Page 17 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
"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."
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Josiah
Thenextfivedaysare 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 Ifinally 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."
