Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (3 page)

“Doesn’t look like rain to me,” she teased.

“I think it’s gonna pour half the day,” he corrected
her in a playful drawl. When she moved off, he slapped her square
on the bottom, and she scampered toward their bedroom with him not
far behind.

Laurel threw herself playfully into the center of
their giant plush bed. Spreading her arms open wide she continued
their playful game, “Take me, my prince.”

She giggled uncontrollably as he used his best
redneck matter-of-fact and nodded, “Okay,” while ripping off his
boots, shirt, jeans, and underwear in about four tugs. Jahn stood
surveying her breasts jiggling under the gown from her laughing so
hard. The sight made his erection bounce and she was even more
tickled at the sight.

“Socks, kind sir. You wouldn’t take a fair maiden’s
virtue with your socks on now would you?”

“No, my lady, never,” Jahn said making a
gallant flourish of ripping the socks from his feet and throwing
them over his shoulder. Hilarious, she thought, because he looked
more like a Norse God than a Knight of the Round Table.

Laurel was gripping her sides in a fit of
laughter, eyes nearly closed. She didn’t see him swoop down to her,
arching over her as he lowered his lips to her neck, pulling the
soft skin into his mouth. He pressed his erection hard against her
bare thigh.

The laughter stopped. She sucked in her
breath and moaned into him, “Ohhhh, God you feel so good against
me.” The little flame that had been carefully teased to burn that
morning, exploded to a raging inferno that centered between her
thighs. He always thrilled her and knowing what was coming fed fuel
to the flame.

Jahn reached for the hem of her nightgown and
pushed it up, slowly trailing his fingers along her inner thigh.
His eyes pierced hers and she finished the gesture, pulling it off
quickly over her head. His gaze paused at her breasts and then he
worked his way to her closely trimmed mound. She sported a reverse
landing strip, shaving her nether lips to reveal the softest skin
on her entire body. It turned him on so much when she started it;
she had kept it up for him.

She took him in, as he did her, with an
intense visual hunger. His chest was broad and strong. His dark
tanned biceps were the core of the strength of his arms, the cut
sinew strong from the physical work of the farm. Strong legs like
pillars brought him back to her after a long day, with a masculine,
confident, swagger. He was a big man in
all
respects.

His face was chiseled, his jaw strong. His
deep green eyes, pools of a fiery emerald sea that she sank into. A
light sprinkle of hair on his chest trailed to the V between his
legs where his manhood stood, raging, straining in want toward her.
She admired the soft skin pulled taut over the solid iron of his
shaft. She grazed her fingertips along his length finding once
again, there was no comparison, not even fine silk. He hardened and
his girth became fuller as she teased him with soft strokes.

She dipped to surprise him, taking him in her
mouth. Jahn sank back into the lush bed with a shudder. He would
never get used to her surprises. She drove down on him, pushing his
length deep into her throat.

She let him slide out, teasing him, and
dipped her tongue to run his length, nipping and licking his shaft
to the tip, then around his flared head, lapping the first beads of
moisture from him. It drove him to abandon, groaning in pleasure
until she stopped to trail back to his face. Kissing and licking a
lazy path, she ran up his chest to nip at his neck and lick the
soft edge of his ear.

Jahn pulled his hands to her face, cupping
it, first staring into her hazel green eyes with an intensity that
sent sparks to her waiting passage, then sending lightning bolts of
electricity through her with his kiss. Deep, searching desire
filled her mouth as they moaned into each other, tongues finding
each other in gentle play. There was no mistaking his desire for
her.

Jahn grinned a lustful hungry grin, and
kissed her passionately once more before beginning a trail of
lavish attention from her neck down to her sweet nectar. The kisses
and nips to her neck brought sighs of musical passion from her
throat. “Aaaahhh!” was drug from her in continuing crescendos. He
stopped to strum her sensitive, hard nipples with his callused
thumbs, then sucked them into his mouth stroking each with his
tongue.

She arched toward him in heat-laced pleasure
offering herself, wanting to have him deep inside of her. Not to be
dissuaded he trailed down to finish his quest for the sweet wet
heat that pooled just beyond her nether lips. He dipped two fingers
into her heated sex. Her eyes flew open in surprise and snapped
back closed with a rush of passion.

