Page 21 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
"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.
Wynonna
Five Years Later...
"LittleJ,sweetie,that'snot how we plant carrots," I say, watching my three-year-old son gleefully bury an entire packet of seeds in one small hole. "We need to space them out, remember?"
