Page 5 of Big and Brawny (Big Boys Love Curves #3)

five

Bronte

The Harvest Festival is in full swing by the time I finish my shift at the bakery booth.

The town square is decorated with pumpkins and gourds, hay bales creating cozy seating areas, and strings of lights overhead, ready to illuminate the evening festivities.

The air smells like cinnamon and apple cider, and local musicians are playing folk tunes from a small stage.

I'm just hanging up my apron when I spot Orson weaving through the crowd toward me. He's wearing jeans and a dark blue Henley that shows off his broad shoulders, and several women turn to watch him pass. I feel a flutter of pride when he smiles directly at me.

"Right on time," I say as he reaches me.

"Wouldn't miss it." His eyes warm as they take me in. "You look beautiful."

I glance down at my outfit. It’s just a simple sweater dress in deep burgundy with leggings and boots. Nothing fancy but I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Thanks. It's nothing special, just festival-appropriate."

"Disagree. Definitely special." His voice is low, meant just for me.

We wander through the festival together, stopping at various booths to sample local goods. Orson seems to know everyone, and I watch with amusement as person after person greets him warmly—then immediately gives me a curious once-over.

"Is it my imagination, or is the entire town staring at us?" I ask under my breath as we walk away from a honey vendor who had practically demanded to know my entire life story.

Orson chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Not your imagination. Small towns. And the Hartwell cousins have been the subject of a lot of gossip lately."

"Because two of you got engaged within months of each other?"

"That, and the fact that we've all been confirmed bachelors for years. Boone was the wild one, Holt was the grumpy one, and I was…"

"Let me guess—the quiet one?"

"Exactly. And now Boone's planning a wedding, Holt's smiling on a regular basis, and I'm..." He pauses, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I'm walking around the Harvest Festival with the most beautiful woman in town."

We spot Holt and Marigold at their furniture booth, but manage to exchange just quick greetings before continuing on our way. From Marigold's knowing smile and Holt's approving nod, I get the feeling they've been expecting this development between Orson and me.

"Your family seems nice," I say as we make our way toward May's pie booth.

"They are. Though they'll probably interrogate you properly when they get the chance," Orson says with a wry smile. "Fair warning."

We find a quiet spot on a hay bale slightly removed from the main festivities, each with a slice of pie.

Apple for me, cherry for Orson. The evening air has a crisp edge to it, promising the winter to come, but I'm warm from the inside out, aware of Orson's knee brushing against mine as we sit side by side.

"This is nice," I say softly. "I've lived here two years and never really felt part of the town until now."

Orson studies me, his expression thoughtful. "Why did you move to Whitepine? If you don't mind me asking."

I hesitate, then decide on honesty. "Classic story.

Bad breakup, needed a fresh start. I had a design client here who mentioned the bakery was looking for someone, and it seemed like fate.

" I shrug, aiming for casualness though the memory still stings.

"Found my fiancé cheating three weeks before the wedding. With my maid of honor. Cliché, right?"

"Wow," Orson mutters, genuine anger flashing in his eyes. "What kind of idiot cheats on someone like you?"

The question catches me off guard, both for its vehemence and its implication. "Someone like me?"

He meets my eyes directly, no hesitation. "Beautiful, talented, strong. The kind of woman any man with half a brain would be lucky to have."

The simple certainty in his voice makes my brain fry out. "Huh? I mean, thank you."

"Just stating facts." He sets his empty plate aside, his gaze still on me. "For what it's worth, I think he did you a favor. Not that I'm glad you were hurt," he adds quickly, "but if he hadn't shown his true colors, you might not be here now."

"Here at the Harvest Festival?"

"Here in Whitepine." His voice drops lower. "Here with me."

The air between us suddenly feels charged with possibility. Orson is looking at me like I'm something precious, and the intensity of it makes my breath catch.

"Orson," I say softly.

He leans closer, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Tell me if this isn't what you want."

What I want. As if there's any question. I've been drawn to this man since the first moment I saw him, and everything I've learned about him since has only deepened that attraction. His dedication, his gentleness, the respect he shows me and everyone around him.

"This is exactly what I want," I whisper.

When he kisses me, it's with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. His lips are warm and firm against mine, unhurried but certain. I melt into him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my fingertips.

The kiss deepens, and I hear a small sound escape my throat—part sigh, part moan. Orson responds with a growl that vibrates through his chest, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me with care.

When we finally part, I'm breathless and dizzy. Orson's eyes are dark with desire and disbelief.

"I've been wanting to do that since you showed up at my door with cinnamon rolls," he admits, his voice rough.

"What took you so long?" I ask, unable to keep the smile from my face.

"Wasn't sure if you'd be interested. Didn't want to be that guy who hits on his training partner."

"I am very, very interested," I assure him, leaning in for another quick kiss that somehow turns into a longer one.

We break apart at the sound of the announcement that the lighting ceremony will begin soon. Orson keeps his hand in mine as we stand up from our hay bale seat.

"Small towns," he says with a wry smile. "Everyone's probably already talking about us."

"Is that a problem?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.

His expression softens immediately. "Not for me. I'm proud to be seen with you. I just didn't want to subject you to the Whitepine gossip mill before you were ready."

"I think I can handle it," I say, squeezing his hand. "Besides, it sounds like your cousins already had bets placed on us anyway."

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Almost certainly. Boone texted me three times today asking for updates."

As promised, the lighting ceremony begins fifteen minutes later.

We stand at the edge of the crowd, Orson behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist, his solid warmth at my back keeping away the evening chill.

