Page 61 of Love Under Snowfall

Lowering his damp thumb, he stroked her clit, all the while thrusting faster, deeper. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me.”

The wave slammed into her, a crushing tsunami filling the space where the undertow had receded. Burying her in a flood of pleasure as he pushed hard then dove with her beneath the ripples and currents. Benjamin pulled her in tight, pressing her breasts hard against his chest as they heaved and gasped together. Shuttering in engulfing bliss.

Chapter thirty-three

Benjamin

The room was quiet apart from the crackle of the fire and the steady breath of Francesca sleeping beside Benjamin. He looked down at her, elbow propped to rest his head in his hand, tracing her rosy cheeks, thick lashes, and parted lips with his gaze. They’d managed a foundation-shaking orgasm together, linked, released into each other. The sex had been . . . indescribable. Something so engulfing and pleasurable that Benjamin was shocked he hadn’t passed out in the hushed little room alongside his satisfied lover.

And yet his heart thundered violently in his ears.

He’d held back since they’d sought shelter. Doing his best to keep his distance and not give in to the desires he’d been harboring for her since day one. It hadn’t been easy. They were sardines crammed in a cramped tin surrounded by a storm that screamedtouch herwith every gusty howl. He’d managed pretty well, considering the proximity, only slipping up once as she danced and swerved in his arms, singing one of his favorite songs with shameless abandon. She’d been so alluring and free and he couldn’t help but take a taste. But the impulsive act had done nothing to scratch the itch.

No, that was all wrong.

She wasn’t an itch.

No man could describe this multifaceted woman as some nagging ailment that needed to be cured. Francesca was perfectionin a five-foot-two package, with thick honey hair and that cloyingly earthy scent of eucalyptus and lavender. Curled up and pressed against him, snoring lightly, she was utterly at peace. And he hated the corridor that his mind wandered through the moment they settled in to rest. Each door flashed him a glimpse of what could be.

Fantasies. All of them. Not a single one the reality of how something more permanent with her—with any woman—would go.

Because marriages were doomed.

He’d seen his father slowly extinguish his mother.

He’d helped wealthy men and women strip their spouses bare of their dignity and financial security.

He’d helped win custody battles, where one parent disparaged and ruined the other purely to flex their might. Mothers or fathers who never actually wanted to be the primary caregiver but fought, all the same, to make their former partner hurt.

He’d stood with the bullies and stomped on their castaway lovers like bugs under his expensive leather shoes, all while cashing enormous checks to pad his own security.

He’d single-handedly destroyed girlfriends without batting an eye; played with them for a while then tossed them aside.

He refused to subject Francesca to any of that.

Even if he was confident that they’d remain together, unbroken and functioning, he couldn’t deny that he didn’t deserve her. She was too good for him. Her aspirations to work with foster kids, to help them feel safe and heal, were admirable. She was determined to ensure no child felt discarded like she had.

His motivations had never been as selfless as hers.

Even now, as a professor, he had been looking out for himself. The claim that he was trying to mold students intohonorable lawyers who contributed to society was shrouded in his own selfish desire for security—tenure.

Dean McCaffery dangled the carrots of prestige and job security over his head. And Benjamin jumped at every command as he stood beneath his boss’s own Italian loafers, hoping the sense of power the older man gleaned from the interaction was enough to keep him from lowering his heel.

Either way—as a divorce attorney or a professor begging for tenure—he was perpetuating the cycle of power and control instead of equalizing it.

Benjamin looked down at Francesca, who slept so soundly, like she hadn’t rolled down a valley, struck her head, then labored through the snow to be stranded in a tiny powerless cabin with her prick of a law professor. She didn’t deserve his damage.

And she didn’t deserve the chill that would come in the morning either.

Chapter thirty-four

Tuesday, 3 days before the wedding: Frankie

Before she opened her eyes, Frankie felt the blissful weight of her relaxed limbs. The dry, soothing heat from the stove enveloped her, leaving the quilt draped across her lower half unnecessary. Memories of the romp she and Benjamin had shared the night before sent delicious curls of satisfaction through her bloodstream. Who knew that when it came to banging, that uptight, stick-in-the-mud would be so . . . intuitive? Erotic? Masterful?

However his skills should be labeled, all she knew was that she wanted more. Surely, another round before vacating the cabin was reasonable.

Frankie rolled over, reaching for the sexy man who’d rocked her world the night before and found nothing. Her eyes popped open and she searched the room. Sunlight glowed in through one of the windows, evidence that the storm had passed and they would be able to get the hell out of the valley that day. She sat up and scanned the small room. Empty except for aswish,swish,swishcoming from the bedroom. Wrapping the quilt around her, she stood and meandered to the door.

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