A/N: So this is a slightly alternative take on Isa's prompt for True to Size - I felt like I hadn't quite hit the mark with that one, gave it some extra thought and this happened. Hope you like it :)
Donna has… thoughts.
Thoughts she tries not to think about, thoughts that are wildly inappropriate for the office, for what they are, for who he is, for the rules she set.
Thoughts she can't seem to let go of, hasn't been able to since that fateful night.
They come when he wears that slightly tighter gray suit; when he sits sprawled out in his armchair, legs spread open as he reviews a document late at night; when too many people walk into the elevator and they're pushed up together and she has to make a conscious effort not to brush against him.
They come when the memory of The Other Time rushes unbidden to her mind's eye, accosting her at work or in the shower or in bed.
Those thoughts are memories fused with fantasies and a tinge of longing, a wild mix of images and sounds that sometimes hums in the background of her mind as she types up the power of attorney Harvey asked for; other times it rages loudly in her brain and takes over her vision and her hearing and it makes her come hard.
She thinks about a lot of things - his teeth biting the back of her neck as he kissed her from behind, his heavy palms on her breasts, kneading and pinching and rubbing the oxygen out of her, the way his breath was hot on her ear.
But when he wears that suit or sits like that or almost grinds into her in the elevator, what she thinks about is his dick.
It's not something she's proud of, not only because it's lewd and crass and so beneath her, but also because she's never thought of a guy's dick as his best attribute - and she doesn't think Harvey's is his, really.
But she remembers how big he is - anyone can see the bulge in his pants, but she has actual firsthand knowledge. She remembers how it sprang out of his boxers as she rid him of them, how her eyes widened and her mouth watered at the sight she'd been secretly wanting to see for a long time.
She remembers how it felt between her lips, wet and sloppy as she took his hand and placed it in her hair, relinquishing all control to him. She remembers how good it felt as he thrust it into her mouth, careful but relentlessly, an inch deeper every time, almost gagging her as she hummed around him and soiled her panties.
She remembers how it stretched her, making her feel completely full from its length and its girth and the way it just felt right. Her feminism has never let her believe women need men to be complete, but that night made her question that for a second.
She remembers it heavy and warm in her hand, veins twitching beneath the pads of her fingers as she worked him back up for who knows what round.
She remembers him pumping himself as she watched, his smirk smug as he saw her squirm on the bed merely at that sight. She remembers him sliding slick between her folds, the head bumping against her clit and making her moan. She remembers the pleasant soreness she felt afterwards.
And from there her mind spins wild scenarios. Him deep in her throat as her head hangs off the side of the bed; him pounding into her from behind, her ass up in the air making him hit deep; him sliding between her breasts - she thinks she wouldn't even need to press them together very much; him pressing hard against her ass in the morning as she grinds into him.
She doesn't know if he's the biggest she's ever had but she does know he was the best at knowing what to do with it. So many men talk a big game but Harvey really is one.
She thinks the feelings might have something to do with it. She's never loved anyone else as she loves him - there's no point in denying this anymore. And the fact that all she can do is remember and imagine probably adds an extra layer of something that makes the memories and the fantasies that much better and that much harder to deal with afterwards.
She wants to be able to love him openly. She wants to give him reassuring squeezes on his hand or his shoulder, she wants to kiss him, she wants to hug him on the hard nights and make the world go away. She wants to lay next to him on the couch and bury her toes beneath his leg, and she wants to stroke his hair as he dozes off in the afternoon.
Sometimes that's all she wants, the need burning so bright in her chest it almost brings tears to her eyes.
But other times she just wants his cock inside of her. She wants to scream his name so loud her neighbors complain, she wants to break the bed and wake up with bruises and she wants to doubt if she's really walking straight from how thoroughly he fucked her the night before.
Most of the time it's the words and the touches and the love, because that means so much more to her than anything else.
But some moments, some embarrassing days in the office and some weird nights alone, it's his big cock she thinks about, and it's that what she misses the most.