One rule. Made spontaneously to protect her from a man that titillated every resolve.

Her body's center points out the premise is now void, thanks to a resignation letter resting on a desk. Her brain reminds her she easily plucked three names off his recent conquest list. Like devil and angel, her body plays tug-o-war when her doorbell rings.

When she opens the door, open buttons, facial shadow, and mischief behind his lips are like a red cape to her untamed animal. The whipped cream's use becomes more certain.

I decided what kind of attorney I wanted to be.

"I heard." She smiles softly, pleased he did the right thing. "You quit."

Did you hear I also turned over the toxicology report?

Something deeper slips into the place of the negated rule. Warmth spread in her chest. Beyond thirsted want. He'd followed her advice. Risked his career. Stood up against a mentor for what was right.

You know, it just occurred to me that...you and I don't work together anymore. He leans in, his head bending with a grin.

"Yeah. That didn't just occur to you."

They exchange banter, a game of pre-foreplay tossing back and forth like a ping-pong ball. She presents the whipped cream with flawless timing. A witch kicking the angel and pulling desire out of her pointed hat. She hopes her spell is strong enough to counter the devilry hidden behind that smirk.

What are we waiting for?

"For you to figure out that it's time to come inside."

Her belly dives as he's stepping over the threshold, pressing lips against hers. He kicks the door closed. She's pulled flush with him, the nervousness running through her, body finding rest against the wall of his chest.

His mouth teases, coaxing and enticing lips but not fully searching. There's an inquiry in his temptation. Assured but not forcing. She forms her answers, mouth opening against his, seeking an uncharted journey she senses he holds a map for. Her fingers trace that achingly solid jaw of his. There's something illicit about feeling it flex under her fingertips while he's attending to her lips.

She tries to pull at his coat unsuccessfully with one hand, the cold can still glued in the other. He smiles against her and takes it, setting it on the shelf beside them. His suit coat comes off easily now, sending a greater whiff of citrus and sage and unidentified scents of his cologne.

Fingers at her waist press her closer. Tongue tangling with hers and used to thoroughly aid in his exploration. A whimper escapes her throat when he sucks her tongue into his mouth. He's holding her against him, his want pressing firmly into her abdomen. Of all the doubts circling in her head, his lust for her isn't one of them.

Open mouth hits her jaw, then moves lower. She begins unbuttoning his shirt. Needing to feel him. See him. Touch bare skin. She's engaged in what she'd forbidden herself, with office whispers of prowess that had kept her awake at night. She practically rips the last two, trying to pull it around his shoulders. His lips part from her skin, assisting her with the cuffs. She swallows as she looks him over. He's fit with just enough pliable muscle. Stomach already pulling in and out from breaths. The grin on his face shows he knows she appreciates the view.

Fuck it. She wants to sass him, but he's here to do one thing and she's taking advantage of his experience. If his talents aren't enough, the tent in his pants persuades away any last resolve. She launches for his lips, pulling him down to meet her. Her urgency seems to spur him on, and his mouth takes possession. Coaxing her open, erasing any final space between their bodies. He sucks a line down her carotid, yanking her cardigan off her shoulders and down her arms, tossing it to the side. Open hot kisses find her chest. Hands find her breasts, thumbs brushing already sensitive nipples. He presses them together, mouth smothering in her cleavage with tongue and teeth, her fingers run through his hair.

He grazes teeth over her fabric-covered nipple, lightly biting down. She holds her breath while his hand scoops out each of her breasts. They're displayed for his mouth's teasing, shelved above her neckline. She pants when he begins sucking. He may as well be using her body as a demonstration of eroticism itself from the heat he sends to her core. Her head falls back, imagining the same feeling lower.

Hands begin bunching her fabric at her sides. "Hold this?"

She takes the scrunched nightgown and nods.

He lowers to his knees, looking up to her. His hair is disheveled from her fingers, something telling her it wasn't getting better with his face so close to her center. Fingers hook under the band of her panties.

"May I?" He's working his jaw, a smile fighting his lips like a devil who's about to dismantle her.

"Yes," she manages with a breathiness. As if he can't see the probable wetness already darkening the pale fabric covering her center. Her body completely betrays her demurity.

He slips them down, eyes level and focused on her mound. The wicked smirk remains on his face, as he reaches for the whipped cream and tilts his head back to meet her eyes. He applies a dollop over her center.

"Harvey—" she staggers out "—we're doing this here?"

He grabs her thighs and guides her until her back hits the door, shifting with her. He pulls her right leg to rest on his shoulder. Her hips get pulled forward and she squeals at the motion. The first contact of his tongue makes her eyelids flutter. Long strokes intermingled with suction tease her, waiting and wanting to feel his intent focus on her clit.

