Disclaimer's: not mine
Author's notes: Smut Alert! This chapter Donna makes her own discovery. Told from Josh's POV
She wakes me, kissing my neck, moaning my name, it's the best alarm clock I've already have. I used to hate the mornings; they meant I had to leave my sanctuary, my home in her arms. Today is different. Today is a new beginning of understanding. I, correction, we, had an epiphany last night. The mystery that is Donna Moss has been solved or at least a part of it.
My good mood is clearly evident and still lingering during the staff scheduling meeting. Matt questions me about it, my response, "I have solved one of the great mysteries of the world."
"I've always wondered about Bigfoot. Is it a really creature or just some guy in a suit? Logically it is probably some guy in a suit, but I like to think it is a real creature, something rear and amazing. Besides the Yeti is real and you can't screw around with the Yeti." I stare blankly at him.
"Sir, never repeat that. EVER." He rolls his eyes and we continue with the day.
My good mood is diminished when I see the Congressman call Donna into a room with the Secret Service. The letters are still greeting us in every hotel we stay in. The noose is getting tighter around her neck. The way she looked at me as she left, I got the distinct feeling there was a noose around my neck too.
I tried to block it out of my mind for now, swells of anger build and subside. I loath anyone who would try and hurt her, she is mine.
We part for a while separate functions. Donna's been working with the Helen a lot and with long term plans. The Santos Campaign has a relativity small staff but there have been days where I won't see her for like five hours. (Which is a very long time, once you have tasted her you can never go long without her. Five hours is really pushing the human limits.)
It isn't until around ten I see her, retired for the night. For the record I hate hotels, every hotel room in the US is the same, same crappy paintings, same ugly comforter, same stupid hangers that are nearly impossible to use, but what I more then anything is the stupid key cards that are even more impossible to use than the hangers. As I enter this hotel room, it's different, brighter, and happier. Home. Donna's here.
She's on the bed, not surprising, it is her turf. Tonight is different she isn't leaning against the headboard, but sitting the middle of the bed staring at something. Her eyes sole focused on whatever is in her hand.
"Donna?"
"Hey, how was your day?" She doesn't need to ask, she knows it was good. We went up in the pole three points and Matt took most of the staff out to dinner. Donna was left to hold the fort.
"Whatcha looking at?" I take off my jacket and put it on the impossible hanger. Tomorrow's suit is already hanging up. It's the little touches with Donna that shows she cares.
"Colin's pictures of Gaza." What? Why? Good mood crashing and burning. Why would she put herself through this? Why stir up all those emotions? Why can't we have one night where we don't have an emotional roller coaster?
"Why?" I manage to choke out.
"Come here for a minute." I sit on the bed with my back resting against the headboard, and I pull her back to my chest. This gives me perfect access to her neck. I press my head to hers, kissing her scull and avoiding the pictures all together. She knows what I am doing and moves her head out of my line of sight. There is it. Donna, my Donna, bleeding, glass embedded in her face. Her eyes are closed but hidden in the picture I can sense her suffering. Flames engulf the SUV, the image is so clear, I can almost smell the smoke and burning rubber. My arms tighten around her. Shielding her from what's in front of her, but knowing I can't.
Then she says the oddest thing. Donna, one of the many things I love about her, will spew the most random of things, reminding me, I will never fully understand her.
"I survived this."
Ok maybe not random, but certainly obvious.
"I know." What else could I say?
"I was the only survivor. The driver died two days after the accident."
"I know."
"Josh by all means, I should not be here now, but I am. You shouldn't be here either. You were shot in the chest. 14 hours of surgery saved your life. Neither of us should be here now. But we are." Her voice is filled with an excitement and wonder. She rolls away from my embrace and pulls me to the edge of the bed. "Do you know what this means? We are invincible."
"Well I don't think that is true."
"I am tried of living my life in fear, fear of sandals or injury. Josh, stand up." She starts to yank off my tie and unbutton my shirt. "Josh, can I see your scar?"
"You've already seen it." She changed my bandages plenty of times after the shooting.
"I need to see it healed. I need to know that everything will be ok." She carefully removes my shirt and pulls of my undershirt. So there I stand bare-chested in front of Donna. Her fingers trace the line of my scar, sending odd sensations up and down my spine. The scar tissue is still sensitive; it always was and will always be. It's hard to admit but I haven't been with a lot of women since the shooting. Amy hated the scar; she would never look at it or touch it. I wore it as a seal of shame, humiliated by it, and understanding every emotion Donna feels about hers.
Her lips moisten mine and catch me a little off guard. Her mouth makes her way down my neck and start to converge my impact scar which looks like a small crushed flower. I gasp with pleasure, unsure if she notices. She does and her hand moves down towards my pants.
