8. Josiah
eight
Josiah
When I wake, she’s curled against me, one arm draped across my chest, her breathing deep and even.
In sleep, she looks peaceful, young, but the marks on her skin tell a different story.
The evidence of last night's passion scattered across her throat, her collarbone, her breasts. My marks. My claim.
The possessiveness that surges through me at the sight is both unfamiliar and overwhelming. I've never felt this bone-deep certainty that someone belongs to me. That I belong to them in return.
She stirs, dark lashes fluttering as she wakes. For a moment, confusion flickers across her face, then recognition and a slow, satisfied smile that makes my cock stir against her thigh.
"Morning," she murmurs through a yawn.
"Morning." My hand traces idle patterns along her bare shoulder, unwilling to break contact even for a moment.
Reality hovers at the edges of this peaceful bubble—questions I've pushed aside in the heat of passion, suspicions that need addressing. But for now, I allow myself this moment of simple pleasure. The weight of her against my side. The scent of her skin mingled with mine.
"You're thinking awfully hard for this early," she observes, tilting her head to study my face.
"Just wondering how I got so lucky," I deflect, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She snorts, not buying it for a second. "Try again I can practically hear the gears turning."
The directness makes me smile despite myself. Wynonna's never been one to dance around things, even as a young girl. Now, as a woman in my bed, that straightforwardness is both challenging and refreshing.
"There are things we need to talk about," I admit, reluctantly shifting to sit up against the headboard.
She follows, pulling the sheet with her to cover her breasts—an unexpectedly modest gesture after the uninhibited passion of last night. "I figured."
"How did you really find me?" The question that's been circling my mind since she appeared on my doorstep finally emerges. "Through that mail-order bride service. Was it really just a coincidence?"
Her eyes drop to her hands, fingers tracing the pattern on my quilt. A long moment passes, long enough that I think she might not answer.
"No," she finally says, lifting her gaze back to mine. "It wasn't a coincidence at all."
Despite having suspected as much, the confirmation lands like a stone in my gut. "Explain."
She takes a deep breath, shoulders squaring like she's preparing for battle. "After Mom died, I started thinking a lot about what I really wanted. Who I really wanted. Every relationship I tried failed because I was comparing them all to you."
"To a memory," I correct. "To someone you knew years ago."
"To the only man who ever made me feel like I mattered," she counters. "I knew you were still in Silver Ridge. It took a long time, but I finally found you on the internet."
"So you, what? Decided to track me down and trick me into thinking we were matched by some algorithm?" The edge in my voice surprises even me, anger rising from somewhere deep and unexpected.
"I didn't trick you," she says, a flash of defiance in her eyes. "Everything I told you about myself was true. My interests, my skills, what I was looking for. All of it honest."
"Except your name. Except our history."
"I used Mom's maiden name because I knew if you saw 'Wynonna Crow' you'd dismiss me immediately." Her voice remains steady, though I catch the slight tremble in her hands. "I wanted a chance for you to see me as I am now, not as the girl you remember."
I stand abruptly, needing distance to think. The manipulation of it gnaws at me, the deliberate planning, the subterfuge. For a man who values honesty above almost all else, it's a bitter pill.
"Do you have any idea how this looks?" I demand, grabbing my jeans from the floor and pulling them on.
"Yes," she interrupts, eyes flashing. "I did all of that. And I'd do it again."
The bold declaration stops me short.
"I knew what I wanted," she continues, letting the sheet fall away as she rises from the bed, gloriously naked and unashamed. "I wanted you. Have wanted you for years. So I found a way to make it happen."
She stands before me, chin lifted in defiance, but I catch the vulnerability beneath her bravado. The fear of rejection lurking in those brown eyes.
I study her, this woman who crossed a country to find me. Who maintained a decade-long devotion that defies rational explanation. Who gave me her virginity with a trust that humbles me.
"Why?" I ask, genuinely needing to understand. "Why go to such lengths for someone you haven't seen in years? Someone who rejected you before? What if you've built me up in your mind all these years into something I can never be?" I ask, voicing the fear.
Her expression softens. "Josiah, I didn't fall for some perfect image of you.
I fell for the man who taught me to split wood properly when I kept doing it wrong.
Who lectured me for an hour about mountain safety when I took a shortcut through bear territory.
Who always told me the hard truth even when I didn't want to hear it. "
She reaches out, her small hand resting over my heart. "I fell for your grumpiness and your integrity and the way you take care of everyone around you whether they want it or not. I didn't build up some fantasy. I remembered the real you. And that's who I came back for."
The anger fades. The idea that someone knows me, flaws and all, and still crossed a country to find me... it's humbling. Terrifying. Exhilarating.
"You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met," I say finally, something like admiration creeping into my voice.
"Persistent," she corrects with the hint of a smile. "I prefer persistent."
The tension between us shifts, transforms into something else entirely. I reach for her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other settling possessively on her hip.
"You should have told me the truth from the beginning," I say, even as I pull her closer.
"Would you have given me a chance if I had?" she counters, rising on tiptoes to bring her face nearer to mine.
"No," I admit, the truth easy now. "I wouldn't have."
"Then I don't regret it," she whispers, her breath warm against my lips. "Not if it led us here."
