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“Oh, god, yes, harder. You feel so good, baby,” you're cooing to him, your bodies pressed together on his bed. His usually neatly combed hair is a mess from your activities.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he whispers in your ear. You gasp, your channel flexing around him as you squeak and cry out his name. His lips connect with yours again, moaning into a kiss...
Larue Dollard startles himself awake in a cold sweat in his bedroom. Alone. The ceiling fan clicking is the only thing he can hear.
He shakes his head, burying it in his palms.
You started in his corporate crimes division just two weeks ago, and while he’s barely talked to you, he can’t get you out of his mind. It’s admittedly been a long, long time since he’s been on a date. He’s never quite able to find someone who he clicks with enough to date. And he’s not a one-night stand kind of guy. Usually, when women hear he’s an accountant for the government, they’re yawning.
In the office the next day, he’s keeping to himself, avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment for yet another lucid dream about you. He tidies his desk like he does every morning: Making sure his pens are lined up just so, and his notebook is clean and ready for notes.
“Hey,” you say, coming up to his desk with a warm smile. “You want a coffee? I got two from the coffee shop downstairs on accident. You look like you might need one.”
He’s staring. He knows he’s staring. God, you’re so cute. That smile, those lips, those hips...
“Larue?”
“Oh, yes. Yes! Sorry, I went somewhere. Uh, I’d love that coffee. Thank you,” he stutters, averting his gaze again. He pulls out two sugars and a single creamer from his desk drawer.
“No problem. Hey, I know I only just started, but it’d be great to get to know you. There aren’t many of us in the division these days, with all the turnover...” you offer. He nods, his heart skipping a beat for a moment.
“Yes, you’re absolutely right. It would be great to get to know you,” he says.
“You two! Conference room! We have a case for you,” you hear your director shout across the room.
“Huh, well. I guess we’ll be getting to know each other sooner than we realized!” you say, taking a sip of coffee and heading toward the conference room. Larue gathers his paperwork and watches your hips swaying naturally as you walk away.
“OK, here’s the deal: We’ve got a suspicious tax fraud case that’s pretty complicated out in Fargo. It’s for a construction company, uh, excuse me – a paving company. Stussy Lots. Some very odd bank transactions, new partnerships, difficult to trace stuff. We need you to look into it,” the director says. “Gonna have to send you to Fargo, sorry to say. Any objections?”
You sip your coffee and look at Larue, quirking your eyebrows for a response.
“No sir, nothing here. What about you, partner?” you ask. Larue’s eyes are wide at the sudden assignment and that you’ll be hunkered down in Fargo with him.
“Ah, no. No problem. Ready whenever, sir,” he answers. The director nods. “Good. Pack your bags. Sending you out the day after tomorrow.”
---
Larue is trying to catch his breath at home as he makes his sensible dinner.
Ding!
He checks his phone, and it’s from you. His heart flutters.
So, Fargo. In November. Pack a coat and some boots, it’s gonna be cold for us, your text reads. His mind wanders: Holding you under hotel blankets to keep warm. Grinding with your body to keep you warmer. Kissing you as he moves down your body...
The microwave is beeping incessantly, knocking him out of his daydream.
Yes, bundle up for sure, he replies with a chilly emoji. And bring a bottle of stiff liquor, haha
---
Given that you’re only in Kansas City, your director instructs that you drive to Fargo. Larue offers to be the driver if you can help navigate. As you load the car, his heart is pounding at the thought of getting to know you and being alone with you for, what could be, a considerable amount of time. You climb into the front seat of the SUV, coffee in hand. You offer one to Larue.
“Picked them up on the way in, do you want one?” you offer. He smiles and accepts, graciously. You notice his luggage in the backseat, so clean it looks brand new. His suits hang perfectly pressed in front of the back windows. He’s always so damn tidy and prepared, you think.
“Oh, it’s already got my cream and two sugars,” he says, taking a sip.
“Yeah, I saw you fix it the way you like it and remembered. Probably good! We’ll need plenty to keep warm in Fargo so I’d like to remember your order,” you answer, smiling.
I can think of other things to keep warm, he thinks, then suddenly shakes the thought out of his head. As a working, single professional who's not exactly skilled on the dating scene, he's embarrassed for thinking the things he does...
The drive north is easy. It’s basically a straight shot north from Kansas City to Fargo. He lets you choose music to listen to, and fortunately, you like the same folk-rock stylings he does. He bobs along to a few songs, mumbling to himself.
