Page 23 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
He's super shy, but I think he might have fallen in love with me. Honestly? I feel very close to him. Spiritually, I mean. As well as fancying him. We only "did it" that once… but I'd do it again, I think. If I weren't so confused about everything.
And actually, now I come to think of it, there's something really special about Eric. He… actually listens. Like he cares.
He's a scientist—soon to be Dr. Eric Kurtz, with articles published in proper journals and everything. He's so much morethan just another guy. He's an environmental scientist with a real passion for helping create a sustainable planet.
I wish… I wish he had more self-confidence. I wish he could see how important he is. I wish I could help him with his work. Sure, I'm an activist—but how much more good could I do if I were actually helping to develop better, sustainable best practices for the world to implement?
Now that would be amazing.
Then there's the bearded giant, and my archenemy, Luke. He's the opposite of Eric. If Eric is DiCaprio, Luke's Schwarzenegger, at least in size. He's like something out of a WWF competition.
And yet you can see how the others respect him. You can see how much he cares about his work. He's a solid man in every sense—a man of his word, with rigid standards. Even though he seems to hate me and clearly doesn't want me here, it was he who rescued me and looked after me when I first arrived.
More than that, he made me a crutch from spare timber—good strong walnut, too, not just softwood. Not something rough and thrown together in five minutes. It was lovingly crafted, sanded to a silky smoothness, and made-to-measure so it fit perfectly under my arm.
In the early days, it was essential. Now, a week later, my wrist is almost better and my ankle—while still tender—is definitely healing.
If I'm completely honest, a small part of me can't help wondering what it would be like to be with a guy like him. I mean, I'm petite. He's a literal Norse god. What would that even feel like?
But beyond the size and muscle, there's something deeper about Luke that both maddens me and attracts me.
His morality.
I may not agree with all of what he says… but I have to hand it to him. I wish my friends were even half as loyal, kind, and considerate as he is.
With a man like that by your side, a woman wouldn't just feel physically safe—she'd feel emotionally protected too. She'd know he'd put her first. Always make sure she's okay.
In fact, when I think about it, if he weren't such a complete asshole… he'd be the perfect catch.
As for the James brothers—Jack and Toby—they're an absolute dream, and when I say dream, I mean that literally. I've woken up in the middle of the night, soaking wet from the erotic imaginings of my mind.
There's this one dream I've had three times now, where I walk into the bathroom to take a shower and Toby's already there, naked and lathered up, his body glistening, soapsuds running down his powerful chest and thighs, his taut, firm buttocks just crying out to be kissed and caressed. My breath always catches, even though I know it's a dream—I can't help it. He's so utterly him, cocky and careless, and I'm already aching before he even looks at me.
In my dream, he just grins at me with that slightly mocking and entirely filthy grin of his and beckons me forward. My skin prickles as if the steam itself is alive, pressing me closer. I let the gray bathrobe slip from my shoulders—the only barrier between us—and step into the shower to join him, my pulse racing like I'm crossing some forbidden threshold.
In the dream, he soaps up my body with the same lather, slicking his own skin. The scent of jasmine and ginger clings to the steam, sweet and sharp, as his hands move over me with a tenderness that steals my breath. Neck, shoulders, breasts, lower… every touch makes me gasp, every stroke a reminder of how much I want to give myself to this. The hot jets ofwater slide down us both, and it feels like being baptized into something dangerous and holy at once.
Then I sense another presence, a different gravity behind me, and when I turn, Jack is there. Toby's older brother, the silver fox, stepping naked into the shower as if he owns the space—and me. Older, bulkier, carved from something harder, his scars make me ache to know his stories. The tattoos winding across his arms—dragons twisting, battling, breathing fire—draw my eyes even though my body already knows what it wants from him. It's always the same in the dream, down to every color, every line.
He takes me in his powerful hands and turns me. My nipples pebble instantly against the heat of his chest, the roughness of him sparking against my softness. His mouth descends, and I don't think—I only feel. The pressure of his lips on mine, the hungry stroke of his tongue, the way my knees nearly give as he kisses me like I'm his to claim. A shiver races through me, sharp and sweet, as if I'm melting right into him.
The water drums down on us as they both touch me, as though in a ritual designed only for me. They explore me with reverence, with hunger—soap and steam and skin, hands and mouths that leave no inch of me untouched. I feel like a sacred thing in their grasp, precious and fragile and yet desired beyond reason. Every caress makes me tremble, every kiss burns itself into me.
A hand finds its way lower, beneath my belly, to the downy patch of hair and then further, to the heat of my pussy. The instant his fingers graze me, I shudder, a startled groan escaping as a mini-orgasm flashes through me like lightning. My body is already theirs, but it only leaves me craving more—desperate, hollow with need.
I open my eyes, reaching for them, for something. My hand is guided to Toby's cock, swollen and rigid, the head flushed darkand slick. I curl my fingers around him, trembling as he grins down at me, guiding me to stroke him the way he likes, the way I've imagined too many times.
Then I'm lifted—Jack's strong hands from behind—and placed before Toby. My waist is held firm, my body positioned with such certainty that I surrender without thought. Toby eases forward, the thick head of his cock pressing between my folds, nudging at my entrance until I can't breathe. The pressure is unbearable, exquisite. He draws me onto him, filling me, stretching me until I gasp with relief at the sweet invasion. My body clings to him, aching, greedy.
Held safe in Jack's grip, I move as Toby thrusts. The rhythm builds slowly, deliberate, every stroke a promise, every withdrawal a tease. I close my eyes, surrendering to the flood of sensation. The water, the heat, the twin presences of them holding me, taking me—it all crashes together until I'm nothing but pulse and pleasure.
The wave inside me rises too fast, too strong to resist. Toby fucks me harder, faster, his cock slamming deeper, his body consuming mine. My orgasm bursts from me in a rush, wracking me with spasms as I cry out, thrashing against them both. My pussy clamps and milks his cock, pulling us together until we shatter at once, breathless, undone.
And always, in that blinding moment, I awaken.
I'm in my bed, soaked to the skin, heart racing, breath ragged. My pussy is drenched, my nipples hard as diamonds, and I lie there gasping for minutes before I can even move. The longing is unbearable, and the question always follows—why? Why am I falling for two men who should be my sworn enemies?
Because, if I'm honest, it's not just their bodies—though yes, they definitely have their attractions. It's more than that.