He nipped at the petals of her flower. His
tongue gently stroking her clit, it rose higher and harder to peak
from its shelter meeting his attentions. Jahn’s rhythm alternated
from slow lavishes to flicks and back driving her to distraction. A
damp heat covered her body and she whimpered her impatience.

Eventually he settled into a steady rhythm,
stroking her, licking her hard nub with his tongue pushing her to
new heights. She exploded in a hot rush, her orgasm intense and
long. Her hands digging for handfuls of sheets, then digging her
fingers in his hair pulling him closer to her, quivering in
ultimate pleasure.

Jahn slowed his movement to a standstill and
moved his hand from her as her body jerked as the sensations became
too much. He rested his head on her thigh smiling. Laurel continued
to come down from her incredible high, sighing as the aftershocks
came. He let her enjoy it before moving up to her.

She smiled at the flavor of it all; without
fail, he always made her feel as if their relationship was new and
intense.

Straining, waiting, so near her sweet heat,
he couldn’t hold back any longer. She arched toward him, wrapping
her legs around him as he entered her, filling her, taking her.
Driving himself into her, he was like a stallion that had teased
his mare into submission; he had tasted her, inhaled her, and then
sunk his teeth into her neck while possessing her completely. He
was just right for her; he filled her and thrilled her with his
strength. They were a perfect match.

Jahn hesitated as he felt and heard Laurel’s
passion heightening again. They had mastered the art of making
their lovemaking last, bringing each other to incredible plateaus
before riding on to explosive highs. He began again after she met
his fiery gaze. The flush in her cheeks and the deep glimmering
liquid green of her eyes made her all the more lovely, all the more
exciting.

He licked his lips at the sight, tasting her
again, he twitched within her and surged with a long low moan as
his eyes hooded over. He began again—driving into her, alternating
languid, long strokes with short, powerful thrusts making her
wriggle underneath him in intense frenzy, acknowledging his
teasing.

Unable to take the pattern anymore, she
pulled him into her, digging her fingers deep into his muscular
buttocks, now guiding, signaling him to ride the high with her and
he responded crashing into her as she was climbing higher again,
willing him to come with her. He glistened with sweat, his muscles
flexing with each thrust.

Feeling him twitch and grow harder, she began
to climb again. The walls of her passage began to quiver, pulsing
in ecstasy. She shook, her breaths and vocalizations loud, full. He
allowed himself to sink into her hard. She dug her fingernails into
his shoulders, her plateau long, as they crashed against each other
in a mutual explosion of fiery passion. He roared with her,
shooting his heat deep within her. A peak—so perfectly in
unison—neither had known existed. As her tight satin walls clamped
harder and harder around him, he drove into her again, hard,
possessing her fully, completely, becoming her full joy, her only
pleasure, marking her as his own. He couldn’t be more of a man, she
thought, as her eyes fluttered open to look deeply into his. She
was his.

__________________________

His. Then, her mind blocked out what would follow,
pulling her back into the silence of the present. She was alone
again in that dove-gray-walled, two-way-glassed, steel-doored,
florescent-lit cliché of an interrogation room. The linoleum gray
squares that covered the floor, she swore hadn’t been manufactured
since the 1960’s. Drowning in the silence, she became furious once
again.

“How creative!” She spat at the two-way glassed wall.
“What? You government morons can’t call an interior decorator?” She
waved her hands at the dullness of the room trying to get someone
to interact with her.

“The Assistant District Attorney will be in shortly
to speak with you Mrs. MacClain,” a feminine voice came over the
high placed speaker. The temptation to bash the walls with the
available steel chairs abated. Laurel straightened and stopped
pacing.

“Can I please have my purse so I can fix my makeup?
And bring tissues too.” She didn’t want Derrick Jones to see her,
mascara running down her face. Quietly, three female officers filed
in, the last one held her handbag.

“Guess I’m not your average prisoner, huh?” She
scoffed. “Is this ‘cause I have my concealed carry permit? For
Pete’s sake, you would think you had arrested a known leader of a
terrorist organization!”