“We should go to a concert sometime,” you pipe in.
“Huh?” He was listening to the lyrics, connecting them with his thoughts about you, not connecting what you were saying.
“Concert. See some of these guys live. We live in Kansas City, it’s always getting good concerts. We should go sometime. It would be fun,” you say, moving your sunglasses down to your eyes. The cat-eye shape looks cute on you, he thinks.
“Ah, yeah! That would be great. I’ve not gone to a show in...years,” he says, thinking hard about the last time he ever did something like that. He usually doesn’t have anyone to go to things like that with, but now he might...
The drive is comfortable. You talk about college, your hobbies. He talks about his. You have a lot in common. You both love to read, so you share books you’ve read. He didn’t know you liked records, and he’s been eager to get into collecting himself.
“I had no idea you had all these hidden gems about you, Mr. Dollard,” you say to him, smiling wide. Your beautiful lips make your smile so lovely he thinks to himself.
“I could say the same about you Ms.? Mrs.?...,” he says.
“Miss. No husband, no boyfriend. Free as a bird,” you say, clasping your coffee cup and looking out the passenger window. Larue smiles.
---
After nearly 9 hours in a car together, you pull up to the hotel, a nice one – not some dumpy dive that you usually get stuck in on cases. You’re relieved your director is cutting you a break.
At check-in, you’re placed on the same floor but in separate rooms. You ride the elevator together, relieved to get to your room to kick off your shoes and set up your workspace. You suspect you’ll be sharing a room with Larue at some point as you try to crack this case together.
In his room, Larue is relieved to have some time alone. Not that he doesn’t love being with you, but he’s not been able to digest his feelings since you both pulled out of Kansas City this morning.
And now you’re here, in this cold tundra, together for an unknown amount of time for this investigation.
He retires to the shower to relax and think about you.
---
“I want you to fuck me, darling,” you pant into his ear. “Please, please fuck me.”
He puts his arms around your body, coaxing you into his arms so he can walk you to the bed. He lays you down gently and climbs between your legs, touching every curve of your luscious body.
“Let it go, baby. I’ve got you. I want to hear you,” he coos to you, leaning in to kiss you passionately, tongues dancing and tasting each other. You moan as you come undone...
Larue pops awake again, gasping for air. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to where he is: Yes, that’s right. Fargo. Investigation. Hotel. With her. His stomach lurches thinking about you; a slew of butterflies releases as the memories of his dream creep back into his mind.
“Shit,” he says, noticing he managed to make a small mess in his sleep.
The next morning, you’re in the breakfast area chewing on a cinnamon roll with a cup of coffee.
“Hey there, stranger,” you say cheerfully to him. He feels nervous, remembering what happened last night while he dreamt about you again. He notices he’s staring at you, the little bit of frosting on your lip that he wishes he could lick...
“Cat got your tongue? You OK?” you ask, concerned. Larue shakes his head, realizing you’re addressing him.
“Oh, I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep that well. Takes me a bit to adjust to a new place,” he says, draping his jacket on the chair, moving to sit down.
“I understand. I struggle, too. I didn’t sleep that great. Maybe we should be night owls together!” you say with a wink. His heart flip-flops, remembering the dream that felt so real he could almost taste you. Oh, how he wishes...
---
At Stussy Lots, your first few days are uneventful. You get your hands on several files provided by the co-owner, and you set up shop in a conference room to gather materials and talk to the staff. Everyone seems a little edgy, knowing who you are and where you come from, but you and Larue establish a good cadence of reviewing documents.
Larue is very particular about how he organizes papers and notes, and he explains his system to you briefly, and you catch on no problem.
“I appreciate neatness,” Larue says. “I hope you don’t mind...
“Not at all. I need order or my brain feels like chaos,” you say, nodding in agreement. Larue smiles. He’s never met someone who feels the same way about organization as he does.
By the end of the second week, you hope you can find someplace else to review papers though, away from the harsh fluorescents of the too-modern Stussy Lots offices.
“Hey, do you want to – I dunno – review these files in the hotel? Rather than keep coming here? The weekend is here and maybe it would be easier if we stay put or find a business center in the building,” you ask Larue, rubbing your temples from a dull headache.
“Ah, sure, yeah, we can do that,” he says nervously. “Are you alright?”