She threads fingers through his short strands, using her other hand to attempt balance on the doorknob.

He pulls back a hair, staring up the length of her torso to her eyes. She whines in protest.

"You should taste it."

Her mouth parts and she watches him, dipping her finger into the remaining cream between her legs, and pulling it between her lips. His pupils expand. Then he's forward, and lips find contact with her clit. Tension coils, his mouth rapidly unlocking her own personal code to pleasure. Each passing moment with suction and flicks of his tongue builds, like tiny clicks leading to the next. Inescapable whimpers and moans. Shaking legs. A longing inside needing more even though his ministrations couldn't be hitting more perfectly.

A gripping begins like a slowly tightening knot. She's slipping until it seizes her. Multiple layers pulling tight. Weaving into her extremities. Pulsing and then finally letting go. They begin to slow, the final tremors throbbing in spaced-out beats. Her eyelids part, unsure when they even slammed shut or what things she'd called out in the rush.

She's shaky when he untangles her to stand. He immediately picks up on it and steadies her, an arm holding around her waist.

His face holds a mixture of playfulness and tension. "Should we find a surface?" he asks with a tease.

"My bedroom's around the corner."

He lifts her by the thighs to straddle him, shifting her higher on his waist. His mouth finds hers and in between kisses she gives him verbal cues to her room.

He sets her on the bed, and before he can move she stills him. Hands unloop his buckle, then button and zipper. She helps him free himself of the last two barriers. She tries to limit the widening of her eyes at his erection aiming for her and almost hitting. He's watching her, an insufferable pleasure because he doesn't miss it.

All bare, the anticipation of the feeling of him inside her is almost intimidating. Her fingers find him, holding him steady for her lips. There's power in holding the essence of the boss she'd sought between her fingers and mouth. She'd prohibited him from herself, and now she was wielding power that made his eyelids drop and caused him to swallow for breath. Her tongue and suction worked layer upon layer of his demise. Her opposite hand finds his balls and fondles. Splays his stomach. Clutches his ass and pulls him toward her.

"Donna," he strangles out. His fingers tangle in hair at the nape of her neck and he tugs gently, sending her a second warning.

She draws out a final suck, pulling off of him with a lewd sound. "You pleaded?"

"You're going to undo me before I start."

"I gave you permission before you were even in the door."

His grin grows wide and she swears the corners of it tug somewhere in her abdomen. Her gown is raised over her head, fully exposing her for his wanting stare. He leans over and takes her mouth. His newly heightened ardor spins her so fast she thinks he could pick almost anywhere to drop her and she wouldn't protest. Tongue and hands lift her from the mattress and back. The presence of his body widens the part of her legs.

Kisses litter her chest and a hand reaches between them, slipping over her sensitive sex. She moves her hips to chase them, wanting the friction of her clit back. Pressure appears at her center instead. He's focused on her face. The first intrusion is sharp, causing her to suck in a breath. She adjusts as he begins moving. Then she feels him fill her further with another finger.

He's skilled. Too skilled. She's sweating from the building need for another release. His lips meet hers and he pulls his hand away, leaving her empty and desperately wanting. She feels his cock against her then. He teases her slit with it in several passes, then begins pressing. She's slick, she can feel she is, but her body doesn't take him on the first attempt, He works, forward and pulls back, a bit further each time, until he gets more depth and her body gives in. Her head pushes into the bed. She draws in a breath. She's never felt so full before. It's entirely too much and yet feels the most befitting all at once.

Lips are resting against her neck, making small movements there much like his intrusion. "Fuck Donna."

"I know."

"Are you—"

She nods before he can finish the words, her chin hitting against his head in the motion.

Then, he moves in her. Building his speed and depth, an exquisite perfection in his timing and tempo. They fit together, in a rare ratio of flawless push and pull. They're oscillating, falling into cyclonic limits in a way she's never experienced.

"You need more?" he asks.

He's probably talking about fingers or grinds. She won't. But she wants all of him. All of whatever it is this man possesses that makes her want to let go of herself and consume herself in finding him.

"Just harder."

He grunts as he complies. Her eyes shut tight, and for a moment she loses all sense of anything but the spin of being lost and spun around him. Stars. Blackness. The intensity and tightening all building toward the center of them joining. She tumbles over hard and her moans take over just as tensely. She feels her walls pulse against him, abdomen aching as the crests rush over her, tingling far into her extremities until she's fully spent. The awareness that he's been watching returns with normal consciousness.

