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

  In an instant, it’s over, like it never even happened.

  I blink at his retreating form numbly before I move to follow him, more bewildered than I’ve ever been.

  What the hell was that all about?! Who does that, just stares at a girl with those intense eyes, giving her all types of ideas? I’m about to broach the subject, just for my own peace of mind, when he abruptly turns to face me, placing his huge hands on my shoulders.

  “I know you’re not from around here,” he says gruffly, his eyes piercing mine, “because I’d never forget anyone as sexy as you.”

  2

  Huck

  My first thought when I caught a glimpse of her profile at the foot of the driveway — those tight jeans hugging the perfect C of her ass, that scooped t-shirt barely covering the curves on her stomach and chest— was that I’d better get someplace private before I embarrassed myself.

  Then I remembered that I was the one who was supposed to show her around, so that definitely wouldn’t be an option.

  But fuck... she’s beautiful.

  So beautiful that it’s almost unfair. More beautiful than anyone I’ve ever been with. And if I’m totally honest with myself, she’s probably more beautiful than any woman I’ve seen, ever. My attraction to her was instant, something I scarcely tried to deny as I stared at her for the first time.

  She’d been standing calmly by her car, her blonde hair tied back in a loose bun as little pieces escaped around the nape of her pale neck. Just the sight of her fair skin had my brain in overdrive, like I was some horny teenager who couldn’t wait to make a move. I imagined pressing soft kisses up and down her neck, suckling at her jaw, getting her good and ready for me before I bent her over, grabbing hold of that glorious ass while I slid into her from behind.

  My second thought while I stood there behind the trees, adjusting my raging erection, was that I couldn’t believe that bastard John hadn’t told me about her until an hour ago. And even then, it was very casual. He’d just called me up, mentioned getting stuck in the snow on the East side of Biggal Mountain, and asked if I’d “show his niece around.” I’d agreed (John’s a great customer, after all) and he’d just given me a weird little chuckle before saying, “Have fun!”

  I guess I should have known what that meant.

  Because Jessie is exactly my type. And he knows it.

  You see, John is privy to a little-known fact about the men in our community: We’re into curvy women. I’ve lived here on and off for 26 years, and I’ve never met a single dude who disagreed. Of course, we all call curvy women different things — fat, voluptuous, big, chubby, plus-sized. My father always explained that whatever they’re comfortable with is where we draw the line… and yes, my mother is curvy, too.

  The words don’t really matter, though, because they all describe the same thing: sexy.

  Maybe our attraction to big girls has something to do with their confident energy. Maybe it’s the thought of them jiggling in all the right places underneath all those clothes (or even better, without all those clothes). Maybe it’s that they almost radiate femininity out of their pores. Maybe it’s that they aren’t pretending, aren’t into being someone they’re not. Whatever the reason, my six brothers and I (and most guys in our high school) spent puberty jacking off to the models in Lane Bryant and Torrid catalogs. As far as I know, not much has changed since, although that’s not exactly the type of thing you discuss as adults.

  It still baffles me that preferring natural curves is such a crazy concept outside of our little mountain sanctuary. I didn’t even realize this was an abnormal thing until I went to college in Southern California, where the women are as tiny as the pizza slices. I figured out I was different — that we on the mountain were different — around the same time my roommates started lusting after the 100-pound sorority sisters who tanned in the quad.

  I’d always known that skinny girls existed, of course; Hollywood productions were rife with them, which is why my brothers and I preferred specialty catalogs for self-pleasure. It just wasn’t until college that I came face-to-face with the fact that mainstream culture shames fat women for being fat. Of course, society also shames men who are interested in fat women, but I don’t pretend that those things are equal; all-in-all, the most I can say is that I’ve never gotten hard for a girl below a size 16, but my university experiences taught me that women above a size 16 deal with shit way worse than that.

  In college, I dated here and there, but nothing lasted longer than a few months. I got labeled a chubby chaser pretty fast, and that tended to scare girls away. It’s a phrase I’ve always hated — chubby chaser. There’s no such thing as a blonde chaser or a skinny chaser. Why should I be different because of who I’m into?

  It’s some bullshit, but that’s where we are. Or at least, that’s where most of America is… our little village is a different story. And honestly, Biggal Mountain is just where I’m more comfortable — it’s a place where curves are encouraged and appreciated. When (and if) I ever get married, I know my wife will never feel uncomfortable here.

  As such, it was a no-brainer for me to move back here after college. My brothers and I have slowly been taking over the family lumber mill for my dad. I mostly do the business and accounting stuff, but I can’t deny that occasional logging keeps me in shape. Physical activity has an added bonus of distracting me from the sad fact that I haven’t had a real relationship in over a decade — and even then, that was with a high school girlfriend.

  While I appreciate the solitude of mountain life, I have to admit that the dating opportunities here are pretty slim. I tried doing the online thing, but you can’t exactly write “I’m only into BBWs” in your bio without looking like a weirdo. When I hit 25 I kinda grew out of the random hookup scene, anyway. Work keeps me busy enough during the day that I don’t notice it as much, but I can’t deny that the lonely nights aren’t so fun. I’m definitely ready for Mrs. (Big) Right, whenever she comes my way.