“I just have a headache. I think it’s the fluorescent lights. Change of pressure, something. Just hurts,” you say, wincing with an eye closed from the brightness. Your bubbly personality and cheerful voice are dulled by how miserable you’re feeling, and he misses your smile and laugh.
You open your purse and tap out a couple of Advil and take a gulp of water. You sigh heavily, rubbing your temples again.
“I just haven’t slept well since we got here. I thought I’d be adjusted to the hotel by now. I usually am. I don’t know what’s making it so hard for me to wind down,” you mutter, rambling to yourself. “I just... feel like shit, look like shit...” Your eyes start to tear up at exhaustion. You grab a tissue from your purse to dab your eyes.
Larue watches wide-eyed, his heart aching for you. He wants to rush to your side, kiss you, tell you how beautiful you are. Find a way to help you relax. He can think of one way...
By the end of the day, you’re dragging your feet back to the car to go back to the hotel. Larue takes your briefcase and sets it in the back of the car for you and opens your door. From his spot in the driver's seat, he checks on you again. “Are you...gonna be OK? Anything I can do to help?”
“No, oh, no that’s OK,” you say, smiling grimly. “I’ll be OK, really. Thank you.” You smile, trying to be cheerful but he can see you’re in pain. You face the window, tears stinging your eyes. You sniffle and Larue resists the temptation to grab your hand to console you.
---
Back at the hotel, you’re feeling a little better once in your room. You’ve kicked off your shoes and taken down your high bun, and your headache is already retreating. You hear a knock on the door.
“Yes?” you ask, uncertain if it’s housekeeping.
“It’s me,” Larue says from the door. “Just wanted to see if you need anything.”
You smile at the generosity and open the door. “Hey, you. Thanks for checking on me, I’m feeling better actually. I think it was just a long week,” you say, taking a sip from your water bottle. “I’ll hopefully get some sleep tonight. I’ve got some medication with me as a back-up.”
He’s frozen in place. He’s not seen you this way before: Your hair down, your shoes off, padding around your hotel room in nylons, and your skirt. You’re in a silk tank top that you had on under your sensible blouse and blazer.
She’s fucking stunning, he thinks. What I wouldn’t give to touch that silk...
“Sorry, I- ah, I needed to be comfortable after that headache. Sorry, I should have put something more appropriate on,” you say, trying to shield yourself a little from his gaze. You feel embarrassed to have answered the door so quickly without thinking.
“No, no, don’t be sorry,” he mutters. “You- you look fantastic. I mean—I’m just glad you’re feeling better. You look...better.”
What are you doing, Larue? Nice save, dummy, he thinks to himself.
Your blush expands from your face to your chest. Your heart flutters. You’ve always found him handsome, charming, and smart, but to see the effect you have on him is... a turn on. Before you talk yourself out of it, you invite him into your room.
“Do you want to come in? We can relax a little, talk about something other than this case,” you offer.
Larue stands silent for a moment. “Ah, thank you for the offer. But, ah, no. I just wanted to see if you needed anything. If you want to grab dinner later, let me know,” and he turns and heads to his room.
You close the door, feeling embarrassed for assuming he wanted to spend time with you. Why would he? You’re nothing special, you tell yourself. You choke back a couple of stray tears. But the rejection hurts regardless.
---
You decide to skip dinner altogether and eat a protein bar from the box you brought along. Protein bar, sensible. Slugging wine from the bottle you also packed away, probably not so smart. You're feeling a bit less hurt about Larue’s rejection. Which really, wasn’t even a rejection. He was just being a gentleman.
Near 11 p.m. as you’re mindlessly flipping through the channels on your hotel TV, still in your skirt and silk tank top for some reason, when you hear another light knock on the door.
“I don’t need towels, thank you,” you say, sighing.
Knock knock, again.
You sigh and get off the bed, heading to the door.
“I said I don’t need—” but as you open the door and before you can speak, his arms are wrapped around your waist and his mouth is on yours. You hum a satisfied approval into his kiss.
He stops and pulls back, his eyes wide and mouth agape at what just happened. He’s struggling to understand what came over him. Why he’s here. Why he did that. He feels sick, suddenly, that he did something he wasn’t supposed to. He would never think to put himself on someone without asking...
“Oh, God...I’m so- sorry,” he says, nearly hiccupping from his nerves.
Before he can say another word of regret, you grab him by his tie and bring him to your mouth, leading him into your room. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he wraps his arms around your waist. You suddenly pull back, your eyes wide and a smirk on your lips.
