I can't. Stop. Grinning.
The President of the United States just spent almost half an hour on the phone discussing literature with my high school English teacher. It's not a proclamation, but I'm not disappointed. I don't think Mrs. Morello will ever forget it, either. All because of a memo written by Josh Lyman, that sweet, wonderful man.
I nearly skip down the hall back to my desk, somehow not at all surprised to see Josh standing in the doorway of his office, arms crossed as he oh-so-casually leans against the doorjamb. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin and it doesn't even bother me this time. He's earned it.
"What's new?" he asks as I bounce to a stop in front of him.
Somehow, I smile even wider than before, unable to help myself. "Josh…"
He breaks out into a full-fledged smile, one that's genuinely happy and not even a little bit smug. He can act like a tough guy all he wants, like he's a pitbull and is always out for the kill, but I know better—he's a big softie at heart who just wants to make people happy. It honestly makes me want to melt.
My insides twist suddenly, my heart thumping almost painfully against my chest, and I try to push it aside. I remind myself that we're at work. We're at work. We're at work. We're at work.
I glance around, noticing that while there are still plenty of people roaming around, at least for this time of night, they're all engaged in their own business, busily going about their lives. No one's paying the least bit of attention to either of us. I look back to Josh and smile again, turning sideways to move past him into his office. I don't bother trying to avoid contact on the way.
His head pivots as his eyes, comically large, follow me as I move into the small room, not terribly surprised to see the other door is shut—he tries to keep one shut most of the time to cut down on foot traffic as much as possible. The first door closes with a quiet click and I turn to face him. His mouth opens but whatever he has to say is forever lost as I cross to him in one long stride, backing him against the door.
I breathe heavily for a second, giving him a chance to get away, before I press my mouth to his. He lands against the door with a small thump, laughing a little into my mouth as he kisses me back.
"I thought we weren't supposed to do this at work," he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist as I push myself up to the balls of my feet.
"We're not," I answer, running my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, tugging it none-too-gently.
He hisses, tightening his grip on me. "Actually, I thought we weren't supposed to do this at all anymore."
I bite his lower lip, actually tugging it for a few seconds before pulling back from him a fraction. "We can stop—"
His mouth is on mine again, and now he's pushing me back into the room. I hit the edge of the desk and he grabs my leg, hoisting me up a little until I can sit on the desk. I grab for his belt and tug it loose, feeling smug as I rub him through his pants. He's already firm against my hand. He pushes at my sweater, making a frustrated noise when it gets caught against my elbows; I refuse to move my hands to help him out. I have my own matters to deal with.
He makes another noise and shifts gears, shoving my skirt up as much as he can. He runs his fingers over me, making me shudder from head to toe. It takes every ounce of strength that I have to push his hands away and stand up. He stares at me, wild-eyed, but I ignore him. Instead, I grab the zipper of my skirt and tug it down, pulling off the garment a moment later. No matter how wrinkled it's going to get after being tossed somewhere in his office, it's better than it being bunched up around my waist. I certainly don't want to completely confirm anyone's suspicions.
He stares at me in awe as I toss the skirt aside, making a pained face as I pull off my panties a moment later. "Donna," he moans, damn near salivating. I can't help but smirk at him—he's so easy. I pull off the sweater while I'm at it and he yanks at his tie, pulling it off gracelessly. He unbuttons a couple of buttons on his dress shirt, just enough so he can yank it off over his head. I reach for his pants again, popping open the button and unzipping the fly, the pants dropping down to his ankles. His boxers follow a moment later.
Now it's my turn to salivate.
He's still wearing his undershirt, but it's like a tease. We're both still wearing tops as if, somehow, those will make this look any less inappropriate.
I push myself onto the desk again, my legs falling open invitingly. He growls and steps closer to me, but instead of wrapping me in his arms, he pushes up my shirt until it's under my armpits, then shoves the cups of my bra down. He licks his lips, pulling me into his mouth and my head falls back as I see stars. He switches to the other side, giving the other breast the same attention. All I can do is wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He grunts, sucking at me harder, and my insides become melted butter.
"I need you," I tell him, my voice surprisingly strong all things considered. He lifts his head slowly, licking his lips.
"I want you," he counters, sliding his hand to the back of my neck and pulling me closer, pressing his mouth to mine. My legs tighten around him and I fight back a whimper as I feel him rub against me. I wrap my arms around his bare skin, reveling in the kiss for a few long moments.
