Page 30 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
CHAPTER 11
Luna
Ifeel like my world’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew about ecology and environmentalism is… wrong. My whole worldview has come crashing down, and my brain is spinning like a top.
What does this mean? Does it mean the people I’ve been calling the bad guys are actually the good guys? I mean… how many trees has anyone at Kill Climate Change actually planted?
I know the answer. Ten. Ten oaks, to be precise. We bought them from a garden center and planted them in Central Park last spring. We invited the press, made a huge song and dance about it on social media, had a big unveiling speech, a ribbon-cutting ceremony, a cake, and some alcohol-free wine that tasted like cat piss.
Meanwhile, these guys quietly went out and planted two hundred thousand saplings. No press, no drama, no Instagram reels—just honest, backbreaking work.
And apparently… this is only one of their sites.
I sit there on the quad bike, my arms around the waist of the man I’ve considered the enemy of the planet. But now I find he’s not the enemy at all. He’s the only person I know who’s doing something real to help it. Two hundred thousand saplings.What’s that in terms of oxygen production? I don’t know. All I know is that Toby and his crew have done in one year far more than Kill Climate Change has managed in its entire existence.
Which begs the question:what the fuck am I doing with my life?
Maybe falling off that walkway wasn’t such a terrible setback after all. Maybe it was fate pushing me where I needed to be.
But my thoughts scatter as the quad slows. Toby eases us through a gap in the trees and onto a natural plateau. He kills the engine, and silence rushes in around us.
I lift my gaze—and my breath leaves me in one great exhale.
My God, it’s beautiful.
We’re high up now, far above the lower slopes where the lodge sits, higher even than the other stop-offs. The air feels thinner, crisper, though that must just be my imagination. To the north, Mount Hood dominates everything, its snowy crown dazzling white in the sun.
Below us spreads the forest, a living quilt of green. But directly beneath this lookout lies something out of a dream: a stand of what undoubtedly has to be quaking aspens, their white trunks gleaming, their golden leaves shimmering in the sunlight like a sea of coins. They ripple in the breeze, an ocean of gold laid out as though just for us.
I rip off my helmet, overcome.
“Oh, Toby, it’s lovely.”
His smile isn’t the cocky grin I’ve seen before. It’s gentler. Deeper. A smile from his eyes.
“I’m glad you like it. These are the quaking aspens I told you about. This is my favorite place. And now it’s my gift to you—a carpet of white and gold for the beautiful princess who has stolen my heart.”
My throat tightens. For a long moment, we just sit there in this secret place, until I feel his presence beside me, steady asthe mountains. When I turn, his gaze isn’t just on me—it’s in me, memorizing me like he never wants to forget.
I reach up instinctively, and he lifts me from the quad like I weigh nothing, setting me down so I stand before him. My head barely reaches his shoulders. I lean up on tiptoe, arms sliding around his neck.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. “Kiss me here, in the forest. Make love to me, Toby. Let me know what it feels like to be taken by a beautiful man in this beautiful place.”
His arms fold around me—strong, sure, tender—and his lips claim mine. Our first kiss. Gentle at first, reverent, then hungrier, catching fire. The aspens shimmer below, the sun warms our skin, and it feels like the whole world is holding its breath for us.
He takes a blanket from the storage container that's mounted in front of the ATV's handlebars and spreads it neatly on the ground, then he takes my hands, guiding me down with him. I sprawl against his body, tiny against his breadth, my fingers curling in his blond hair. When we kiss again, it’s deeper, tongues twining, bodies speaking a language older than words. His hands map me—my back, my hips, my breasts—and I shudder as heat coils low in my belly.
I can’t wait. I tug at my clothes, shedding combat pants, top, panties in frantic motions until I stand naked before him, flushed, trembling, the breeze kissing my bare skin. His eyes drink me in with something close to awe. Then he strips too, slower, deliberate, until the sunlight paints his chest, his scars, the lean, hard muscle earned by years of work. My gaze drops lower. He’s already hard, thick, straining for me, and the sight makes me ache.
We lie down again, skin to skin. His mouth trails fire up my throat, across my jaw, and I moan into his lips. He rolls me beneath him, my legs instinctively wrapping around hiswaist. His cock presses hot against my belly, and I reach down, stroking, teasing, feeling it throb beneath my touch. His breath shudders out, rough and hungry.
I guide him to me. His tip slides against my slick folds, and with one long, exquisite thrust, he fills me. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the sweetness of him inside me.
“You okay, Luna darling?” he murmurs.
I nod, words lost, my body aching for more. “It’s safe,” I whisper.
Relief flashes in his eyes before passion takes over. He moves—slow at first, then deeper, stronger, each thrust pulling a helpless moan from me. My body clenches around him, pulling him in, as if I were made for this.