“I’ve been waiting for that,” you whisper to him. His heart somersaults.
“I, yeah... I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, but I shouldn’t have done it that way,” Larue says. Before he regrets anymore, you lean in to kiss him again, deeper.
His stomach nearly catches fire as he ropes his arms around you again, grasping and grabbing at the silk of your top, your skirt, the flesh of your hips and ass. Your hands rake through his hair while you moan needily into the kiss. He moves his hand under your top to start climbing up toward your bra. You throw your head back in ecstasy, mewling into his touch.
He walks you back toward your king-size bed, your knees touching the mattress as you lean down, and he crawls over you. He’s thrown his glasses on the nightstand or the floor, he’s not sure and he doesn’t care. You’ve loosened his tie and started on the buttons of his shirt while his hands are traveling up your skirt to work your nylons off your body.
“Just tear them,” you say, nipping at his lip. He sits up for a second and does exactly that, ripping them to shreds and pulling them off your legs so he can touch your bare skin. Watching his muscles flex under his now-open crisp, white button-down shirt makes your heart thump between your legs. The sound of the nylons tearing from his hands does, too.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he pants into your hair as he’s kissing your neck, your collarbone. Your moaning tells him he’s doing all the right things. “You’re so beautiful and I just... I can’t stop thinking about you.”
You blush at what he’s saying. “I’ve always had a crush on you,” you whisper to him. He pulls back to look at you, struggling to believe a woman as beautiful as you would ever find him attractive.
“You have?” he asks, his chest heaving with breath he’s trying to catch.
“I have. You're so... sexy. And funny. And smart. And when you didn’t want to come in earlier, I will admit, I was a little heartbroken because I wanted this to happen. But I thought you could do better than me, so I didn’t blame you.” Your eyes cast downward in embarrassment.
He gently cups your face to look at you.
“I...you... I never want you to think of yourself as anything but exquisite,” Larue says to you, leaning in to kiss your lips chastely. “I don’t know why I didn’t come in earlier, but I’m here now. Making up for lost time.” You smile, looking down again.
"You’re so... goddamn beautiful,” he whispers in your ear, kissing your neck and returning to your lips. His hand roams up and down your side, tugging you closer to him. “Now, come here.”
His hands grab and touch every inch of you he can. He's enamored with the feel of your curves and flesh in his hands. You move your hands to his pants, starting to unbuckle his belt. He stops and leans back, watching your red fingernails do the work for him. His hardness is obvious now, and after you remove the belt, you let your hand rub his length – a quite impressive one, at that.
“Ah, goddamnit,” he moans. You move your hands to unzip his trousers next. As you do, you put your hand down his pants to stroke him. He moans to the ceiling, nearly unraveling there.
“I want you inside me,” you whisper to him, his fantasies coming to life. He can’t believe he’s found himself in this situation. With you. Now. It’s real, it’s not a dream. He almost starts to panic.
He pushes his pants off and throws them to the floor. He rolls you toward him so he can unzip your skirt and peel it off of you. Now left in nothing but your silky slip top and lace panties, he’s barely able to contain himself.
You caress his hardened length again, rubbing it with your hand slowly. Its stiffness is considerable, and so is its size. Your panties pool in anticipation of what he’s going to do to you. His biceps flex as he leans over you, and you can feel the muscles in his back. You had no idea he was hiding such a beautiful body under those stiff suits.
“Does that feel good, baby,” you coo to him. His heart nearly explodes with you calling him that pet name.
“It feels... so...fu-fucking good,” he says, closing his eyes. His desire for you is so pressurized in his body, he’s afraid if you keep it up, he’ll come too early and disappoint you.
He stops your hand and removes his boxers, coming closer to your center, where he moves your panties to the side to touch you.
“You’re so... wet...sweetheart,” he tries out his own pet name on you, and your heart blooms.
He loops his fingers around the waistband of your panties and slides them down to your ankles where you kick them off. Once free, you spread your legs for him and invite him to you, which he does quickly with passionate kisses. “Fuck me,” you whisper into his lips, which he doesn’t delay a second longer and pushes inside you.
It’s been a long time for him. He’s not fallen for someone as hard as he’s fallen for you since college, and that was child’s play compared to this. And to have you like, beneath him, panting with him, moaning his name -- it's unreal.
"Oh, god-,” Larue sighs, slowly pumping in and out of you, a slow, delirious drag that has you both seeing stars. He's trying to contain his speed so he can make this last, and make you feel good. “You feel... so amazing...”
