Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
"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 herneck, 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.
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 likehe'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.