I should be angrier. Should maintain some principle about honesty and transparency. But as she presses her naked body against mine, as I feel the heat of her skin through my jeans, principles suddenly seem far less important than the woman in my arms.
"You manipulated me," I repeat, but this time there's a rough edge of desire in the accusation. "Seems like I need to teach you a lesson about honesty."
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating at my words. "And how would you do that, Mr. Stone?"
The challenge in her voice snaps the last thread of my restraint. I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with all the confused emotions churning inside me—lingering anger, reluctant admiration, and overwhelming desire.
She responds immediately, eagerly, her arms winding around my neck as she presses herself more firmly against me.
Unlike last night's careful exploration, this kiss is demanding. Possessive. I walk her backward until she hits the wall, pinning her there with my body as my hands roam freely over her naked skin. She gasps into my mouth when my fingers find her breasts, teasing her nipples into tight peaks.
"Josiah," she moans as I break from her lips to trail bites down her neck. "Please."
My hand travels lower, sliding between her thighs to find her already wet and ready. "Is this what you wanted?" I growl against her skin. "When you crossed half the country to find me? When you schemed and planned?"
"Yes," she admits breathlessly, hips bucking against my hand. "This. You. Everything."
I slide two fingers inside her, feeling her tight heat clench around me. She cries out, hands clutching my shoulders for support as her legs tremble.
"Mine now," I tell her, curling my fingers to hit that spot that makes her gasp. "You went to all this trouble to find me? To claim me? Well, now I'm claiming you right back."
"Please," she whimpers, riding my hand as tension builds in her body. "Josiah, I need it."
"What do you need?" I demand, my cock straining painfully against my jeans as I work her toward release.
"You," she manages, eyes wild with need.
The raw desperation in her voice snaps something loose in my chest. I withdraw my hand, ignoring her sound of protest, and sweep her into my arms. I bring us back to the bed, where I lay her down with more care than my rough handling moments ago would suggest.
I step back, drinking in the sight of her, flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes, legs parted in invitation. She's everything I never knew I wanted, everything I never let myself hope for.
"Please," she says again, reaching for me. "Don't make me wait anymore."
"We have to get breakfast started," I say suddenly, a devious idea forming.
Her face shifts from desire to confusion to outrage in rapid succession. "You're joking."
"Am I?" I ask, fighting to keep my expression stern.
"Josiah Stone, if you leave me like this, I swear I'll—"
I cut off her threat with another kiss, unable to maintain the teasing any longer. "Relax," I murmur against her lips. "We have all the time in the world. I just wanted to see that fire in your eyes again."
Relief and renewed desire flood her expression. "You're terrible."
"And you're manipulative," I counter, lowering myself over her. "Seems we're well matched after all."
She turns toward me, hand sliding down my chest with clear intent. "Then it's your turn."
I catch her wrist before she can reach her target, bringing her fingers to my lips instead. Her brow furrows in confusion as I place a gentle kiss on her palm.
"Not yet."
"Why not?" The genuine bewilderment in her voice almost makes me laugh.
I sit up, putting deliberate distance between us. "I'm still not entirely convinced you've learned your lesson about honesty."
Her eyes widen, then narrow as understanding dawns. "You're punishing me? For not telling you I searched for you specifically?"
"Punishment might be too harsh a word," I say, enjoying the indignation flashing in her eyes. "Think of it as motivation for complete transparency going forward."
"You can't be serious." She sits up, gloriously naked and completely unselfconscious in her outrage. "After what we just did?"
"Completely serious." I stand, pulling on my jeans and buttoning them slowly, aware of her eyes tracking every movement. "You'll have to earn the right to have me inside you."
Her mouth opens, then closes, speechless for perhaps the first time since I've known her. "That's... that's not fair!"
"Who said anything about fair?" I ask, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. "You manipulated me, Wynonna Crow. Actions have consequences."
"You've already forgiven me," she accuses, eyes narrowing. "I can see it in your face."
"Maybe," I concede, allowing a small smile. "Maybe not. Guess you'll have to work to find out."
Of course, the anger that gripped me earlier has transformed completely, admiration for her courage, and a bone-deep certainty that whatever brought us together, we belong like this. Her beneath me, her body opening to mine, her heart laid bare.
She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to push her breasts together in a way that makes my resolve waver momentarily. "Fine. How long is this ' punishment ' going to last?"
"As long as I say it does." I grab a shirt from the dresser, pulling it on with deliberate casualness that belies the heat still coursing through my veins. "Could be days. Could be weeks."
"Weeks?" Her voice rises in outrage. "You're bluffing. You want it as much as I do."
I shrug, enjoying our game more than I probably should. "Self-control is a virtue, sweetheart. Maybe you'll learn some while you're waiting."
She throws a pillow at me, which I catch easily. "You're impossible, Josiah Stone."
"And you're beautiful when you're frustrated," I counter, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. "Get dressed. We've got fencing to repair today."
As I turn to leave the bedroom, her voice stops me at the door.
"This isn't over," she warns, a promise and a threat combined. "If you think I'm going to just accept this, you don't know me very well."
I glance back, taking in the sight of her flushed, defiant, perfect. "I'm counting on it."