Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) Read online

  Johnson was searching for something to say to give her some semblance of peace without giving up everything he knew. Laurel’s mind eased as she listened to his melodic bass voice. It allowed her to redirect her thoughts. Bradley looked good in a suit. She was proud that he had done so well as a detective.

  “Derrick and Kate are meeting with you shortly. Pull the attorney card. Don’t agree to anything. Don’t tell anything. Don’t trust anyone you don’t know very, very well.”

  “Wait—? How do you—Derrick and Kate?” Laurel’s head continued to swirl until she thought she might throw up.

  “Yeah. Brian and Seth. Morrison and Pisano. Yes, we all know each other. It’s like some secret, sacred bond or code or something—you are. We’ve all vowed to protect you, take care of you,” Johnson didn’t know what else to say. He gave her a sideways grin.

  “This was never supposed to go like this.” Laurel knew everyone one that Bradley had named off. They all had worked on the farm at some point over the last six years. She’d helped each one see their potential so they could move past something in their life that had them stuck at a young age. She didn’t think they needed to protect her. Assistant District Attorney Derrick Jones was the first of many to come to work at Siddy Creek Farm with her. Their relationship was very unique and he had garnered a special place in her heart.

  In a tough spot without her best friend at her side, Laurel felt lost. She missed Jahn. If only he hadn’t pushed so hard or been so stubborn, maybe, just maybe he’d still be here and she wouldn’t be in this mess. That not right, she knew. She couldn’t blame him, or herself, or God. It just happened. She outwardly winced with guilt over her thoughts. Dying wasn’t his idea.

  The staff at Mercy General had been very nice to her, but seeing the hospital emergency entrance had stirred up painful thoughts; she figured she’d buried them a long time ago. It didn’t hurt any less all these years later, just not as often. They couldn’t have done anything for him. He had died in the helicopter while being airlifted to the city, and was removed from life support, with her watching, a few hours later. Brain hemorrhage—no explanation. The image of him slumped over the steering wheel of their red Chevy crew cab now permeated her thoughts, her eyes stung as she fought back welling tears. She shoved the pain back down and swallowed hard.

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  Johnson assisted his cuffed suspect through the guard check in the garage below the station. He guided her to the granite-floored elevator. After rising to the top floor of police headquarters, they entered the twenty-sixth floor to a horde of people and desks. The tall detective towered over the chaos and easily picked a path to the interrogation room. He leaned to the obviously upset woman he was escorting.

  “Laurel, I swear we’ll get you out of this. It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear, his husky voice soft and pleading. It brought back fond memories of their time together. He’d been so innocent, so thoughtful, so sweet, and hurt so badly; she’d helped him heal.

  Pain, fear, anguish, and confusion ran together sucking the energy from her. “It’s my fault. I should have never let any of this happen,” she grieved for reasons she didn’t understand, her feelings muddled together.

  “Derrick and Kate will be here soon. I gotta go, don’t worry.” Those were his last words before he walked out the door leaving her in the solitary confines of a room meant for criminals.

  The heavy door thudded shut after him, drowning out the cacophony of phones and voices in the main area. She was alone with her thoughts once again. She sat down, and for the moment, was unwilling to let the pressure of the situation consume her. She searched for memories of happier times.

  She was always able to muster hope for the future when she remembered good times. Laurel stared into the not-so-distant past, the memory of her last day with Jahn suddenly inundating her thoughts.

  It seemed like yesterday. She took a long breath, her heart slowing a little. Giving a wistful smile to vacant space, she allowed her mind comfort in recollection. Was remembering letting go?

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  Chapter 4

  Jahn. He would take Jan or John when folks didn’t get how to pronounce the beautiful German name. It was his mother’s-grandparents’ last name, his given middle name, and the name that he answered to. She called him Jahn. Like Jan, only drawn out. He loved the way it breathed from her lips right before she would demand one more kiss.

