires the type of obsessive work ethic most people would consider completely crazy. For the past few months, I feel like I've spent almost every single second of the day in this place. In between the actual construction (frame-building and pouring cement and drywall and power installations), I’ve barely had a second to think. I’ve even slept on the floor on more than one occasion; it just made more sense than going home.

  However, I’m pleased to say that I’ve met my own goals in getting this place up and running. I’m told that the bulk of the work will end soon, which might give me more time for certain… outside activities. Still, it’s nuts that six months ago, where I’m sitting right now had been leveled ground — and last year at this time, this patch of land (that’s now the winery) had just been sitting at the edge of the mountain, waiting for development.

  That being said, I’ve always wanted to own a winery, so the plunge into being a full-time winery owner had been easier for me than it might be for others. I also like to think that I have a sort of natural business-sense. Almost everyone in my family has been independently entrepreneurial, ever since my great-grandfather, Gian Bosco, first settled here on Biggal Mountain so many years ago.

  Simply put, I come from a huge family — and not just because we’re Italian.

  My dad owns the Bosco Lumber Mill on the far side of the mountain, the one he inherited from great-grandpa Gian. The mill has been passed down in every generation from eldest son to eldest son. It wasn’t a huge shock when my brother, Huck, took over the mill after my dad retired. My parents have been happily married for almost 50 years, but I think Mom was pretty happy when Dad finally decided to call it quits. As Mom always says, working as a lumberjack is a young man’s job.

  My mom still works, though — which I find impressive as hell. She has a kind of quiet strength, which I guess is necessary if you’re really dedicated to helping your students. Mom’s been a teacher in our tiny rural school system for so long I think they might pay her to make her retire soon. Still, she’s not the least bit burned out, which is almost more admirable than the fact that she’s worked that long, in the first place.

  Of course, my mom would consider her family to be her biggest accomplishment. And when you look at the fact that she’s had seven kids, you can kinda see her point.

  Yes… there are seven kids in the Bosco clan. When people find out how many siblings I have, they usually start asking questions — so I’ll go ahead and field a few of them, just to get that out of the way.

  Yes, I’m aware that a family of 9 is more than the national average by 4.5. Yes, I think my parents are aware of how birth control works — although that’s not the type of thing you ask your parents. Yes, things were a little crowded in our house while we were growing up. Yes, our house had more than one bathroom.

  And no, we’re not Amish.

  Phew.

  Anyway, there may have been a bunch of us in the same house, but my six siblings and I have incredibly different personalities — personalities that are as varied as our chosen career paths. From oldest to youngest, there’s Huck (the traditional lumberjack), Theo (the school principal), Emmett (the attorney), Harrison (the restauranteur), and Asher (the park ranger).

  Oh, and last but not least, there’s Sylvie and me — “the twins.”

  However, in a family as big as ours, we hadn’t been known as more than “the twins” until high school when we'd figured out what we wanted to do with our lives.

  It all started one fateful day in 10th grade. Sylvie and I had been tasked with cleaning our grandfather’s cellar, and in between our adolescent grumbles about things we'd rather be doing, we'd somehow stumbled upon a crate in the corner. To our delight, this crate contained a dusty bottle of blackberry wine — and the rest had been history. It may have taken us until 10th grade to discover that wine existed, but after that, we'd never looked back.

  I know it’s normal for kids to experiment with drinking, but for us, that hadn’t really been the point. In another instance of sharing that weird twin bond, Sylvie and I both become obsessed with wine — and fast. We’d consumed it (of course) but our interests had primarily been with the actual product. After finding that bottle in the cellar, Sylvie and I spent the remaining years of high school researching and reading and learning every single thing we could about how wine is made and produced. By graduation, we probably knew more than the average adult, even though the legal drinking age was still out of our reach.

  After high school, Sylvie and I had attended different sommelier training schools, but (as part of the plan), we’d both headed back to Biggal Mountain afterward. I helped Sylvie open her location in Seattle proper about three years ago, and I’ve worked there on and off for the past two. It was always in the cards that I’d open the second location, but Sylvie got to claim ownership of the first; being a whopping six minutes older than me is something that she’s utilized on many different occasions.

  The opening of our first business venture had been no exception; she’d made it clear she’d be going first.

  Still, I had no problem learning the ropes from Sylvie. I like to think of my experiences at her location were a great chance to watch someone make mistakes — mostly so I don’t have to. Sylvie seems to agree with that assessment; her presence here earlier in the day definitely suggested as much. She’s a task-master to the end, someone who is obsessed with deadlines and order.

  I adore my twin sister, but yeah… she’s a brat.

  Something catches my eye from the corner of my computer screen.