His hunt for release continues, pounding against her spent and overcharged flesh. His face hides to the side of hers, temple to temple as he succumbs over his final threshold. Fully enveloped by the harbor of her body, sheltering her with the heaviness and expending of his.

He pulls his head back, avoiding her eyes and kissing her forehead. There's a distance behind his avoiding eyes that makes something in her chest slip. He pushes up from her, rolling to his back.

This was the problem all along about being with him. He's too feral to ever fully grasp. So much so, maybe by her exceeding his expectations, his fear kicked in as if she'd had him caged. "Everything okay?"

"That was...beyond okay." His head swings to hers with a smirk, cheek pressed against her sheets.

She sighs. "Even without the forgotten whipped cream?"

"Oh, I didn't forget. I still have plans"

She arches a brow. "You want me to go get it?"

"No. You stay. Let me." He's up and out of bed and out of her room.

Two things occur to her while he's gone. There is something she actually forgot. And she's Donna. It's not a detail she'd ever allow herself to let overlook. They hadn't used a condom.

She props her head up a bit with an additional pillow. Turmoil in her belly.

The second thing is the detail that's been playing on her mind. He didn't want her to see his face when he came.

He's back in the room, only instead of nude with a can, he's got a plate of sliced strawberries along with it. He sets it down on the bed. "Towels?"

"In the bathroom, linen cabinet."

He disappears once more. She hears water running, then he returns with a damp washcloth. Along with a second dry one. "For you."

"Thank you. Harvey?"

"Hmm?"

"We didn't use a condom."

His face falls, color paling the slightest.

"I'm on the pill, but…"

His lips press together. "I always use one, if that makes you feel better. I've never forgotten before."

"Neither have I." The detail turns circles in her mind, never quite finding the explanation it's looking for. "I hope you at least washed your hands." She wipes between her legs and stares at the half-cut strawberries.

"I did. But I don't know if it will matter."

"Oh?"

He takes the can and shakes it, then applies a small amount on a slice of fruit. He helps her finish the task of wiping herself, the gesture making her abdomen clench.

Then, he's shifting lower on the bed, positioning himself between her thighs. He dips the creamed strawberry to her, using it to brush her clit. His lips mash together like he's proud of himself, then he lowers his head, taking leisurely time to lap and suck the cream and dribbled juice.

"You better not be thinking of putting that inside me."

He pops it in his mouth. "I wasn't." He licks his lips.

Her face heats up, overly affected by their intimate state. She stares down at him. "I think a third time might be premature at this point."

"I know how overstimulated you must be. I'm taking my time." He picks up another strawberry, shifting back to her side. Whipped cream gets applied to each of her nipples, then another larger blob on her stomach.

"Why don't you wow me with that mind trick you do while I enjoy this?" He dips the strawberry in the cream closest to him, swirling the cool fruit on her already hardening areola. He licks up the sticky juice that's sliding off the side of her boob. Then bites half of the berry, feeding her the other.

"Am I doing this for you?" she asks, enjoying the taste of the tart fruit.

"Does anyone else matter to me?" Despite the tiniest bit of truth to the question, the draw of his brow shows there's a tease there.

She eyes the cuts of his upper body, remembering the paperwork for the gym membership on his desk. "Okay. You like to workout. Not weights. Probably some cardio and some kind of sparring. I don't think it's martial arts. Boxing?" She thinks on the signed baseball in the top drawer of his desk. "And you like sports. Baseball would be my guess."

"Who told you?" he asks, lazily dipping strawberries on her stomach and taking turns, feeding her bits and using them as an excuse to kiss freckles and erogenous zones.

"I told you. I'm good at what I do just like you are."

His brow raises, eyes mapping her bare skin in suggestion.

She doesn't argue, instead tilting her head in confirmation.

He takes in her second nipple, disappearing cream between his lips. He pulls off. "What else do you know about me?"

She thinks on it. If she guesses wrong, it's not like he'd intentionally reveal his inner workings. And maybe that's what challenges her to continue. To see if some part of her could master him enough to figure out why he held his deck so close. "You don't trust women. Or relationships. That probably goes back to an earlier reason."

He swallows, this time not from being affected by food or desire.

"Too far?"

"I think too much about me. Why don't you—" he picks up another slice, using it to mop up cream on her belly "—tell me some details about you. Why are you so efficient?"

He's tracing circles low on her belly with his tongue against the last remnants of cream, and she can't tell if the intense heat between her legs is from so much friction in one night or completely from a new build.

He's between her legs again, this time more purposeful with the motion of his tongue and lips. She has no idea how she's going to speak coherently except for the fact he might stop if she doesn't. And god help her if he can make her come a third time.

