10. Wynonna
ten
Wynonna
"Mrs. Stone."
Josiah's voice wraps around the name like a caress as he helps me from his truck, his hand steady and warm against mine. I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face—probably the hundredth one today. Mrs. Stone. Wynonna Stone. After all this time, it's finally real.
"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" I tease, gathering the simple ivory skirt of my wedding dress to keep it from dragging in the dirt driveway.
"Better than nice," he agrees, his eyes never leaving mine as he closes the truck door.
The dress was a lucky find, discovered just yesterday in Silver Ridge's lone second-hand boutique. A vintage lace creation with cap sleeves and a modest neckline that somehow feels both traditional and timeless.
When I stepped out of the back room at the town hall wearing it, Josiah's expression made every penny worth it. I've never seen that particular look on his face before, like he'd been struck speechless, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
Now, as we approach our cabin that same look returns, intensified by the knowledge of what comes next.
Six days of exquisite torture since he first claimed my body but denied himself the same pleasure.
Six days of his hands, his mouth on my body, bringing me to the edge and over it countless times, but always stopping short of what we both truly wanted.
Each time he pulled back, each time he denied both of us, the anticipation built higher.
By yesterday, when he proposed on the ridge overlook, I was ready to scream with frustration.
And when he told me we could be married the very next day, I nearly cried with relief.
Now, as his hand rests possessively at the small of my back, guiding me up the porch steps, anticipation thrums through me like electricity.
The underwear beneath my wedding dress is already damp with desire.
"Wait," he says as we reach the door.
Before I can question him, he sweeps me into his arms with startling ease, one arm beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. I squeal, throwing my arms around his neck to steady myself.
"Josiah! What are you doing?"
"Carrying my wife across the threshold," he says with such matter-of-fact seriousness that I can't help but laugh. "It's tradition."
The cabin looks different somehow. Not in any tangible way, but in the knowledge that it's truly ours now. Our shared space. Our future.
Josiah sets me gently on my feet in the middle of the living room, but doesn't release me.
His hands remain on my waist, thumbs tracing gentle circles through the delicate fabric of my dress.
The fire he must have lit before we left for town hall still burns low in the hearth, casting the room in a warm golden glow.
"Happy?" he asks, his gray eyes searching mine.
"Happier than I ever thought possible," I admit, the honest words coming easily. "Are you?"
"More than happy," he says, his voice dropping to that lower register that never fails to send heat pooling low in my belly. "Satisfied. Complete."
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip in a gesture both tender and possessive. "My wife," he says again, testing the words like they're something precious and new. "Mine."
"Yours," I agree, turning my face to press a kiss against his palm. "Always have been. Always will be."
The careful restraint he's maintained all day giving way to a hunger that steals my breath. His hand slides to the back of my neck, drawing me closer as his mouth claims mine in a kiss that's somehow both tender and demanding.
I melt against him, arms winding around his neck as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance I eagerly grant.
The familiar taste of him floods my senses.
His other hand splays across my lower back, pressing me more firmly against him until I can feel the hard evidence of his desire against my stomach.
"Six days," I murmur against his mouth when we break for air. "You made me wait too long."
"Worth it," he says, his hand finding the row of small buttons that run down the back of my dress. "Wouldn't you say?"
"I'll let you know," I reply with feigned indifference that makes him chuckle.
His fingers work the tiny buttons with unexpected dexterity, slowly exposing the bare skin of my back to the cool air. Each newly revealed inch he touches with reverent care, tracing patterns that make me shiver with anticipation.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he confesses, pressing a kiss to my newly exposed shoulder. "How you'd look in this dress. How you'd look out of it."
With the last button undone, the dress loosens around me. Josiah steps back just enough to ease it from my shoulders, letting the ivory lace pool at my feet. I stand before him in nothing but a white strapless bra and matching panties, my skin prickling into goosebumps in the cool cabin air.
His sharp intake of breath is immensely satisfying. His eyes darken as they roam over me, taking in every inch with an intensity that makes me feel both exposed and powerful.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, the single word heavy with reverence. "So goddamn beautiful."
I reach for him, needing to touch, to feel, but he catches my wrists gently. "Not yet," he says, bringing my hands to his lips to press a kiss to each palm. "I've been thinking about this too long to rush it."
Before I can protest, he sweeps me into his arms again and carries me toward the bedroom. He deposits me gently on the bed, taking a moment to drink in the sight of me against the dark quilt.
I watch, entranced, as he reveals himself inch by inch—broad shoulders, muscled chest lightly dusted with dark hair that narrows to a trail disappearing into his waistband. The sight of him never fails to stir something primal in me, a visceral reaction to his raw masculinity.
When he's down to just his boxer briefs with his cock straining hard, he joins me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he stretches out beside me. One large hand cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with surprising tenderness.
"Worth the wait?" he asks, a hint of genuine vulnerability beneath the teasing.
"Every second," I assure him, leaning in to press my lips to his. "Every day. Every year."
Something in my answer breaks through his careful control. His kiss turns hungry, demanding, as his hands begin a thorough exploration of my body.
"Perfect," he murmurs, eyes darkening as he cups one breast, thumb circling the already hardened peak. "Every inch of you."