  So when I saw Jessie standing there at the end of John’s driveway all of her gorgeous chubby glory, she was like a goddamn oasis in the desert. It was like all of my prayers had been answered, like she was delivered at my doorstep, just ready to be unwrapped.

  I stumbled over myself trying to get her inside, just loving the smell of her perfume or her shampoo or whatever the hell it was that reminded me of wildflowers. Of course, I managed to make myself look like the biggest dumbass in the world within a few minutes of meeting her. I actually admitted that I wouldn’t have forgotten someone as sexy as she is.

  I’m an idiot.

  A huge idiot.

  And Jessie probably thinks I’m a total pervert.

  This isn’t far from the truth, but it doesn’t make me look like any less of a moron.

  After I’d blurted it out — “I’ve never forget anyone as sexy as you” — she’d just stood there gaping at me until I quickly changed the subject by offering to get her settled inside.

  Of course, I didn’t tell her that John hadn’t really asked me to do that, not in the technical sense; I know she’d had a long drive, though. Making her feel relaxed is extremely important, especially since I’d just thrown a grade-A catcall her way.

  But then, when I’d been trying to make her comfortable, to pretend the weird shit hadn’t happened, I’d managed to fuck it up even more.

  It’s incredible, really, that a moron of my magnitude has managed to survive for as long as I have.

  I’d taken her overnight bag up to her room and encouraged her to change into something a little cozier while I started on chopping wood to keep the place warm over the weekend.

  So now, here I am — chopping wood outside the window I know she’s in, all while I’m barely able to contain my own massive wood that’s trying to pierce through my jeans.

  Fabulous.

  I shake my head and look up at her window a little ruefully. I can only imagine what she’s thinking about, but I’d wager it’s about what a creep I am for com
ing on to her like that.

  Luckily, I’ve been raised on this damn mountain — and out of all of my six siblings, I’m the “lumberjack brother.” I’m good at chopping wood, although (apparently) I’m terrible at not freaking beautiful women out.

  I make quick work of the log-splitting and head back inside John’s cabin, a few logs balanced in my arms. I toss the wood next to the fireplace, vowing to give Jessie a quick lesson later if she needs it. City types usually don’t know how to work a real fireplace, but she seems like a quick study.

  I brush my hands on my jeans and pace over to the kitchen. After horrifying Jessie earlier, the least I can do is make her dinner. Fortunately, John’s fridge is always well-stocked, mainly because he buys locally. Getting groceries can be a little daunting if you go too far away. This time of year, you also run the risk of getting caught in a snowstorm.

  So I take out a few random ingredients and get to work. It’s not until I begin sliding my knife over the white onions (and hear Jessie moving around upstairs) that I allow myself to remember our… earlier encounter.

  I groan, slumping against the granite. Lovely. Now, here I am, making dinner in John’s kitchen — with a massive boner I have no chance of relieving anytime soon. Great.

  I try my hardest not to think about what she probably looks like right now, all pale skin and freckles and curves. I moan a little and adjust myself when I realize she’s probably just standing up there in her bra, those glorious breasts barely constrained.

  Fuck. I need to snap out of it. I’m making a lot of assumptions; she probably isn’t interested.

  I finish the pasta and start plating the food, making sure we each have generous portions. Jessie made some weird comment about a diet when I mentioned making dinner, and I really hope she wasn’t serious. Even if this…thing…with us doesn’t go anywhere, she needs to know that she’s perfect as she is.

  I’ve just finished pouring the wine and arranging the silverware when I see her walking down the stairs.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  My mouth goes dry as she bounces from the final step to the hardwood floor and continues her confident stride into the kitchen. She’s dressed all in black, with skin-tight yoga pants and a cami to match. Her tits are barely contained, and there’s so much cleavage spilling out of the top that it’s taking all of my willpower not to bury my face between those mounds.

  And that ass…shit.

  I can honestly say I’ve never seen one more perfect. It’s huge, roughly the size of a beach ball, and just as round. It looks even sexier now that it’s out of her jeans, all unconstrained and plump and filled out in all the right ways. Those pants are so tight that there’s no way she’s wearing panties; I’d be able to see a panty line, for sure.

  Unless she’s wearing a thong.

  Fuuuucck. I’m in trouble.

  Before I can help it, I’m back to the fantasy I had before, thinking about sliding my cock in between those thick ass cheeks, holding on to her hips as I —

  She politely clears her throat, clawing me back to reality. Shit. I’ve been standing there and gawking at her like a moron.

  “H-hey,” I stutter, trying my hardest not to stare at her curves.

  “Hi,” she says, her cheeks a little pink.

  “You, um, changed?” My voice squeaks. What is it about her that’s bringing out my inner teenager?

  She giggles. “Uh, yep. Looks like I did!”

  Right. I swallow. Why do I ask the stupidest questions?

  “So…dinner?” she asks, nodding towards the plates.

  “Oh, right!”

  I hurry over to her chair and pull it out for her, gesturing towards the seat. But instead of sitting, she just stands there blinking at me, like she isn’t quite sure what to do.

