Chapter 17

Josephine

Some people listen to music when they're alone. I find that music makes me feel too many things when I'm doing solitary tasks.

So whenever I put up vegetables for the winter, I choose podcasts or the local radio station.

The next morning, though, I put on music.

With Jakob at the cutting board with knives and peelers and me at the stove manning the pressure cooker and water baths, the music is only a functional background to the work.

And it doesn't feel like work with this man who demonstrates a wicked sense of humor.

"Can you pass me the salt so I can start pickling the cucumber?" I ask him at one point.

Jakob retorts, "I'll tickle my own cucumber, thanks."

"Pickle! I said pickle!" I scold, waving my canning tongs in his direction.

"If you need a pickle, I've got one for you. No need to go to all this effort."

Having this man here to help me makes the work fly by.

Last night, however, tried my patience.

Alas, Jakob was perfect. We shared my bed with no issues, other than it being slightly too short for his legs. We talked, we laughed, and we kissed until my face was sore from his beard. He once again made me come deliciously with his hand, rough from the years of working with fire and metal. He held me so tenderly.

I know I should be grateful. But dammit, I wanted more. All he wanted in return was to see my breasts. And he didn't rip off my shirt. He asked, and then gently removed my shirt and took them into his hands. Kissed them. Softly worshiped them with his mouth.

Gods, a week ago I would have passed out at the thought of a man like this in my bed. So what is it that I want from him?

"The windows are so steamed over I can't tell what time it is."

This comment snaps me out of my ruminating.

Jakob's stomach growls.

"And my body clock has answered. It's lunchtime," he laughs, patting his stomach.

"Sorry," I say with a wince. "I'm a terrible hostess, making you skip lunch to help me do all this work."

Jakob turns to me and pulls me close. "Stop it. I had fun."

He doesn't even let me get all my words out about how he's a good sport before his lips cover mine in a tender, lingering kiss.

Jakob's kisses light me up instantly. I'd better focus on feeding this man before I get the worst hostess of the year award.

"Let me treat you to dinner in the village tonight. To thank you for all your help today."

He hums against my mouth. "Later."

Oh, this man is dangerous. He could easily make me forgo food, water, air, rest. I don't even want to think about the dirty pots, pans, and utensils filling the sink from all the work we did today.

His stomach rumbles louder, and we both crack up.

Jakob suggests, "Let's eat in. I'm too ripe to go out in public."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Ripe?"

He sniffs his armpit, and I'm doubly shamed at my hostess skills.

"Oh gods. Of course! You don't have anything to change into. I should have washed your things last night while you slept. I can see if I have anything of my father's in the attic…should I feed you first or go up and look for clothes?"

I try to leave, but Jakob circles his arms around my waist, not letting me move. "What are you doing?" I chuckle.

"Whatever I want," he says, kissing me deeper, more hungrily. "That is, unless you have an aversion to sweaty Jakob."

I most certainly do not. I like him clean, I like him sweaty, I like him covered in mud, as long as this man keeps kissing me and pawing me like I'm the last woman on earth and the planet is in desperate need of repopulating.

"I do not object," I say, my eyes closing in rapture as his soft, demanding lips travel downward. He presses teasing kisses against my throat.

His hot breath against my neck makes my insides turn to molten goo. "You taste good," he says, letting his tongue flick out to lick my skin. "Salty. Sweet. Good enough to lay you down across this table and have my fill."

"Please don't make me break the jars!"

He laughs, and the vibration sends a ripple of pleasure through my whole body. "I would never."

But I might, if he keeps tugging the neck of my top like that, moving it to the side to taste my collarbone with his tongue and lips. The suction is strong enough that I begin to wonder if this is going to give me hickeys. Do I care? Maybe not.

The thought of Jakob marking me in a place only he can see causes me to shiver. I'm compelled to hold on to him because I'm afraid my knees might give out.

My fingers latch on to his hair and grip the back of his shirt.

I pull at the material, desperate to rid him of his clothes. Jakob puts a frustrating few inches of distance between us but only enough to swiftly tug the shirt off over his head. He whips it into the basket of dirty clothes.

"Points for not dropping it on the floor," I tease.

His laugh does wild things to my pussy.

And all that bare skin up close takes my breath away every time I see it. Jakob's broad chest with its smattering of fine strawberry blond fur complements the mussed hair on his head. I don't know where to touch him first. I let my hands go to his strong traps, then down over his thick arms. Jakob's skin is warm and taut over his muscles, and I ache to touch him everywhere. He grips me close, covering my mouth with a kiss, and I let my hands go to his chest, exploring the broad pecs, thrilling at the soft hair against my fingers.

He groans into my mouth with lazy, lingering kisses as I let my touch follow that trail of fur downward over his stomach, which is strong and sculpted but soft in all the right places. So much to touch and kiss and hold on to. Jakob is everything I pictured in a husband. Everything I fantasized about.

Is he teasing me about honoring our childhood marriage pact? His tone was light, but something in his eyes…

I don't believe he would mess with me. Jakob has been open and honest with me since the moment he stepped off the train. He's been very clear about what he wants.

I accept his tongue into my mouth, warm and slow and searching. I feel his need awaken me between my legs. And the man's tongue makes me tingle everywhere.

"Jakob," I whisper between deepening kisses, my hands caressing the broad, heated skin of his back.

"Yes, Josephine?" Jakob asks with a wry grin, cupping my face and leaving soft kisses on each cheek, my forehead, my temples, my nose, my jawline, even my eyelids. His hands leave room for me to touch him everywhere, to explore all that skin, all that strength. But I want more.

"I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel last night and this morning." I blush as I say these words. I'm asking for what I want, and I don't do that very often.

"You already do," Jakob says, working his way back along my jawline until he nips at my earlobe. "Just by being here with me. You make me feel ten feet tall."

I run my hand down over the front of his jeans, surprising myself. "This," I say, my hand resting on his hard length. "I want this."

I press my fingers against his cock ever so slightly, feeling strangely powerful as I watch Jakob's pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. He groans and pushes back a little.

His jaw tense, he replies, "I fucking want you, Josephine. All of you."