9. Josiah
nine
Josiah
The next five days are sweet torture for us both. Wynonna adapts to life on the mountain with a natural grace that keeps surprising me. By day, we work side by side fixing fences, tending the garden, taking care of the chickens, splitting firewood for the coming fall.
By night, I worship her body with my hands and mouth, bringing her to release over and over while denying myself the same pleasure.
Each day, her attempts to break my resolve grow more creative, more tempting.
She "accidentally" brushes against me while we work, bends to pick up tools in ways that showcase her perfect ass, wears my shirts to bed with nothing underneath.
I remain steadfast, even as my own need grows nearly unbearable.
It's not truly punishment anymore—if it ever was. It's something deeper, more meaningful. A way of proving to us both that what's between us transcends the physical. That when I finally claim her completely, it will be with absolute certainty on both sides.
Today marks a milestone in our unconventional courtship. I've invited her to accompany me to the far ridge, where the view stretches all the way to the neighboring valley. It's the most beautiful spot on my property and the most meaningful.
"Are we nearly there?" Wynonna asks from behind me on the trail, a hint of breathlessness in her voice. "We've been hiking for two hours."
"Almost," I promise, glancing back to ensure she's keeping up. "Five more minutes."
She's dressed for the hike in practical boots and jeans that hug every curve of her ass and thighs. The sight of her, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair escaping its practical braid, sends a familiar heat through my veins. Every day it gets harder to maintain my self-imposed restraint.
When we crest the final rise, her small gasp of appreciation makes the journey worthwhile. The view opens before us: Silver Ridge Valley spread out in panoramic splendor, mountains rising in the distance, the river a silver ribbon cutting through green forests.
"It's incredible," she breathes, moving to stand beside me. "You can see everything from up here."
"My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on this spot," I tell her, watching her profile as she takes in the vista. "Said he wanted to show her the kingdom he was offering."
Her eyes shift to mine, something cautious and hopeful flickering in their depths. "Did she accept?"
"Immediately," I confirm. "They were married for sixty-two years."
The silence between us grows weighted with unspoken possibilities. I've been planning this moment for days, the small box in my pocket a constant reminder of my intentions.
Instead of revealing it yet, I pull the blanket from my pack and spread it on the ground. "Rest a bit before we head back."
She settles beside me, closer than necessary despite the ample space. Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that still surprises me.
"I could get used to this view," she says, leaning her head against my shoulder.
"The land has been in my family for three generations," I tell her, the words carrying more significance than their surface meaning. "I've been thinking a lot about legacy lately."
She hums in acknowledgment, letting me continue at my own pace, somehow understanding my need to approach this carefully.
"When I signed up for that mail-order bride service, I was thinking practically," I admit. "I wanted a partner. Someone to help work the land, maybe give me children to pass it to someday. I wasn't thinking about love."
Her body tenses slightly against mine. "And now?"
"Now I can't imagine settling for anything less." I turn to face her directly. "You've changed everything, Wynonna. How I see my future. What I want from it."
Her eyes widen. "Josiah?"
"I have something for you," I interrupt, reaching into my pocket. "But first, I need to tell you something."
She waits, breath visibly caught in her chest.
"When I first made you wait, it was partly out of anger, partly out of a desire to make sure this is real between us." I hold her gaze, needing her to understand. "I wanted to prove to us both that what we have isn't just physical. That it's deeper than that."
"I've been sure since the day I arrived," she says softly.
"I know. But I needed to be sure too." I take her hand, thumb stroking across her knuckles. "And now I am."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears as I shift to one knee before her, the small wooden box now open in my palm. Inside nestles a ring, my grandmother's, the silver band inlaid with small blue stones the color of mountain lakes.
"Wynonna Crow," I say, my voice steadier than the thundering of my heart would suggest. "Will you marry me? Build a life with me on this land? Create a legacy that will outlast us both?"
For one suspended moment, she stares at the ring, then at my face, her expression cycling through shock, joy, and amazement.
"Yes," she breathes, then louder, "Yes, Josiah. Yes."
I slide the ring onto her finger, relieved to find it fits reasonably well. Her hands frame my face as she pulls me into a kiss that tastes of salt and happiness.
When we break apart, her eyes gleam with mischief through her tears. "Does this mean we can finally, y’know?"
"Tomorrow," I interrupt, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "After the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" She pulls back, surprise evident on her face.
"I called ahead to the town hall yesterday," I admit. "Judge Wilson can marry us tomorrow morning, if that's not too soon for you."
A radiant smile breaks across her face. "It's not soon enough."
Her hands tug at my shirt, her intent unmistakable. "We're getting married tomorrow. Surely that's close enough to count."
I catch her wrists, bringing each palm to my lips in turn. "One more night. I want you as my wife, not just my fiancée, when I finally claim you completely."
"You're a stubborn, old-fashioned man, Josiah Stone," she sighs, but there's fondness beneath her frustration.
"And you're an impatient, determined woman," I counter, pulling her back against me. My hands slide beneath her shirt, finding warm skin and the rapid beat of her heart. "But I think I can keep you distracted until then."
Her breath catches as my fingers trace the underside of her breast through her bra. "That's not fair."
"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," I murmur, my mouth finding the sensitive spot below her ear. "Let me take care of you one last time before you become my wife."
Her protest dies as my fingers slip inside her jeans, finding her already wet and ready. Her head falls back against my shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as I begin circling her clit with deliberate, measured strokes.
"Not fair," she gasps, hips rising to meet my touch. "You can't, oh! , you can't keep doing this to me."
"Doing what?" I ask innocently, sliding one finger inside her while continuing the circles with my thumb. "Making you feel good? Making you come so hard you see stars? What kind of fiancé would I be if I didn't take care of you?"
She moans as I add a second finger, her inner muscles clenching around the intrusion. "I want all of you," she manages, voice breaking as I increase the pace. "Not just your fingers, not just your mouth. I want your cock inside me, Josiah."
The explicit demand nearly breaks my resolve, my own arousal painfully evident against her back. "Tomorrow," I remind her, my voice rough with restraint. "After you're officially mine in every way."
"Promise?" she asks, vulnerability momentarily visible beneath the desire.
"Promise," I assure her, turning her face toward mine for a kiss as my fingers continue their relentless rhythm. "And I always keep my promises."
She comes apart moments later, her body shuddering against mine, her cries echoing across the mountain ridge. I hold her through it, whispering praise and promises against her hair as she gradually returns to herself.
As we gather our things for the hike back, the ring catches the sunlight on her finger, sending prisms dancing across the blanket.
The sight fills me with a possessive satisfaction I've never experienced before.
She's mine now. Not just in the heated moments between us, but publicly.
Officially. The knowledge settles something restless in my soul.
Wynonna Crow, soon to be Wynonna Stone, crosses to stand beside me at the edge of the ridge, her hand finding mine as naturally as breathing.
"Our mountain," she says, gaze sweeping across the land below. "Our legacy."
"Ours," I agree, the word carrying the weight of generations past and future. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against my side. "One more day. Then forever."
Her smile is both promise and challenge. "I'm going to hold you to that, Stone."
As we start down the trail toward home, I find myself already counting the hours until tomorrow, when I can finally call her my wife. Twenty-four hours suddenly seems an eternity.
But after waiting a lifetime to find the right woman, I suppose I can manage one more day. Even if she does her best to test my resolve every minute until then.