6. Josiah
six
Josiah
The last nail drives home with a satisfying thunk, securing the final patch on the greenhouse roof.
I sit back on my heels, surveying our day's work as the setting sun paints the mountains gold and purple.
Beside me, Wynonna wipes sweat from her brow, her small hands surprisingly capable with a hammer.
She's been working alongside me since dawn, patching the roof, hauling lumber, weeding the far garden beds, without a single complaint.
Homesteading is tough work and she seems up to the task. Not what I expected from a woman who's spent the last decade in the city.
"We did good," she says, satisfaction clear in her voice as she surveys the newly repaired roof.
"You did good," I correct, surprising myself with the admission. "Most city folks would've given up hours ago."
She grins, that bright smile that transforms her whole face. "Told you I'm stronger than I look."
I nod, allowing a half-smile in return. The easy companionship we've fallen into over the day feels dangerously comfortable. Like something I could get used to.
"Let's head back," I say, gathering the tools. "It's getting dark soon."
As we climb down the ladder, I find my eyes drawn to the graceful sway of her hips, the curve of her ass in those worn jeans as she steps from rung to rung.
My cock stirs immediately, hardening against my will.
Last night's memories flood back—the sounds that came through the thin cabin walls as she touched herself.
Soft gasps, the rustle of sheets, that barely-muffled whimper as she climaxed that made me instantly rock hard.
I knew exactly what she was doing in that spare room. Knew and lay awake half the night afterward, my cock throbbing painfully as I wrestled with guilt and desire in equal measure.
She has no idea I heard her. Or at least, I don't think she does.
She couldn't meet my eyes at breakfast, her cheeks flushed with what I now recognize as the lingering evidence of pleasure.
The thought sends fresh blood surging to my groin, and I force my attention back to securing the tools in my belt, grateful for the concealing bulk of my work clothes.
We walk side by side toward the cabin, the day's physical labor having worn away some of the awkwardness from this morning.
As we approach the porch, Wynonna stumbles slightly on a protruding root, and I instinctively reach out to steady her.
My hand catches her elbow, and the simple contact sends that now-familiar electric current between us.
"Thanks," she says, her voice suddenly soft. She doesn't pull away from my touch.
For a moment, we stand frozen in the gathering twilight, my hand still on her arm, her eyes wide as they meet mine. The air between us feels charged, heavy with possibility.
"Josiah," she says.
I should step back. Create distance. Remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I hear myself asking, "Why me, Wynonna? After all these years, all the men you must have met. Why come looking for me?"
She doesn't flinch from the directness of my question. "Because no one else made me feel like I belonged. Like I was home." Her eyes hold mine steadily. "No one else made me feel the way you do."
"And how's that?" My voice drops lower, rougher.
"Safe," she whispers. "Seen. Wanted."
The last word hangs between us, weighted with meaning.
"You were just a girl when you left," I say, one final attempt at maintaining the boundary between us.
"I'm not a girl now." She steps closer, her face tilted up to mine. "And you know it. I've seen how you look at me when you think I won't notice."
My hand tightens involuntarily on her arm. "Wynonna."
"Last night," she continues, her voice gaining confidence. "Did you hear me, Josiah? Did you hear what you do to me?"
Jesus Christ. The direct question knocks the breath from my lungs. My cock responds immediately, blood rushing south with such force I feel lightheaded.
"I heard," I admit, the words scraping out of my suddenly dry throat.
Her eyes widen, a flush spreading across her cheeks, but she doesn't back down. "And?"
"And I shouldn't have been listening," I say, fighting for control. "Just like you shouldn't be here. This isn't—"
"If you say 'appropriate' one more time, I swear I'll scream," she interrupts, frustration breaking through her usual composure. "I'm tired of you telling me what should be instead of admitting what is."
"And what exactly is this?" I demand, gesturing between us, my control slipping.
"This is me, standing in front of a man I've wanted since I first knew what wanting meant," she says, her voice steady despite the tremble I can feel beneath my fingers. "This is you, fighting what we both know is happening between us because you're stuck on who I was instead of who I am."
"I know exactly who you are," I growl, my restraint fraying with each word. "That's the problem."
"Then who am I, Josiah?" she challenges, stepping impossibly closer. "Tell me."
"You're Frank Crow's daughter," I begin, grasping at the reasons I've been repeating to myself. "You're fifteen years younger than me."
"That's who I'm related to, not who I am," she cuts in. "Try again."
Something in me snaps—the tight control I've maintained since she showed up on my doorstep crumbling beneath her persistent challenge.
"You're stubborn," I say, my voice rough.
"Determined. Too smart for your own good.
Beautiful in a way that makes it hard to breathe sometimes.
" The words pour out, unstoppable now. "You're the woman who crossed a country to find me.
Who knew me well enough to track me down.
Who makes me forget every damn reason I should put you on that bus to Manitoba. "
Her breath catches, eyes widening at my admission.
"I listened to you," I continue, moving closer until I can feel the heat of her body against mine. "I listened to you last night. Every gasp. Every sigh." My lips hover near her ear as I add, "Even that little whimper when you came."
She trembles against me, her hands coming up to brace against my chest. "And what did you do when you heard me?" she whispers.
"I lay there with my cock so hard it ached," I confess, the raw honesty tearing from me. "Wanting to be the one making you sound like that. Wanting to bury myself inside you until you forget your own name."
"I've waited for you," she says fiercely, a vulnerability in her eyes I've never seen before. "I'm still a virgin, Josiah. I saved myself because I wanted you to be my first. My only. I've always chosen you."
The last thread of my resistance snaps. My hands move to cradle her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with a gentleness that belies the storm raging inside me. "If we do this," I say, my voice low and serious, "there's no going back. You understand that?"
Instead of answering with words, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine.
The contact ignites something primal in my chest. My arms wrap around her, pulling her flush against me as I deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping into her mouth with a hunger I've denied for too long. She makes a small sound of surprise that quickly morphs into pleasure, her body melting against mine.
She tastes like sunshine and promise, her mouth eager and sweet beneath mine.
My hands span her waist, feeling the delicate structure of her beneath work-roughened fingers.
The contrast of her softness against my hardness only inflames me further.
My cock throbs painfully against her stomach, demanding relief after days of torturous restraint.
When I finally break the kiss, we're both breathing hard, her pupils blown wide with desire.
I guide her up the porch steps, unable to stop touching her, my hand at the small of her back, brushing her hair from her neck, tracing the curve of her shoulder. Years of restraint have fractured, leaving me raw with wanting.
In the cabin's dim light, I pause, rational thought briefly reasserting itself. "Wynonna, be sure. If you have any doubts—"
She silences me with another kiss, her hands bold as they slide beneath my shirt, exploring the muscles of my abdomen. "I've been sure for years," she whispers against my mouth. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
The last of my hesitation dissolves. I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward my bedroom.
Her arms encircle my neck, face buried against my throat, lips pressing heated kisses to my skin.
My cock pulses between us, straining against my jeans as her center presses against me.
"Been thinking about this since I saw you again," I confess, setting her on the edge of my bed. "Trying not to, but failing."
"Show me," she urges, eyes bright with challenge and desire. "Show me exactly what you've been thinking."
And God help me, I do.