"What about Amy?" I whisper as we come up for air, gasping into each other's mouths.
"Who?" I pinch him a little. We're almost to the point of no return, but I'm not interested in doing this when he's involved with Amy Gardner. "I haven't seen her in weeks," he answers.
Relief floods through me. "Good."
He smirks at me, entirely too smug for his own good, and fuses his mouth to mine again. He steps closer, one of his hands coming between us, and I gasp as he pushes into me. He hisses, his face contorting; I can feel his entire body on edge. I'm not much better off.
"This is the last time we do this," I tell him, using the best authoritative voice I have right now.
"Oh, of course," he answers. "Absolutely."
"It's dumb to do this," I mostly moan, my head falling back.
"Uh-huh." He sucks on my neck, holding me tight as our hips move against each other, finding a natural rhythm.
The last time this happened, we decided that, unequivocally, it couldn't happen again. And that was definitely the only time it happened.
Aside from the first time it happened…and a couple of other times in between. Each time, we decide that we can't have sex again.
I really mean it this time.
I gasp, lifting my head. I whimper loudly and he cringes a little, his face turning pink under the strain. "Shhh," he manages to get out. I'm almost gone, though. Between not having touched him like this for weeks and the thrill of doing this where we most definitely should never be considering it, never mind acting on it, this is going to be an alarmingly fast event. It's just as well—we definitely don't have time to dally.
I bury my face in his neck, biting down on the delicate skin. He barely stifles his yelp, pushing against me frantically. I whimper again, feeling my insides tighten in anticipation. I lift my head a little, pressing my cheek against his. "Yes," I whisper. "Yes yes yes!"
His arms tighten around me, holding me so close I almost can't move. That's all it takes. I'm done. I feel like I'm falling off the edge of the world. Everything spirals out of control. He grabs the back of my head, pulling me to him, stifling my sounds with his kiss. I try to do the same for him as he tumbles after me, his body shaking with release.
We hold onto each other, our bodies moving erratically for a few long seconds before we go completely limp. I fall back against his desk and he smiles lazily down at me for a few seconds, tracing his fingers over my bare flesh before damn near collapsing on top of me. He kisses me slowly; I reach my hand under his shirt to stroke his sweaty back, sighing contentedly.
We shouldn't stay like this for very long. It's insane. We could very easily be caught like this. The downside to having just had really amazing sex is that I just don't care.
Josh kisses me again, smiling against my mouth, before he starts to slide down my body. His lips trail across my skin, blazing tiny paths of electricity everywhere he touches. He stands up, giving me a satisfied look just before he wobbles treacherously. His eyes widen in shock and he grabs onto the edge of the desk. He laughs and shakes his head, dropping to the ground with a thud.
I sit up, staring down at him as he sits on his knees, shaking his head at himself. I could mock him right now, but I don't think I'd have much success standing, either. I try it anyway, though I only last for a few seconds before I lower myself to his lap with a shrug.
He looks up at me in surprise and I shrug, wrapping my limbs around him. "Comfortable here." I don't have much verbal ability right now, it seems. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care as he leans in to kiss me. It's slower now, definitely basking in the afterglow. All I want to do is curl up with him and fall asleep, but that's not something we've ever done…more than once or twice. We certainly couldn't do that here of all places, even if we wanted to.
We part, watching each other with heavy-lidded eyes, still getting our breathing under control. I can feel him vibrating a little under me and I can't help but feel enormously pleased with myself. "Thank you for writing a memo to the President about Mrs. Morello," I finally whisper, running my fingers through his hair. "It meant the world to me."
He grins broadly, tightening his hold on me. "If this is the way you're going to thank me, remind me to write a few more memos about your old teachers."
I smile in return, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "No; we definitely can't do this again."
"Oh. Oh, right. Of course."
"I'm serious, Josh. This can't happen again."
"It most definitely won't," he assures me, giving me his most serious face. I would almost be able to believe him if he didn't start kissing my neck a moment later. If we weren't so good at this, I think we'd actually have a good chance of stopping. That's the trouble, though—we're great at it. He has to work on being a bit more resistible. It was easier when he was seeing Amy, but if they're not together anymore…everything in me is screaming to mark my territory, to let Amy know in no uncertain terms that he's not hers, and he will never be hers.
But, of course, that's ridiculous because he's not mine and we can't do this again. Not ever. And we definitely won't.
He takes my earlobe in between his teeth, tugging gently, and I shiver violently against him.
Definitely not happening again. Definitely.