You’ve never had someone so deep inside you. Granted, your experience is limited. But he’s basically hitting the back wall of you once he’s fully inside.
“I’ve never... had someone... so big,” you pant in ecstasy. “Oh, my...god... this is... amazing.” You sigh into the pleasure. Hearing your praise makes him harder, and you can feel him thickening inside you. You bring his face back to yours so you can kiss wildly again. While one hand trails your hairline and caresses your face, the other roams down your side, to your dipped waist and your fleshy hips. He squeezes flesh at every stop, sighing into your mouth at the sensation of your skin on his, committing the feeling to memory.
You lean up to unfasten your bra and slip it off from under your top. He watches it thrown on the pile of accumulating clothes and suddenly his hand is pushing your tank top up to your chest, where he grabs handfuls of your breast and leans down to kiss the soft skin and run his tongue around a rosy nipple.
Your hands shoot to his hair, raking your fingernails across his scalp while he pleasures you in more ways than one.
“You- you make me feel...so good...” you pant and moan, making his stomach clench in pride.
As he continues thrusting into you, you roll your hips to collide with his efforts and it causes delicious friction you didn’t know was possible. You feel the flame of release stoking inside you, radiating into your thighs.
“Baby, I’m- I’m gonna—” you stutter, unable to form words, your head falling back on the pillow, clenching your eyes shut from the overpowering pleasure. Your hands and fingers dig into his back, and he sighs at the sensation because he’s the one making this happen, making you unravel.
“Do it for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he coos in your ear, reliving some of his most recent erotic dreams of you. It causes you to shudder as your channel flutters erratically around his length, your wetness pooling around him.
“I can...feel you, feel that...” he says to you, absolutely stunned he was able to make this happen. Your face is flushed, cheeks pink, lips swollen, and eyes glassy from your release. He leans down to kiss you again. “You are... so... beautiful...” he says, continuing to thrust into you.
As you come down, you coax him to roll over, ending up on his back. You slide him back inside of you and start to roll your hips.
“Oh, Christ,” he hisses, watching you bounce on him just sends all remaining blood flow to his groin, which is hardening with each thrust. He can’t hold still anymore and decides to move with you, thrusting into you as you’re coming down. Your stomach sure to unravel again. You lean back on his thighs.
“Look at you, taking me,” he says to you, almost with a growl. “God, you're gorgeous.”
The thrusting is powerful, but you want this to last so you slow him down by rolling your hips in a nearly painfully slow motion. You bring his fingers to your mouth to suck, and his eyes roll back as he moans.
“Jesus... Christ... you’re so... fucking...” and before he can finish, he’s looped his hands on your back to roll you back under him. You let your hips continue grinding into him as you kiss and pant in his ear, driving him wild.
You put a steady hand on his lower back while he continues to move inside you, as your desire creeps up again. You moan and squeak into his ear, raking your hands through his hair again. Your hips increase in their pressure with his, and you feel and hear his breath hitching. His arms are under you, grabbing your back keeping your bodies impossibly close.
The thrusts of your hips slow only a little, becoming deeper and more deliberate against him, causing him to thrust slower but harder to the end of you. You grab his hand with yours and look him in his soft, brown eyes.
“Get there for me, baby,” you whisper to him, as he leans down to kiss you deeply again, stirring his release. He ascends quickly, watching your eyelashes flutter and the soft moans of his name on your gorgeous lips. He leans into your neck to groan as he releases all he has, coming to a stop in what feels like several minutes.
He stays on top of you slightly to catch his breath, and you run your hands down his back and through his hair. “That was...incredible,” you whisper to him. “I hope... I hope that was good for you,” you say, a bit worried maybe you did something wrong. You always worry you’re not good enough.
He leans on his arms, caresses your face. “It... was a dream come true,” he says, smiling and leaning in to kiss you again.
“Stay with me. Please. Don’t leave,” you ask him, searching his eyes for regret. You find none, only happiness and contentment.
“OK, I won’t go anywhere,” he answers, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles.
You turn the lamp off on your bedside table and he pulls your back close to his chest where he drapes an arm over you while his hand lazily traces your waist and hips. He leans forward and kisses your neck.
“I think we found our way to stay warm in Fargo,” you whisper to him, turning to face him. He laughs. "I think we did too. We make a pretty good team." He smiles kisses you again as you both drift into a blissful, solid sleep. The first in several days.