  Oh! It’s the security camera that’s synced to my desktop. The camera displays a live feed onto my computer, but the camera itself is only motion-activated.

  I sit up, intrigued, as Marina and Justin pop up on screen. They’re heading out the front door, each of them wearing light jackets to ward off the crisp evening air.

  I smile before I can help it. Marina’s biting the inside of her cheek as she holds the door open for Justin. If I hadn’t been treated to a particularly… intriguing display earlier, I might even believe she’s nervous for our date.

  I smirk as they head off screen before I shift my gaze over to the clock. It’s 6:10.

  Finally!

  I wince as I stand, stretching as best I can. Bleh. Sitting with a half-dry cum stain on the front of your jeans — one that extends to the bottom of your shirt — is something that I really don’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

  I throw my coat on and zip it up, taking extra caution to ensure that the front of my jeans is well-covered. I don’t expect to see an
yone between here and my apartment, but I’m a little paranoid, given the circumstances.

  Well, no time like the present!

  I stride through the main tasting room, shutting off lights as I go. Heading towards the door, I take a final glance around. Yep. Looks like Justina and Marina cleaned up well, just as I knew they would. I give the place a final once-over before locking up and letting myself out into the night.

  Ugh. I make a face as a gust of wind hits me. It’s making me cold in all the wrong places. This whole thing is a little too reminiscent of the time in grade school when I’d spilled paper mâché glue all over myself.

  I climb into my truck, doing my hardest to avoid getting this stain anywhere near the upholstery. As I stick the key in the ignition and pull out, I realize that I’ve never wanted a shower quite as badly as I do right now… and for a kid who grew up doing physical labor at a lumber mill, that’s saying quite a lot.

  Nevertheless, a smile quirks the corners of my lips as I head down the road. I can’t imagine being comfortable enough to actually share the story of how I got this stain — but what a crazy story it would be! Sylvie obviously knows more than I’d like her to. I’d be shocked if she hadn’t already giggled about it with my mom. Because (again), my sister is a brat.

  My mom is an excellent storyteller, so I grew up being regaled with tales from her life. Of course, I’ve never heard a story quite as crazy as this one; they’re mostly sweet little memories of her students or various observations on raising seven kids. As Mom frequently reminds us, she'd wanted a huge family before she'd even known how babies were made.

  And as weird as it is to admit? I have to say I’m on the same page.

  I’ve always wanted to share my life with someone special, to watch our love grow into something more than just the two of us could experience as husband and wife. I know this definitely isn’t what “typical” guys spend a lot of time thinking about, but I suppose I’m really not a typical guy. My interest in letting a lady take control should have made that obvious enough. Still, my keen desire to make babies is the icing on the cake of how… different I am.

  I’ve never dated a woman with a kid before, but that’s probably because I haven’t dated much at all; my only experience had ended quite badly, and it’s something I don’t really like to dwell on. My ex hadn’t been right for me, I hadn’t been right for her, and even if hadn’t walked away heartbroken, we probably wouldn’t have worked long as a couple.

  I sigh as I pull in to my apartment’s parking lot. Living this close to work is both a blessing and a curse — but right now, I’m firmly on the side of blessing; the sooner I can get this stuff off me, the sooner I can prepare for my date.

  I hoist myself out of my truck but pause before stepping outside, my hand poised on the door handle. Will this be the place? I can’t help but think about it as my heart starts racing in my chest. Will I actually get to make love to Marina, right in this truck? Of course, I’d never dream of pushing her (or anyone)... but she'd seemed more than willing earlier today.

  I shake my head; it seems too good to be true. But fuck, if the thought doesn’t have me getting hard all over again…

  I groan and lock the door, and as I begin to head inside, two things are made very clear:

  First, I will need to masturbate before our date. That much is a given.

  And second, I'll also need to stop and get condoms… because if I want to last longer than two seconds, I’ll need any numbing effect I can get.

  5

  Marina

  The commute home had been a lot quicker than I’d anticipated — which is a good thing, since Marco had decided to throw the mother of all tantrums the second I’d gotten him in the car. Apparently another boy at daycare had “stolen” his truck, and he’d only gotten it back at the end of the day.

  Fortunately, though, this tantrum had also left him tired, which meant he’d been easier to coax into eating a few more bites of dinner before his bath. I’d gotten him into his pajamas and settled him in front of the TV around 6:40, which left me about 20 minutes to quickly refresh my makeup and try to find some date-appropriate attire…. even if I won’t be wearing anything for long, if my earlier encounter is to be believed.

  A now-familiar thrill races through me as I put on a black bra and underwear set, the very same one that I’d purchased after Marco was born in an attempt to “feel sexier” in the bedroom. At the time, it had been a waste of money; Mike hadn’t been interested in doing it with the lights on.

