Page 52 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Soon, I find myself beneath them both. Toby astride my chest, his cock filling my mouth. Jack is kneeling between my thighs, his shaft driving deep into me with powerful strokes.
Pleasure builds fast, unstoppable. A tsunami wave is swelling inside me. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to.
Toby comes first, flooding my mouth with his taste. Jack follows with a roar, spilling inside me as I shatter between them—screaming, gripping, convulsing in my own blinding release.
When it’s over, we collapse together, tangled in sweat and tangled sheets. Hearts racing. Breathing ragged. Body humming with exhaustion and joy.
And lying between them, raw and wrecked and glowing, I feel something else too.
Not just passion. Not just lust. But a strange, unshakable sense that this—this—is only the beginning.
CHAPTER 17
Luke
Why does life have to be so damn complicated?
One of the reasons I chose this job was that I wanted to keep things simple.
Growing up was anything but simple. Dad walked out when I was little, and Mom had to raise four of us on her own. She worked herself into the ground—scrubbing a corporate office at dawn with a cleaning crew, then heading straight to our elementary school to dish up lunch in the cafeteria, scrubbing pots and pans afterward, and by evening she was back on her feet again, cleaning a different office after hours.
Even working three shifts, she barely scraped enough together to keep us afloat. Looking back, I’m pretty sure she skipped meals so we could eat. She wore thrift store clothes so we could stay warm. We could only dream about Nikes or Pumas. We wore knockoffs—the cheapest no-name sneakers she could afford.
The other kids noticed. They always notice. We were the food stamp family. The cool kids ignored us, or worse, constant little digs, sniggers, and whispers. Never quite bad enough to get ateacher to intervene, but bad enough that every day at school felt like walking into a storm.
And me? I had a short fuse. Still do, but back then it was nuclear. Nobody messed with my little brother or my two sisters unless they wanted me in their face. Because of my size—and my reputation—I was the one teachers always blamed. I got labeled the troublemaker, even when I hadn’t started it.
I must’ve been hell for Mom. She was always getting called in to “discuss my aggressive behavior,” missing work, and risking her work because of me.
I did lousy in school. No qualifications, no clear future. Options around Portland were slim. I picked forestry mostly because—hell, trees don’t talk back. But once I started, I found I actually liked it. I got obsessed with the techniques: how to bring down different species in different situations. Then it grew into more. Limbing, stacking, hauling, processing. Watching a log become a four-by-two beam that would build a house, or a slab of figured walnut that’d end up as part of a handmade guitar.
For once, I wanted to know everything.
I never really looked back. Especially after I met Jack on my very first day.
Jack took me under his wing, showed me how to cool my temper, and how to get along even when I didn’t agree with someone. More than that, he taught me self-discipline and self-reliance—stuff I hadn’t had much of before.
I’ll never forget my first week. Six of us recruits, starting chainsaw certification. Jack was our instructor, showing us how to strip, clean, and maintain saws.
I’d gotten blackout drunk the night before. Stayed out until three, passed out on the floor. Rolled into training late, hungover, unwashed, still in yesterday’s clothes. I must’ve stunk, though, at the time I barely noticed.
Jack didn’t kick me out. Didn’t humiliate me. Just nodded me in. I tried to keep up, but my head was splitting and my stomach kept turning. I couldn’t focus. I fell asleep.
When I woke, I was in his cabin. Recruits had dorms, but instructors got their own. He’d undressed me down to my boxers, washed my face, and tucked me under a blanket. He was sitting nearby, book in hand, when I opened my eyes.
We talked for hours. I told him everything—about my family, my screwups, why I’d joined forestry to try and claw out a different kind of life. He shared his own stories. His rough start. His military years. Then he showed me his most precious possession: a Bronze Star with the “V” device for valor.
He told me how he earned it. Five of his buddies died in a botched assault on a Taliban stronghold. The rest of his squad barely made it out. Jack stayed behind, held the line alone, covering their retreat until he was sure they were safe.
That night, I learned what honor really meant. I swore to myself: no more blaming others. No more letting booze steer the wheel. From that day, I’d own my choices. And I have.
Mom passed a few years back—cancer, only fifty-four. I’m convinced stress wore her down. At least she lived to see me graduate from the U.S. Forest Service Crosscut and Chainsaw Program, a certified operator with steady work. That gave her some peace, I think. I still talk to my brother and sisters from time to time. Can’t remember the last time I saw them in person. Maybe Mom’s funeral.
Still, I’d found my path. I stayed with McKenzie Forestry Services, rose through the ranks until I was a senior chainsaw operator, running operations here in Mount Hood National Park. Cutting, replanting, managing ecosystems. Real work. Honest work. And I was doing fine.
Until Luna came along.
At first, she reminded me of my kid sister. That was all. I picked her up, carried her back, cleaned her up, bandaged her ankle, and put her to bed. Didn’t even see her as a woman.
