Page 20 of Love Under Snowfall

She scurried out of bed, picked up the accidental projectile, and whispered an oath of thanks to her OtterBox case.

Sheriff Howards:

Are you back tonight or waiting till tomorrow morning?

Shit, Clint.

She’d completely forgotten to tell him she wasn’t going home for break. The realization that she’d be waiting another fourweeks to get laid sank in, and she considered throwing the phone again, this time on purpose.

Frankie:

Change of plans. I need to stay here and study.

Sheriff Howards:

Well, that’s unfortunate. Anything I can say to change your mind?

Frankie:

Sorry, but no. I need the extra time to work through this reading.

Sheriff Howards:

Your teacher’s a real ballbuster.

Frankie:

You’re telling me.

Sheriff Howards:

Are we extending the rain check?

Frankie:

Why not? :)

Sheriff Howards:

All right then, princess. Get some rest.

Frankie’s loins screamed in protest. She hadn’t gotten any—not so much as a kiss—in eighty-one days. One hundred and six if she counted full-blown sex.

Damn hernewfound scruples.

Flashes of rippling abs, veiny biceps, and a hard jawline flitted through her mind. Clint had a beautiful body, both in his uniform and half-bare in an unzipped wetsuit that exposed his dripping torso. Frankie swallowed thickly and reached for her side table drawer. Using her favorite vibrator, she conjured more images of the hunky sheriff. She imagined how the evening would go after he cashed in that drawn-out rain check. They’d probably be at his place, warm and cozy by a fire.

His large hands would skim the sides of her body. Playful, deep brown eyes gazing down at her as his lips poised to capture hers in a needy kiss. But he’d hold back, warm breath playing across her jaw, dancing to her ear. She’d slide her fingers through the loose blond curls that managed to give him that California surfer boy innocence. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Frankie trailed the tip of the sapphire blue toy around the perimeter of her panties, the slight hum muffled by the heavy blanket. She spread her knees and used her free hand to play with her nipples.

Clint would slide his palm down between her legs, exploring with his strong, calloused fingers as the first contact would pull a little gasp from the back of her throat. He’d whisper in her ear. What would he say? Would he say naughty things to her or just groan her name? Would he be into playing up his authoritative role? Insist on her calling him sheriff?

“Do you like this?”

She’d nod, unable to produce words.

He’d slide a finger, two fingers, into her before slowly pulling them out again.

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