  Now, though… ?

  I look at myself in the full-length mirror, surprised to find that I don’t feel terribly self-conscious despite my rolls and stretch marks and stomach pooch. Finn’s reaction today proved that I have no real reason to be worried about any of that… and if the rumors about the Biggal Mountain men are to be believed, he’d actually prefer me at my current size.

  I select a black dress from the closet, one that I’d purchased for a wedding ages ago. It’s nothing too fancy, but it shows an ample amount of cleavage. I slip it over my head and stare at myself, triumphant.

  Yes… this one is perfect.

  I don’t look thin, of course — I never have. But I’m curvaceous and voluptuous and honestly just thick. I turn to the side, appraising my figure; I guess I can see why a dude who is into big girls would be into me.

  I grin at my reflection, marveling at how the thought of going on a date has left me feeling like a giddy teenager. My makeup has been switched from a daytime to a nighttime look (something I haven’t considered doing in nearly five years!), I’ve refreshed my curls, and I’m officially ready — for whatever might come out of tonight. It’s hard to imagine that just a few hours ago, I’d actually convinced myself that I’d be getting fired.

  It’s crazy how quickly the tables have turned, how readily I’m accepting the possibility that sexuality — or maybe even romance, someday — might be an option for me.

  I’m just sliding on my favorite pair of black heels when I hear a soft knock at the door.

  “GET IT!” Marco cries from the living room, and I have to bolt to intercept his attempt to open the door without asking me first. We’ve been working on things like impulse control and stranger danger, but these are tough concepts to master when you’re three.

  Sure enough, Marco’s little hand is already on the (thankfully locked) doorknob when I finally stride into the living room. The second he sees me coming, he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  “We don’t open doors,” I remind him. “You need to ask Mommy before you do that. Ok?”

  He smiles sheepishly, although his brown eyes still alight with mischief. Lord. I’ve got my work cut out for me with this kid…

  I shake my head once more and finally open the door. Marco positively brims with excitement from his place by my side. He’d scarcely been able to contain himself since I’d mention his favorite Sylvie would be coming over.

  Sure enough, he emits an ecstatic squeal as her head pops through the doorframe.

  “MY SYLVIE!” he cries, delighted, as she rushes forward and scoops him into her arms.

  “MARCO!” she responds, matching his enthusiasm, as she swings him around and ruffles his hair; just like that, my scolding is completely forgotten.

  I’d been insanely envious of Sylvie when we’d first met. From her petite frame to her heart-shaped face to her twinkling blue eyes, she’s got the effortless beauty I’ve always wished for, the type of pretty that once reminded me of being excluded from lunch tables in middle school. And since Mike’s… office conquest… had also been a petite blonde, I hadn’t been in the mood to deal with that.

  Luckily, Sylvie proved herself as more than just a pretty face almost as soon as she’d hired me. During my interview, she’d made a few wisecracks and invited me out for drinks, and the rest has been history.

  Of course, she’d also spent a great deal of time casually mentioning her all of her handsome brothers — and especially one handsome brot
her — but I hadn’t put much stock in that at the time; being jilted in a relationship will do that to a girl.

  Now, though, I finally understand: Finn isn’t just her brother. He’s someone she legitimately thinks might be a good match.

  …Is it crazy that I actually agree with that?

  I swallow. No. I can’t have thoughts like that — not before the date has even started.

  Sylvie and Marco keep playing behind me, but I step closer to the doorway. Finn has got to be waiting around the corner, even if he hasn’t made himself known yet. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t even announced his presence, but I haven’t forgotten about our little interaction at lunch. He was hesitant. Sensitive. Submissive, even…

  Which means he’s definitely waiting for me to make the first move, even now.

  I smile cockily; well, I can certainly help him in that regard.

  I finally peer around the corner, and lo and behold, Finn is wearing a shy grin, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  And Santa Maria, if I don’t get wet from the very sight of him...

  If I thought he’d looked handsome in his red flannel, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now. He’s clearly showered (and the memory of why gets me more excited than I’d like to admit); his thick, dark blonde hair looks freshly gelled, combed back, and a single strand hangs by his forehead with a careless grace.

  His jaw is chiseled, his chin dimpled, his eyes that warm, inviting tawny... the picture of all-American handsome, if I’m being totally honest. He’s shed his red flannel in exchange for a gray pattered waistcoat and a blue collared shirt, and he’s completed the look with dark wash jeans and brown ankle boots.

  Shit. He knows how to dress well, too? Where the hell has he been hiding all my life?

  “You look incredible,” Finn says, tugging me from my unabashed assessment of his body.