Naomi stood on the shoulder of the road and considered the state of her front tire. It was flat. Not just low…flat. The tire bulged from the rim like the bottom lip of a petulant child. She wasn’t far from home.

The summer night was dark. A few stars peeked between blanketing clouds. The chirp of crickets kept her company. The scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. The waning moon didn’t put out much light but should be adequate to walk the half mile or so to her house.

The lights of an approaching vehicle lit the rear window as Naomi was rummaging in her purse for her cell phone. She tensed as a dark pickup pulled in behind her car. Any relief at possible assistance was quickly overshadowed by apprehension of the unknown driver as he exited the truck.

“Naomi, is that you?” The idling diesel failed to disguise the one voice which had the power to send frissons of lust skittering from her head to her toes.

Sam. Next door neighbor. County sheriff. Stern. Unapproachable. Mouth-wateringly sexy Sam Cunningham. The subject of her late night fantasies. Here in the flesh.

You think he’s interested. Go for it. You can do it. There won’t be a better time.

Naomi argued with herself. No, I can’t. She plucked nervously at the hem of her skirt.

Her libido refused to listen. It’s now or never.

“Sheriff. You arrived just in time. I seem to have a flat tire.” Noticing Sam was not in uniform, Naomi asked, “Are you off duty?”

“Yeah, taking a personal day.” He made no offer to change her tire. He stood watching her, his face shadowed, his linebacker physique silhouetted against the headlights.

Will I shock the sheriff?

Naomi sauntered forward until she stood in front of Sam. She purred, “And just how personal does a sheriff get when he takes a personal day?” Arching an eyebrow, she glanced at his hip. “No gun. No handcuffs. What’s a sheriff to do out here all by his lonesome without a weapon?” She bit her bottom lip and trailed a finger down the sleeve of his denim shirt. “Someone might try to take advantage of you.”

Sam turned his head right, then left. “Only one I see is you.” The timbre of his voice lowered. “Have you been drinking, Naomi?”

Naomi smiled. “I’ll never tell. Perhaps a field sobriety test is in order.” She stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

His lips were soft and warm. He didn’t move. Didn’t return the kiss. Not discouraged, her tongue sought entrance to his mouth; she moaned when he acquiesced. He tasted of cigar with a hint of cherry. His cock hardened against her abdomen.

Naomi broke the kiss. “Well, Sheriff, do you taste alcohol on my breath?”

Sam thrust her away but held her at arm’s length. Without saying a word, he backed her up until the bumper of her car touched the back of her legs. He turned Naomi and urged her face down across the trunk.

Undaunted, Naomi teased, “Are you going to search me, Sheriff? I might be carrying a concealed weapon.” She wriggled her ass for emphasis.

Sam prodded her feet apart with his boots. Naomi wanted nothing more than to feel his calloused hands on her bare sensitized skin. She waited.

But not for long. Sam grasped an ankle in each one of his hands. He patted his way up the inside of her leg, paused at her knees, and continued up to her ruffled skirt hem at mid-thigh. Naomi held her breath, willing him to proceed upward. Instead, Sam pushed the soft fabric upward past her hips to pool around her waist.

Naomi was bare beneath the skirt except for a tiny lacey excuse of a thong. An errant puff of humid air hugged her buttocks with a lover’s caress. Her palms tingled against the cold steel of the trunk. Her breasts were heavy and achy. Her heart thudded in anticipation of his touch. She hunched against the car in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing in her core.

“Sheriff…um, Sam…” Naomi panted.

“Tell me what you want, Naomi.” Sam’s voice was hoarse. “No misunderstandings, okay?”

“Touch me.”

“Here?” His finger trailed from the dimple at the base of her spine down the cleft between her buttocks.

Naomi whimpered in frustration when he stopped. “Lower…”

A guttural moan of pleasure burst from her lips as he rubbed his thumb against the damp lace above her clit. An impatient tug of her thong later, his fingers slid through her slick folds. His thumb penetrated her sheath as he stroked her straining clit.

“Your place or mine, Naomi?”

“Don’t care. Just. Don’t. Stop.” She squirmed and wriggled under his ministrations, thrusting backwards in rhythm with his touch. In seconds, she convulsed around his thumb and screamed, “Oh my god, Sam.”

Sam gathered her in his arms and deposited her in his truck.

“What about my car?” she asked.

“We’ll get it the morning. Or afternoon.”

Naomi smiled with satisfaction. All that time spent letting the air out of her tire had so been worth it.