  He knew the early-morning breeze beckoned her as she stepped through the French doors from the kitchen to the deck. She loved the house; he had built it for her, with her. Not far down the hill from the manicured lawn, the breeze moved through a peaking stand of orchard grass and timothy in undulating waves of green and muted deep ocean blue-green, seeded tops just starting to brown.

  She lived for moments like this. The sun was burning off the dew, the birds fluttering about their nests, the cricket’s noise winding down. He knew she would stand in the breeze, sweet orange juice in hand and turn her face to the rising sun. He knew what she was feeling, standing in the breeze: pure joy.

  Jahn MacClain ducked his head with a grin as he recalled the night before and how just looking at his wife now, made him harden against his jeans. Watching her, he remembered how easy it was to get her out of that faded cotton gown. The soft cloth fluttered around her now much like the waves of grass.

  Her head was tilted into the breeze exposing her neck and shoulders to the cool air. Her hazel green eyes slowly closing, heightening her other senses, as her golden brown shoulder length waves whipped upward, to wisp around her lovely face.

  He’d often thought that she reminded him of a devious combination of a Renoir voluptuous maiden and daVinci’s Head of a Woman—only with tanned skin that he loved to touch, because she kept it so soft. Her high cheekbones angled down toward sweet, soft lips that kissed him so right. Her hands, feminine and graceful, were cupped around the glass much as she would grasp him. Her tummy was a little round, her hips curved, full thighs and strong tapered calves that led to arched feet with lovely toes that he’d felt curl against him countless times. She had a soft rear that he loved to dig his fingers into.

  The one particular feature that would never cease to amaze him—her breasts. The neckline of her gown revealed the inner curves. Big enough to fill his strong hands just right, the peaks of which were now perked to enjoy the movement of the soft cloth against them in the breeze. Watching her was sheer pleasure. Laurel MacClain was beautiful.

  A rather buxom contradiction of moments of sheer beauty, potty mouth when she was mad, bold washer-woman hustle when needed, wild horses-style reckless abandon when it suited her, sage redneck wisdom, abundant love, and often insatiable lust for him, she was as unique and incredible as they came. He savored every moment, even when she was a pain in the ass.

  Jahn poured a cup of coffee and moved out of the shadow of the door. “Hope the neighbors aren’t watching,” he called out.

  “Ummm,” she sighed. “I don’t care if they are,” she breathed softly into the wind.

  “I’m sure enjoying the view though.” She smiled wide at his side note and turned to him, putting her hand on the swell of her hip in mock contention.

  “You fix the fence yet?” she demanded.

  “Yes, dear,” he chuckled knowing full well why she had asked.

  “Good! I’m sick of chasing cows after dark,” she complained leaning toward the door as if incensed, grinning all the while.

  “You didn’t seem to mind too much—being up late—after dark with me,” he said matter-of-factly while sipping his coffee. She giggled and pulled her head to her shoulder feigning a schoolgirl shy smile, her eyes never leaving him. She hadn’t really minded and she tiptoed in the door to prove it. When her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she could see the wide grin he sported underneath his dusty cap matched her own. The chores could wait.

  As she moved toward him, Jahn worshiped her body with his eyes noti
ng again, how perfect Laurel’s breasts were. Rounded, large enough, sitting just right on her chest with soft, light brown-pink nipples the perfect size that always perked to meet his touch. As he had done much of their life together, he reached to caress her through the thin gown to welcome her advances. The only other thing she would wear at night was one of his old t-shirts or her own silky skin. She sighed at his touch as he hefted their fullness to admire them, first one side, then the other, in his hand, through the thin fabric. She’d nursed three babies and she could still turn heads—amazing. Only God could have made her so perfectly for him. Perfect by design.

  He set his coffee cup on the table and slid his strong arms under hers, drawing her close. She reached up to pull him closer weaving her fingers in the gold-streaked, brown locks at the base of his neck. She liked his hair a little long. He kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks eliciting a moan from her. Pulling back to continue her game, she headed toward the sink to place her glass in it. Rinsing it out, she piddled in the sink.

  “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 qui
ver, 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.

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  Chapter 5

  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!”