7. Wynonna
seven
Wynonna
Holy. Crap.
Josiah Stone is kissing me. Actually kissing me.
His mouth on mine, his arms around me, right here on his porch with the mountains turning gold behind us.
And it's not just any kiss—it's the kind that makes your toes curl and your brain short-circuit.
The kind I've been dreaming about for years, back when I had no idea what kissing was really about.
"Inside," he growls against my mouth, and that one word sends shivers racing like lightning down my spine. "Now."
His huge hand presses against the small of my back as he guides me up the steps, and I swear I can feel the heat of his palm burning straight through my shirt. Every little touch leaves this trail of fire on my skin that makes it hard to breathe.
When we get inside, he hesitates, and I catch this flash of uncertainty on his face that's so un-Josiah it almost makes me laugh. "Wynonna, be sure. If you have any doubts—"
I shut him up the best way I know how—by kissing him again and letting my hands go exploring. His chest is like a wall of solid muscle under my fingertips. "I've been sure since I first knew what wanting a man meant," I tell him, because it's true. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
Something in him just snaps. Next thing I know, he's scooping me up like I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around his waist automatically. The strength in him makes me feel tiny and precious, which is weird because I've never thought of myself that way before.
"Been thinking about this since I saw you again," he admits, his voice all rough and gravelly as he carries me toward his bedroom. "Trying not to, but failing."
That confession makes me feel stupidly powerful. "Show me," I challenge, my heart going a million miles an hour. "Show me exactly what you've been thinking."
His bedroom is exactly what I'd expect, practical, simple, masculine. Huge bed with a handmade quilt in deep blues and greens. He sets me on the edge of it, and then, oh my god, he kneels in front of me like I'm something to be worshipped.
I'm pretty sure I forget how to breathe when he starts taking off my boots, then my socks, his calloused fingers trailing up my calves in a way that makes my skin tingle everywhere.
When he pauses at my jeans, looking up at me with those stormy gray eyes asking permission, it hits me.
This is really happening. Josiah Stone is about to see me naked. To touch me.
The way he looks at me as clothes start coming off makes any shyness evaporate. I keep expecting to feel awkward or exposed, but the hunger in his eyes makes me feel gorgeous and powerful and wanted.
His eyes go dark, like storm clouds rolling in, and then his mouth is on mine again and holy cow, the man can kiss. It's like he's claiming me, marking me as his, and some part of me that's been waiting for exactly this just melts.
Everything that follows is like my fantasies come to life, but so much better because it's real.
His hands are rougher than I imagined, calloused from years of work, and they leave this delicious friction wherever they touch.
He takes his time exploring me, learning every curve and hollow like he's mapping territory he plans to revisit for years to come.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, and the genuine awe in his voice makes me believe it.
I get to touch him too, which is a whole other kind of amazing.
The contrast between us is crazy. He's all hard muscle and rough skin, while I'm soft curves and smoothness.
When we're finally skin to skin, nothing between us, I can't help the little gasp that escapes.
He's just so... everything. His cock is thick and hard against my thigh, bigger than I'd even imagined during those nights alone in my bed.
For a second, I feel this flash of panic—what if I'm terrible at this? What if I disappoint him? What if it hurts too much?
Like he can read my mind, he brushes my hair back with surprising gentleness. "We'll go slow," he promises. "Nothing happens that you don't want."
"I want everything. With you," I tell him, because years of waiting has made me pretty damn certain about what I want.
When his hand moves between my legs, I nearly come off the bed.
I've touched myself before, lots of times, imagining it was him.
But nothing prepared me for what it actually feels like to have Josiah touching me.
His fingers find me already wet and ready, circling my clit with perfect pressure before sliding inside me, stretching me in a way that makes me see stars.
"God, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "So tight. So perfect."
His words turn me on almost as much as his touch, this raw, honest desire from a man who usually keeps everything locked down. His fingers move in rhythms that wind me tighter and tighter until I'm practically begging.
