It's late, past midnight on a Wednesday when she does it.
She's been turned on for three days straight, ever since Harvey let it slip that he masturbates to memories of her. To that time they vowed to put out of their minds for good; evidently, she wasn't the only one to renege on their promise.
And, well. If the mountain won't come to Mohammed...
Before she has time to change her mind, Donna pops open the buttons on her pajama top, slides her hand inside to cup a breast and the camera clicks, capturing the valley of her cleavage.
It's not flattering in the least.
She frowns, tries again. This time, the angle is higher, but her concentrated face is in the shot and that is decidedly not sexy.
Eventually she finds the sweet spot — bends one knee and snaps the picture from the tops of her breasts down, catching a glimpse of black lace panties.
He calls her. Video. She picks up on the first ring with bated breath.
"Too much?"
"Not enough," he groans, and the sound sends shockwaves to her core.
They're doing this.
Fucking finally.
"Hmmm." She tries for coy, but it's in vain as her thighs rub together, eyes closed and teeth biting hard on her lower lip.
"Show me." His voice is sandpaper, scratching all the right places.
She manages to flip the camera while quickly discarding her panties, granting him a view of nimble fingers dipping between her folds, slick and sliding all around. His heavy breath tickles her even through the phone.
"Open."
One word. Authoritative, dominant. But Donna knows exactly what he wants, readily gives herself over to the command.
Freckled knees fall, hips protruding outward until her pink slit separates, exposing the wet, cherry-red flesh within. She uses her thumb and middle finger to spread her outer lips even further apart, her needy clit now on full display.
"Don't touch yet. Just let me look."
Her chest constricts at the same time her clit pulses. Harvey's face contorts in pleasure and she just knows he's got his dick in his hand, and if she could find her voice she'd ask to see him, too, but all that comes out is a strangled moan.
"Holy fuck," he grunts, accompanied with the crude slapping of skin as he tugs on his cock, and it nearly sends her over the edge. "Just wanna taste you," he continues, and that's it for her; done holding out, she cries his name, shoving two fingers deep in her cunt.
"That's it, fuck your pretty pussy for me. Fuck, Donna."
She can barely think straight, let alone hold the camera upright, but she doubts he even cares judging from the labored panting over the line. She has half a mind to ask him to resume his filthy narrative but she doesn't get that far; one last, breathless "Donna" near her ear causes her orgasm to ripple under her skin, tremor after tremor pulsing through her veins.
Stilled into silence, she waits, listens to the familiar sounds of his release while sweat cools on her skin.
"Still there?" he asks, sounding like the wind was knocked out of him. She can't help the smile that curls her toes.
"Still here."
"Good."
It's said with such sincerity, laced with promise and potential, that Donna knows they won't bury this time with their first.
An hour later, he knocks on her door and his bruising kiss shares the same sentiment.