"Donnatella?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" I want all intentions to be clear, I hate hurting her, and seeing the fear in her eyes, I could stop now and take a cold shower and take care of myself if she needed me to.
Her tongue traces my scar and pioneers a path to my neck. She whispers, "Yes" and gives me The Look before kissing me again. My hands start at the bottom of her tank top and slowly move upwards, exposing more of her stomach. Her skin is cool and I am sure to warm it with my hands. I stop at the bottom of her breasts, unsure if she really wants me to go on. Her hands guide mine, my eyes transfixed on hers, breaking contact only when the tank top rises over her head.
I want to look down, I want to touch and see. But I am respectful and wait for permission from her eyes. She smiles sensing my anticipation; her eyes are still riddled with fear.
My scars are old, now they seem like they've been there my whole life, I have accepted them but never really expected anyone else to. Our eyes speak to each other, without words I say, "Donnatella, I understand." Her eyes say; "I do too."
I look down, my hands still on her sides. There they are two small, thin scars. One between her breasts, another in just underneath her breasts. Some times I don't know what women see when they look in the mirror. She sees disfiguration, I see a second chance.
"They're cute."
"Cute?" She repeats, with a bizarre combination of confusion, frustration, and disgust. Maybe cute was the wrong word. I smile, making sure my dimples are in full force rephrase my statement.
"The scars, they're small and perfect. Everything I am looking at is magnificent. Donna, you are glorious and breathtaking. Looking at you makes me need so much more. I…" Her mouth comes crashing into mine, tongue searching and dancing with mine. Our bare chest press against each other, her heat blending with mine. I guide her back to the bed.
My hands survey her, holding her. She guides my hands over her breasts; I take it as a sign its ok to touch. Our mouths warm and wet continue their own forms of exploration. I break away from her mouth and focus attention on her neck, while my hands cup and massage her breasts. She moans, completely different from last night, throaty, husky. Last night she was playful, tonight passionate. My lips wrap around her nipple and her hand moves closer to my mouth, she back arches ever so slightly. Her moans, it's all I can think about, they ring in my ears, linger there, and haunts my brain.
She moves my hand again. My mouth follows suit. I love her stomach and spend quite a long time kissing and sucking it. She touches the elastic on her underwear; my fingers follow the same path. I like the fact she isn't wearing something lacy or frilly, whatever this material is, its soft and smooth and feels… neat. Neat? I am such a loser.
My fingers trace the outline of her underwear, string bikini I should add. I stay at the top and slowly moving towards her inner thigh and working down. I can feel her heat through this very thin layer of fabric. She moans again and her hips move ever so slightly. My fingers start to barely rub when she speaks.
"Joshua." Fear builds in my stomach.
"Yes, Donnatella."
"Forget all the rules." Green light. GO!
I slowly remove her underwear, much to her frustration. We make eye contact. Lust, desire, both of our eyes say the same thing: I need you.
I kiss her, hungrily, my fingers exploring her, she grinds against my hand, I tease her, and she wants more. She bites at my ear and sends slivers down my spine. I am becoming alarming aware my pants are getting far too small. I kiss her again and pull away, leave more space between us then I would like. She bites her lip and I disappear between her legs.
My fingers then my mouth explore, pink, soft, smooth, wet. She moans my name. I moan back. Sucking, tongue flittering, I insert my middle finger, feeling, searching. Found it!
She arches her back again, her hands moves across her body and run through her hair. Her breathing deep, but I don't think she is really getting oxygen. Hell, even I am getting light headed. Her muscles start to clench my fingers. She cries out my name, tension, flooding, and relaxation. I stay there a few seconds longer, to tease and watch her buck. I look up to see a new smile, satisfied, peaceful and all mine. Her eyes are closed, her face and chest blushed. Her eyes open, she looks at me.
She pounces. Really pounces. I am not sure how my pants come off, but they do. There goes my boxers. Her mouth is around me, her head… Oh god I can't even think. She moans and god damn it feels good.
I stiffen, I wish I could concentrate, but pleasure is exploding in my mind. Colors are all I think, colors, red, and pink. I know I am moaning but I can't control, did I just say something? I hope not. Tension, Relax. She leaves a quivering mass of nothing.
She also leaves the bed for a few seconds. I'm glad she doesn't lead me on, I hate it when women make you think you are getting one thing, then change their minds three months into it. She stands in the bathroom doorway.
"Donna. You are a stunning vision, one unlike I have ever seen." I am not sure if I thought that in my head or said it aloud.
She crawls into bed with me, under the covers.
"Next time we should make love." She whispers in my ear.
"Now?"
"No not now."
"Good because I can't move." She has rendered me useless and paralyzed.
"Josh, you ruined me for all other men." I smirk
"I know."