Laurel knew something was different about her
situation, and figured normally, this would not have been allowed.
She could tell her purse had been gone through, her pocketknife and
9mm Beretta were missing. She attempted to repair the damage.
Mascara had run down her cheeks, her blush was gone. Despite her
attempts at repairing the damage, puffy red eyes told the story.
Damn.
Derrick and Kate were going to see her at her
worst.

Laurel could hear Derrick Jones bellowing orders, as
he got closer to the interrogation room. His deep bass had a sexy
rhythm and lovely Midwestern drawl. He could cause quite a stir
with his voice when he was mad. The door flung open and he rushed
in, Kate on his heels. The police captain was right behind
them.

Derrick wasted no time dropping his briefcase on the
table and, gathering Laurel in his strong arms, lifting her from
her seat. “I’m sorry, Laurel.” Laurel started to rattle. He shushed
her, “Don’t say a word. Kate and I have this under control.”

He turned to the crowding officers, and over his
shoulder he commanded, “Back off, we are old friends. Mrs. MacClain
is Kate’s client.”

Kate’s bear hug and quiet reassurance were next.

Gathering himself, Derrick Jones addressed the
out-of-breath police captain. “Captain Delaney,” he began, drawing
himself to his full height he narrowed her eyes at her. “Do I need
to speak to the commissioners?”

He was impressive in stance alone, but it raised the
hair on the back of Captain Delaney’s neck when the threat was
posed. He didn’t have that damn much pull, did he? She narrowed her
eyes in return. “Why don’t you get this shit cleaned up?” He
gestured toward the teeming office floor.

Media, off-duty officers and unprocessed arrestees
cluttered the normally orderly twenty-sixth floor. Delaney knew
this was a sensitive case for some reason. She wasn’t accustomed to
hearing from an Army
CIDC
investigator, a
U.S. Senator, and the Assistant District Attorney concerning a
simple prostitution case. Things were way out of line; this had
turned high profile in a heartbeat.

Delaney stiffened, regaining composure as she put her
hand on the doorknob, turning to leave, “I don’t know who the hell
you think you are. I’ll speak to you in my office Mr. Jones.”

It’s possible she was in way over her head and didn’t
realize it, she thought. She certainly wasn’t used to an Assistant
District Attorney posing threats to her.

No. Jen Delaney would play along and investigate this
further. Hide and watch, just like her Aunt Rose had taught her.
She wasn’t going to let a six-month investigation go now. She
exited the interrogation room, letting the heavy door slam and
started barking orders.

“Derrick, can I please have some answers.
Arrested for my own protection? This is absurd!” Laurel was still
in the dark.

Kate rubbed her shoulders and nodded in
agreement. She looked at Derrick, urging him to give Laurel
something to calm her fears. Derrick shook his head and bent to
Laurel’s ear whispering. “You’ll be all right,” he promised her,
whispering short details of what was about to happen.

Jen Delaney was in her office fuming. “To
hell if some two-bit whore is going to derail my command,” she
confirmed to herself out loud. She would be getting to the bottom
of this. She cleared the floor of gawking officers and media hacks,
sloppy drunks, bloodied punks and high-heeled streetwalkers,
barking orders to those who should have been responsible for order
in the first place. Thanks to flawed electronics, the building’s
fourth floor had been rendered completely unusable; all the
activity that was normally handled there had been rerouted to the
temporarily to the top floor,
her
floor.
Damn, what a
mess
. The building was prepared for communications in any
affront or disaster, except when the system went down, obviously a
contingency not planned for.

Delaney made her way through the busy floor,
giving orders and asking questions. Sitting down in her office
sometime later, she realized that things had finally quieted down.
She reviewed the notes of the investigation concerning Laurel
MacClain. Hoffson and Johnson had everything in place prior to this
afternoon’s arrest. Now nothing was jelling.

Why wasn’t this a federal case if there was
more to it? Why were so many people making such a big deal about
this woman? Going through the file envelope, she realized there
were documents and evidence missing. Voice recordings on flash
drives were gone. Her mind raced through everything she knew about
this particular prisoner. She looked through the pebbled glass as
he heard the cell door clank shut and lock from across the large
room that led to her office. What was going on? What was so special
about Laurel MacClain?