When the thousands of string lights illuminate the square all at once, transforming the festival into a glittering wonderland, I hear my own soft gasp of delight.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask boldly, surprising myself with my directness.

"Where did you have in mind?"

"Your place is closer than mine.”

The drive to his house seems to take forever, though it's only a few minutes. We maintain a careful distance, me following in my car, but the anticipation building in my veins makes every second stretch. By the time we pull into his driveway, I can hardly contain myself.

Orson meets me at my car door, offering his hand to help me out.

Always the gentleman, even now when I can see the barely contained desire in his eyes.

We make it as far as his front porch before I can't take it anymore, turning in his arms as he unlocks the door and rising on my toes to press my lips to his.

This kiss is different from the ones at the festival—hungry, desperate, full of the promise of what's to come. Orson groans against my mouth, one arm wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against him while his other hand fumbles with the door.

We stumble inside, neither of us willing to break the kiss.

The door slams behind us, and suddenly I'm pressed against it, Orson's large body caging mine in the most delicious way.

His hands frame my face, his kiss consuming, and I whimper as I feel the evidence of his desire pressed hard against my stomach.

"Orson Hartwell," I say, framing his face with my hands, "if you don't take me to your bedroom right now, I might combust on the spot. Yes, I'm sure."

A grin breaks across his face, boyish and delighted, before he sweeps me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. The display of strength does things to me, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me down the hallway to his bedroom.

The room is exactly what I would expect—neat, masculine, with a massive bed that dominates the space. Orson sets me down beside it with care, his hands immediately finding my waist as his lips reclaim mine. The kiss is slower now, deeper, both of us savoring the knowledge of what's to come.

His hands slide to the hem of my sweater dress, pausing there with a questioning look.

I answer by reaching for the bottom of his Henley, tugging it upward.

He helps me pull it over his head, and for a moment I can only stare.

I've seen him in workout clothes, watched the play of muscles beneath thin fabric as he lifts, but this—the broad expanse of his bare chest, the defined ridges of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his jeans—it steals my breath.

He slowly pulls my dress up and off, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me in my black lace bra and leggings. The reverence in his gaze makes me feel more beautiful than I ever have before, more desired than I thought possible.

"You're so beautiful," he says softly, his large hands gentle as they trace the curve of my waist.

We fall onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and kisses and half-removed clothing.

There's no rush, no awkward fumbling—just the slow, delicious discovery of each other's bodies.

Every touch is electric, every kiss a revelation.

When we're finally skin to skin, nothing between us but the heat of our desire, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

"Tell me what you want," Orson murmurs against my throat, his weight braced on his forearms above me. "Tell me how to please you."

The tenderness in his voice undoes me completely. This powerful man, who could easily overpower me with his strength, treats me with such gentle care that it makes my heart ache.

"Just you," I whisper, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "All of you."

He kisses me deeply, one hand sliding down between us to find the center of my need.

The first touch of his fingers makes me gasp against his mouth, my hips arching instinctively toward him.

He reads my body like a map, learning what makes me sigh, what makes me moan, what makes me clutch at his shoulders and breathe his name.

When I'm trembling on the edge, desperately close to release, he withdraws his hand and moves between my legs.

"Bronte," he says, positioning himself between my thighs.

"Please," I whisper.

The first slow press of him inside me draws matching groans from both of us. He fills me perfectly, stretching me in the most exquisite way, and for a moment we're both still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "So perfect."

He starts slowly, with deep, measured thrusts that have me gasping with each one.

The pleasure builds steadily, a slow-burning fire that threatens to consume us both.

His eyes never leave mine, watching every reaction, learning what brings me the most pleasure.

When he shifts slightly, finding an angle that hits something deep inside me, I cry out his name, stars exploding behind my eyelids.

"That's it," he encourages, maintaining the rhythm that's driving me wild. "Let go for me, beautiful. I want to see you come apart."

His words push me over the edge, and I shatter with a cry of his name, waves of pleasure washing through me so intense I can barely breathe.

The feeling of me tightening around him breaks his control at last, and with a few more powerful thrusts, his hands tightening on my ass he lets go, filling me completely.

For a long moment, we stay joined, both of us panting and dazed.

Orson rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed and his expression one of perfect contentment.

"Come here," he murmurs, arranging us so that I'm nestled against his chest, my head tucked under his chin and his arm wrapped securely around me.

I curl into him willingly, tracing idle patterns on his chest with my fingertips. "That was..."

"Yeah," he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "It was."

We lie in comfortable silence for a while, our breathing synchronizing as our heartbeats slow to normal.

There's something deeply intimate about this moment—more intimate, almost, than what we just shared.

The quiet contentment of being skin to skin, wrapped in each other's warmth, with no need for words.

"Stay," Orson says softly, his hand stroking up and down my back in a soothing rhythm. "Stay the night."

I raise my head to look at him, finding his expression open and vulnerable. "You sure?"

"More sure than I've been about anything in a long time." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up with you still here."

Something warm blooms in my chest at his words. "I'd like that too."

He smiles, relief and happiness mingling in his expression, before pulling me close for a tender kiss. "Good. Because I make excellent pancakes, and breakfast is definitely part of this deal."

I laugh, settling back against his chest with a contented sigh. "Pancakes, huh? That's a tempting offer."

"I'm not above bribery to keep you here," he admits, his hand continuing its gentle caress along my spine.

As I drift toward sleep, wrapped in the warmth and safety of Orson's arms, I think about how strange life can be. A month ago, I was devastated about my gym closing. Now, I'm lying in the arms of a man who makes me feel more cherished and desired than I ever thought possible.

Sometimes the universe knows exactly what it's doing, even when it seems like everything's falling apart.