  “Do…you want to sit?” I prod, puzzled.

  Jessie finally nods and sits down, but that weird look doesn’t leave her face, even when I drape the napkin across her lap. It’s not until I sit down across from her that I get an answer.

  “Sorry. I’ve just…no one’s ever done that for me before,” she confesses, biting her lip.

  Well, that’s a little surprising.

  “Seriously?” My brow furrows. “You Seattle folks must not know too much about manners.”

  She shrugs, but I can tell it’s not something she wants to discuss, which is fine by me. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m already a little uncomfortable when I think about her with other men.

  She smiles and changes the subject. “The spaghetti looks perfect. Thank you.”

  I laugh and pick up my fork. “Oh, it’s not spaghetti. It’s Penne Arrabbiata.”

  Jessie gives me a flat stare. “Gesundheit.”

  I roll my eyes. “Try it— you’ll like it!” I don’t know that for sure of course. It’s just a family favorite, a perfect comfort food.

  She stabs a piece of pasta and takes a few tentative bites, like she’s carefully chewing and analyzing the taste. I smile to myself. A picky eater, eh? We’ll see how long that lasts. If I have to come back here and cook every meal this weekend, I will. I don’t want her thinking she needs to eat rabbit food.

  A second later, I’m rewarded for my efforts. Jessie's eyes slide shut and she releases a groan from the back of her throat. My cock answers her with an insistent twitch, and I try to subtly adjust myself beneath the table.

  “So good,” she affirms, taking another bite.

  “I’m glad you like it.” I try to keep my tone as even and conversational as possible, but I know that little groan is going to fuel my fantasies for quite some time. Fortunately, we eat in companionable silence for the next few minutes; this gives me an opportunity to get my hormones under control.

  I’m about to offer her a second helping when she asks a question of her own.

  “Do you do this for your girlfriend?” she blurts, gesturing towards the table. “This… cooking thing?” Her nose wrinkles as she says cooking, like it’s a foreign word in her mouth.

  God, she’s adorable... but I need to correct a very powerful misconception before I let this crush get out of hand.

  “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

  At this, she arches an eyebrow, but I plow on. “And to answer your question,” I add, wiping my mouth, “my dad always cooked growing up. My brothers and I have been with him in the kitchen for as long as I can remember.”

  Jessie’s eyes go wide and she pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth. “Your dad did the cooking?” she demands. “Seriously?”

  I shrug. It’s really not that big of a deal. “My mom’s a nurse, so she works long hours. When she gets home, it’s always better to keep her fed. Trust me.”

  She blinks at me for a few seconds, her eyes still as big as saucers.

  Shit... did she take offense to something I said? Maybe the thing about how it’s better to keep my mother fed? Well, if she’d met her, she’d certainly understand.

  Wait, did I seriously just think about introducing this girl to my family? I shake my head. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

  But a second later my fears are squashed; she lets out the first genuine laugh I’ve heard — and I can’t help but think that it’s lovely tinkling, melodic sound. She takes a sip of wine and murmurs, “I can definitely relate to that.”

  For some reason, this sounds like an admission, and I pause, confused.

  Almost as soon as the words leave her lips, her chest turns bright red with a flush that spreads up to her face. She doesn’t say anything for several minutes, and after a while, I notice she’s stopped eating. She’s just picking at her food, glaring at it like it made her angry.

  “Is…something wrong?”

  Shit, what did I do this time? I dodged a bullet before, but I’ve probably done something else now. I knew I shouldn’t have started with a spicy dish…she doesn’t exactly seem to be enjoying herself.

  I rise to get her a glass of water, but her words stop me in my tracks.


  “Sorry,” she mutters, staring at her plate. “I just…that got me thinking.”

  I cautiously lean over the table, still not sure where this is going.

  “…what got you thinking, Jessie?”

  She sighs, moving the food on her plate listlessly. “My ex-boyfriend.” She swallows. “He cheated on me…because he had a problem with my weight.”

  She says the last part so quickly it’s almost strung together as one word. Her face is bright red, all adorably scrunched up as her arms cross over her chest.

  It takes me a second as her words wash over me.

  He cheated on her… because of her weight?

  Her?!

  Jessie… the same one sitting across from me? The woman who is cute and funny and sweet? Jessie, who has soft curves and beautiful skin and full breasts? The one I’ve had an erection for since the second I saw her?

  The very thought is ridiculous — absolutely insane! Some douchebag had a problem with her weight, of all things?!

  I shake my head, bewildered. It’s such a far cry from what I expected, such an inane reason to cheat on someone, that I do the stupidest thing possible.

  I laugh.

  3

  Jessie

  My face burns as I stare down at my plate. A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over me just as Huck’s booming laughter carries across the room.

  “You don’t need to laugh,” I whisper, though it’s mostly to myself. Huck’s still howling and I doubt he’s able to hear much over the sound of that. What he could possibly find so funny, I don’t know. I’ve just revealed something seriously hurtful, an event that’s made me miserable for months.

  And he’s laughing.

  The room swims as my eyes fill with shameful tears.

  Fuck. This was a mistake — this whole weekend. I can’t believe I was ever talked into coming here.