I arch into his touch, skin hypersensitive after days of anticipation. When his mouth replaces his hand, drawing my nipple between his lips, a gasp escapes me, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on each breast until I'm squirming beneath him, desperate for more. Only then does his mouth begin a leisurely journey downward, trailing kisses across my stomach, his beard creating exquisite friction against my sensitive skin.
"Josiah," I breathe, my hands gripping the sheets as he moves lower still.
His eyes meet mine as he settles between my thighs, the intensity in his gaze sending another wave of heat through me. "I've been dreaming about tasting you as my wife," he murmurs, his breath warm against my inner thigh. "Claiming you completely."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, his tongue tracing a long, slow path through my folds. A cry escapes me at the sensation, my hips rising instinctively to meet him. His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he explores with deliberate thoroughness.
"You taste like heaven," he groans against me, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure building inside me. "Like something worth waiting for."
His tongue circles my clit before dipping lower to tease my entrance. I gasp his name, one hand reaching down to tangle in his hair, urging him closer. He responds by sliding a finger inside me while his mouth focuses on my throbbing clit.
"Please," I manage, the word breaking on a moan as he adds a second finger, curling them to hit that perfect spot inside me. "Josiah, I—"
"Let go," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Let me taste you, feel you come apart on my tongue."
The combination of his words, his fingers working inside me, and the relentless attention of his mouth sends me hurtling over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, my body arching off the bed as his name falls from my lips in a desperate cry.
He doesn't stop, drawing out my climax until I'm trembling and oversensitive, gently guiding me through the aftershocks before finally pulling away.
When he raises his head, his beard glistens with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes my heart race despite my recent release.
"Not enough," I correct, pushing myself up to a sitting position. "I want you. All of you. No more waiting, Josiah."
Without breaking eye contact, I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and drag them down his powerful thighs, finally freeing the erection that's been pressing insistently against the fabric.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of him fully aroused, thick and hard, the head already glistening with evidence of his desire. This is what I've been denied, what I've imagined countless times, what I've ached for since the moment he first touched me.
My husband moves against me, covering my body with his, settling between my thighs with a rightness that makes my chest ache. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, not yet pushing inside.
Restraint gives way to passion as his kiss that steals my breath. At the same moment, he pushes forward, entering me in one long, slow thrust that has me gasping against his lips.
The sensation is overwhelming. Not just the physical fullness, but the knowledge that after all these years, after crossing the country to find him, after days of his beautiful torment, he is finally, completely mine. The initial stretch gives way to a pleasure so intense it borders on unbearable.
"Okay?" he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, breath coming in controlled pants.
"More than okay," I assure him.
He starts slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body welcomes him.
Each movement sends waves of pleasure building inside me, different from but connected to what I've experienced with his hands and mouth.
This is what I've been waiting for forever, the feeling of belonging wholly to this man, of having him belong to me in return.
"You feel incredible," he groans, his rhythm steadily increasing. "So tight. So perfect around my cock."
The crude words from his usually controlled mouth only heighten my arousal. I match his movements, lifting my hips to meet each thrust, hands clutching at his shoulders as pleasure builds to almost unbearable heights.
"Mine," he growls, dropping his head to my shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive juncture of my neck. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasp, the word breaking on a moan. "Always yours, Josiah. Always."
His hand slips between us, finding my clit and circling it in time with his increasingly powerful thrusts.
"Come for me," he urges, voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Let me feel you come around my cock."
His words combined with a particularly deep thrust send me hurtling over the edge, pleasure crashing through me in waves more intense than anything I've experienced before. I cry out his name as my body clenches around him, inner muscles pulsing with each wave of my orgasm.
His voice shatters as he drives deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside me as he empties himself completely.
The knowledge that it's my body receiving him, my name on his lips as he finds his pleasure, creates a satisfaction deeper than physical.
Spurts of his hot seed fill me, and I find myself hoping that they take, making me pregnant on our first night.
When he’s spent, he pulls me close and kisses me. "Worth the wait?" he asks again, a hint of uncertainty in the question that makes my heart swell.
I turn in his arms to face him, tracing the strong line of his jaw with my fingertips. "Absolutely. Though I'm not sure I could have survived another day of your teasing."
A chuckle rumbles through his chest. "Wasn't just torture for you, you know. Nearly killed me too."
"Good," I declare with satisfaction. "Serves you right for making me wait so long."
His expression softens, eyes warming with something deeper than desire. "You've been waiting a lot longer than six days, haven't you? Been waiting for me for years."
The observation, so close to a truth I've rarely admitted even to myself, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. "Yes," I whisper. "Since I first knew what wanting meant."
His large hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite my best efforts. "No more waiting," he promises. "No more uncertainty. You're mine now, Wynonna Stone. My wife. My heart."
"And you're mine," I counter, pressing a kiss to his palm. "My husband. My home."
I crossed half a country to find this man.
Risked rejection and heartbreak on the strength of a connection I've never been able to explain or forget.
Persisted when anyone else would have given up.
And now, as sleep begins to claim us both, I know with bone-deep certainty that every risk, every challenge, every moment of doubt was worth it.
Because Josiah Stone is mine. Because I am his.
Because finally, completely, I am home.