"Let go, Wynonna," he urges, his eyes locked on mine while his fingers thrust inside me. "I want to see you come apart for me."
And I do/ Like a dam breaking, pleasure crashing through me in waves that have me crying out his name, my pussy clenching around his fingers, my body shaking beneath his.
Before I've even caught my breath, he's positioning himself above me, between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Yes," I gasp, reaching up to touch his face because I need to be connected to him in every way possible.
"We'll go slow," he promises, reading my expression. One hand slides between us, fingers finding my entrance again, making sure I'm still ready for him. "If it hurts or you want to stop, just say the word."
I nod, grateful for his consideration but too far gone with wanting him to even consider stopping. "I'm ready."
He positions himself at my entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against me without pushing in. His eyes hold mine, making this moment about more than just physical joining.
Then he pushes forward, and everything narrows to the sensation of being stretched, filled in a way I never have been before. There's discomfort, a burning that makes me gasp, but it's overshadowed by the emotional impact of finally, finally having Josiah inside me.
He goes slowly, giving me time to adjust to each inch, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint. When he's finally fully seated within me, he stills, his forehead pressed to mine as we share the same breath.
"You okay?" he asks, voice strained.
"Yes," I manage, surprised to find it's true. The initial discomfort is already fading, replaced by a feeling of fullness, of rightness. Josiah and I connected in the most intimate way possible.
He starts with shallow thrusts, letting my body acclimate to his size. Each movement sends new sensations spiraling through me—not quite pleasure yet, but something building toward it. His hands grip my hips, angling me slightly, and suddenly he hits a spot inside that makes me gasp.
"There?" he asks, repeating the movement with deliberate precision.
"Yes," I breathe, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Right there."
He finds a rhythm that has me meeting him thrust for thrust, my body instinctively knowing what to do even if my mind is overwhelmed. The feeling builds gradually, different from the sharp, immediate pleasure of his fingers, but deeper somehow. More profound.
"You feel incredible," he tells me, his voice rough with restrained passion. "So tight around me. So perfect."
His words heighten every sensation, making me bold enough to ask for what I need. "Harder," I urge, wrapping my legs higher around his waist.
A growl escapes him as he complies, driving into me with new intensity. The change in angle has him hitting that perfect spot with each thrust, and I feel myself climbing toward another peak.
"Mine," he says against my neck, the possessiveness in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through me. "Say it, Wynonna. Tell me who you belong to."
"Yours," I gasp, the word breaking on a moan as pleasure coils tighter within me. "Always been yours, Josiah."
"Come for me again," he urges, watching my face with an intensity that makes me feel completely seen, completely known. "Want to feel you come around my cock."
That does it. The dam breaks, pleasure crashing through me in waves more powerful than before. My inner muscles clench around him, drawing him deeper, milking him with each pulse of my orgasm.
He groans, letting himself go over the edge with me. With a hoarse shout of my name, he drives deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside me as he finds his completion. The feeling of him spilling inside me, marking me as his in the most primal way, creates a satisfaction I never anticipated.
After, he keeps me close like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. I fit perfectly in the space between his shoulder and chest, like there's been a Wynonna-shaped hollow in him all these years just waiting for me.
“You’re perfect.”
I smile against his chest. Typical Josiah—man of few words, but every one of them counts. I don't need poetry or flowery declarations. Everything important was in the way he touched me, the way he watched me, the way he gave himself to me completely.
"I meant what I said before," I mumble, sleep starting to drag at me like an undertow. "I've always been yours, Josiah. It just took you a while to catch up."
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "Seems so."
As I'm drifting off, I feel his fingers stroking my hair so gently, his lips pressing against my forehead. "Sleep well, little one," he whispers, and the endearment that used to make me bristle now wraps around me like the warmest blanket.
I crossed half the country to find him. Risked looking completely crazy and getting my heart stomped on all over again.
And it was totally, one hundred percent worth it. Because Josiah Stone finally sees me not as the girl he once knew, but as the woman who belongs at his side.
The woman who's finally, truly home.