He's pulling her strings by way of his tongue, secondary to some inherent charm beyond the obvious. She's normally the one that pulls the strings of everything in her life, being an overachiever and needing to keep her world in place for fear of all failing.

"You...know all the important stuff."

He slows. "Like?"

"I like…" Her breaths are becoming thready, despite the slower lapping of her slit. "Things neat. Orderly."

He hums against her.

"That's how I'm...fuck. Harvey?"

She feels a burst of hot air from his nose, the bastard probably laughing while his mouth's attached. "Finish first?"

He takes up the challenge, strumming his tongue against her clit. Her edge is close, but fatigued soreness is making the finale hard to reach. "I'm not...getting there."

"I can—"

"Let me take a minute? I haven't gotten to use the whipped cream yet."

He looks up at her from between her legs.

"Give me control." She helps lead him until he's on his back, head resting against pillows. The pressure inside herself to perform releases. Expressing herself when he's fully in charge isn't as enticing. He's proven he wraps her up in knots around him. She wants to disentangle herself from the building unease from wanting to be lost in his demanding tempo. She wants to conduct him with the illusion he's still the one commanding the orchestra.

She mimics the swirl of cream on each of his nipples and straddles low on his stomach. His jaw tenses, and she sees a nervousness rest in the contours under his skin, and the full focus of his eyes. She slips lower, resting somewhere on his groin until her body can bend and she can take care of the whipped cream. She pulls her hair to the side and takes his nipple firmly into her mouth, and gently uses teeth to roll it. He hisses. Her tongue soothes the action, and then she repeats on the other side.

"Donna," he warns.

She takes a strawberry and bites the tip, then leans forward to his lips until he can bite into the other half. He takes more than his share, the juices intermingling between their lips. His mouth greedily takes care of the mess. She easily accepts being consumed by his lips and tongue. They're in a dance of exploration, sensual and desiring, fluid and flawless. They slow and break apart, and she slips in between his legs.

He's only half hard when she manages a bit more of the cream out of the can on his tip. Her lips open wide to take it with his head. A slow suction while she never takes her eyes off his face. His fingers thread through her hair but don't fully pull it back. She senses a part of him is still hiding, and she wonders what about this man makes him solid as a pillar but afraid to show her vulnerability.

She plucks up the last of the strawberry halves, and squeezes gently over his tip. Drops slip down his length and she dips quickly to lick them up. Long strokes, evenly paying attention to his circumference.

"Donna," he says again. And she begins to wonder if he likes her name on his lips. There's a softness there she's never heard before from him. She thinks it might be hitting against her desired pulses each time it escapes his mouth.

She finishes the fruit, taking him again. He smooths out strands of her hair, while she uses her mouth to make him fully ready. The speed at which he responds builds up her satisfaction. She pulls from him, her hand taking over so he doesn't feel abandoned. Then she climbs him, straddling his hips.

His hands rest on her thighs, brushing gently. She raises up and reaches between them, wiggling herself to get him positioned. He helps by holding the base while she inches down slowly. Her eyes close as his girth presses against abused and sore skin from their earlier session. She sinks herself to him, his hands finding her waist to assist her.

Somewhere along the night, he'd become this challenge, like he's her anchor and biggest catastrophe to solve all at once. A new focus. He's all fixation on her this time, nowhere to hide but also knowing he had this odd fascination of watching her unravel that made him unable to look away. She senses he sees her as this anomaly and she's never desired so much to live up to the mystery.

He begins to meet her timing, their inherent movements finding an easy rhythm once again. His hands softly explore her. Slipping up her waist. Finding her breasts. Running down her arms and finding her hands. He surprises her by pulling her toward him, leading her palms to rest on the mattress. His fingertips find her hips and he thrusts up, faster and more complete than what she had managed at her angle.

The change brings more friction, and she can feel pressure begin to build. She's right above his face this time, her hair cascading around them. He's intent on watching her, eyes wide and predatory. Her lips fall apart, constriction gathering in her core. Each drive of him inside her takes a little more from her breath, handing the stolen life to a rapidly growing unnamable source. It takes over her in forceful pulsing, drawing in only to disperse out. Roots and limbs of who she is spread out between them.

All focus is still on her, and she's lost in the realization tonight she's fully let him witness her metamorphosis from control to unruled.

"God, you look beautiful," he says, still on his own chase.

His eyes shift up and down her face, a disquiet appearing again. A hand brushes her hair back. He's got beads of sweat glistening his skin, his tone growing red with the increased blood flow. His expression is wide as if caught, determined even though she can witness the tension pulling him in all directions with the final staggered thrusts.

His mouth hangs open, a passing of some unspoken fear of something gone further than they'd realized touching between their met breaths, and the rise of his chest hitting her breasts. An unknown place. One perhaps neither had been ready to see.

"We should really shower." She looks between them, letting the words cover her unease. They're covered in the stickiness of sweat and food, along with the activities of the night.

He's still panting. "Give me a minute?"

She climbs off of him, laying by his side. "Sure."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Haven't I given you enough already?" she challenges.

He turns his body to face her, mouth bending. "When I asked earlier, for you to tell me about yourself...you said you liked things neat. And orderly? What did you mean by that?"

"I was a little busy. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"And yet you managed those words. I'm discerning too, you know." His brow raises.

"You wanted to know more about me. And I was pointing out you already know plenty. We're not so different. It's why we work well together."

"I'm listening."

"Fine. We both like things organized. Everything in our lives needs to be planned and in place so we can focus on what we do well. I complement that in your life."

"You do," he confirms with a grin.

"It's too bad we couldn't keep the good thing going longer."

A frown forms on his face. "Yeah, it is."

"I'm glad you took my advice."

"It wasn't all on you. My dad, he said the same thing." He's staring away, the moment becoming distant.

She takes pity on him, attempting to lighten the mood. "I know you're turned on by my organization."

"Am I?" he challenges.

"I fulfill your secretary fantasy. Nothing out of place, the world never seeing you fall apart. I help your illusion, and you like knowing you can count on me. "

His face falls, and something tells her the shift in him signals more than anything his words could have said.

He quickly recovers, the playful smile returning to his lips. "My wanting you wasn't focused on any of that tonight."

"No?"

He picks up a strand of her hair. "I was more focused on shades of red." He kisses her shoulder. "Freckles. Strawberries." His eyes scan down her. "And other places."

"Oh no, Mister. Three is my max." She sits up, and stands from the bed.

"Care for me to challenge that?" he asks, humor in his voice.

She shakes her head. "I'm going to shower. Did you want one?"

"I'm not joining you?"

She's staring at a storm, the eye of it daring her to jump in. But she's seen the danger of waiting out when the others are carried away to outrun the damage. She doesn't want to be a careless victim. Something tells her he's only intrigued when something's challenging him.

Like power and confidence, giving and reciprocating, and top and bottom, perhaps the thing that kept a man like Harvey Specter from running is to be the one thing he can't fully master, while being useful enough he can't fully let go.

"You can if you like. Are you leaving after?" she forces out casually.

"You want me to?"

"You're the one needing to hunt for a job in the morning."

His expression evens, studying her. "We'll save water together. And then I'll go."

They step into the spray together. He picks up soap while she gets wet. She begins to wash her hair while he works up suds. His hands roam. Shoulders down arms. Lightly exploring her back and over her ass. She watches him with a catch of her breath. He's attentive and playful, grinning as he circles her breasts and slides between her legs. He's almost like a teenager with his pleasured interest in getting all access to his desire's body.

She doesn't know how to manage this side of him. She's not his temptress, or his assistant. Just a spectator to the side of him that's at ease. She doesn't know why he is. With this activity. With her when history tells her he should be running.

She doesn't return the favor. Mumbling an excuse about exhaustion and tired legs.

He finishes up alone, and dresses when he's done. Their night ends with a hug. Solid arms wrap around her, and it feels like fully letting go even though she might see him around. He kisses her once before he leaves. Slow and fading, a final meet of his eyes and then he's gone.

She gets a phone call by noon the next day, telling her he needs to see her that afternoon.

More time with her, like maybe intermingled in their breaths a connection had attached, bonding them further beyond jobs and late-night exploration.

And as he presents the offer— Come work for me —she realizes it had, but by her own fulfillment of a prophecy.

He's emotionally out of reach, but they're kindred spirits, and he needs her. And the deepest part of her needs him too. Side-by-side, they're not so lost. Order and chaos in the form of rules in unreachable permanence lie something more between them they'd discovered.

Synchronicity.

A/N's: Okay, so first off, Elle(Mieh) campaigned HARD for me to write this fic. So this fic is totally hers, and her influence. I hope it at least somewhat lived up to its expectation. I'd appreciate it so much if you'd leave me a review and share your thoughts, only because I'm ridiculously insecure sometimes, and this fic is one of those times. Thank you so much for reading!

Thanks to Bew0G, Mieh, and graystephen93 for giving me input and notes and being amazing cheerleaders to my annoying self-doubt. I seriously live for the in-line comments along the way, and can't believe you put up with my earlier drafts. This was mildly beta'd this time, so hopefully I caught any glaring mistakes. Thanks to Kate McK who catches anything I didn't.