Author's note: Thank you so much again for your feedback. It really helps - keep pushing that little button :)

There is a bit more angst ahead I'm afraid...and more smushy stuff too though to balance it out!

I thought now might be the appropriate time to give this baby of mine a soundtrack. If you can, listen to Ray LaMontagne's Hold You in my Arms from the amazing album Trouble. That was my inspiration behind this chapter!

Don't forget - reviews are better than sugar and spice and all things nice!

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Chapter 4

It was early when Josh woke; dawn had been and gone, but not too long ago. Finding himself separated from Donna, having relocated to their own sides of the bed in the night, he was pleased to find that he was still holding her hand. It seemed even in slumber he was attached to her.

He had told her that he loved her. She'd said it back to him and showed him how much she loved him. They'd shown each other.

After, he became overwhelmed and for the first time in a very long time he cried, with no embarrassment or shame. Donna had held him and wept with him and he loved her more.

He didn't want to leave her but he needed the bathroom, so he left the bed as quietly as he could. He slipped on a pair of boxers and stood by the bed, watching her sleep. He had sworn by her bedside in Germany never to take her for granted again, and had promptly broken his silent vow. He had no intention of making the same mistake again. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her brow, swept her hair behind her ear, and pulled the sheet up over her.

Josh walked onto the balcony and turned one of the chairs around so he could continue to watch over her.

How had he managed to survive, without her in his life for so long? He'd been down in the depths before but she'd reined him in. Donna always had a way of noticing and managing his needs, usually before they became a problem. She had been known to invoke quiet coaxing, stubbornness, anger, and humour to get him to reflect and calm down. God alone knew how he had managed the early parts of the campaign without her.

He was exhausted. Taking the pivotal role in getting a President elected, three times now, had taken its toll, physically and mentally. Two days ago he had barely been able to form a coherent thought, zoning out in meetings, surviving on Tums and coffee, screaming and ranting like a mad man.

He sighed and quickly decided to change tack; drifting into work related thought was not good and if Donna was awake, she'd have kicked his butt.

Donnatella Moss. Finally.

He could barely reconcile the woman in front of him now with the girl she'd been when he found her in his office on the first Bartlett for America campaign.

As soon as he saw her, he knew she was a girl with a shattered self-esteem, looking for a chance. The story of her life, how she bent it to fit what she knew he needed to hear was what sold him – she was anticipating his needs already, barging into his office, his life, and setting up camp.

That first year in office she hit her stride, handling her job and, more importantly him, with immense skill and patience, she'd been assured, confident, and intelligent, and had commanded respect from all angles. Of course the naivety and lack of experience had broken through occasionally, but she learned faster than he did, which also bruised his ego somewhat.

But now these things radiated from her in waves, crashing over anyone who came near. She'd been point person for one of the most powerful people in Washington, but the respect she had received as his assistant was because she was a route to him. It wasn't her fault, it was just unavoidable. Not any more. Now, people shouted her name because they wanted to hear what she had to say.

He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. He couldn't take his eyes off her, she was so Godamn beautiful.

He couldn't allow himself to regret not doing this sooner. Nothing could ever have worked between them while she was his subordinate and neither of them would have risked the administration. He'd found himself fighting off attraction to her so many times over the years.

When she joined the Santos campaign he'd found it surprisingly easy to work with her. She was damn good at her job and, as much as his ego strained against allowing him to admit it, she'd always been more of a foil to him than an assistant. For crying out loud, she'd stopped a filibuster, saved eleven million social security checks, not to mention giving him fresh perspectives on any number of issues. And, he smiled, inadvertently helped him get the first woman in the Chair of the Chief Justice.

The offer of deputy press secretary had not been an attempt at anything – he honestly wanted her for the role.

Shifting forward on the chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, inhaling sharply and looking up at her again.

Unavoidable, inevitable. He truly couldn't pin down when he started to think of them like that, when he knew that something was going to happen between them at some point. He'd felt the burn of jealousy so many time; maybe if he traced it right back he had a possessive streak since she left him on the first campaign.

It had been just as predictable something would derail their collision course; he just wished it hadn't been an explosion.

There had always rumours about them, their dynamic was obvious to everyone, but whispers became full blown gossip when he'd left the country to run to his assistant's bedside. His absence had been more conspicuous than he imagined Leo had anticipated when he told him to go. White House scandal was always newsworthy, but the peace talks had pushed it deep inside papers.

People, inside and outside the administration took his flight to her as a sign that the rumours had been true all those years. Those stories CJ could head off with a swift and concise 'Josh has been involved in necessary negotiations in Europe.' The unspoken 'and yes he is spending most of his time stapled to his assistant's bedside' didn't go unnoticed by a lot of tabloid rags.

Donna had been spared the worst of the press by being out of the country; the worst of it being an article opining that she'd been pregnant, by him of course, and that she had lost the baby in the explosion. He didn't know if she'd heard that one, he never asked and he knew she wouldn't have told him if she had.

When she returned home, he watched her struggle; he knew the signs. He still knew what it felt like to want to cry at the smallest thing, to get irrationally and uncontrollably angry, to blanch if a door slammed too hard. He was still in therapy six years on. Donna, unsurprisingly, never talked to him about her fear, her grief, or her trauma. He'd seen her scars, but not heard her thoughts. As he told her last night, he'd buried his head to hurry the process of her leaving him. They'd both felt the tug towards each other in Germany, as something permanently changed in their relationship.

She'd said his name as she came round. His name. Not her Mom's, not Colin's, but his.

And so he found himself finally, thankfully, out of excuses when Lou had pointed out his lack of life. His life had been with her for eight years. He'd told her he loved her, and he did with every ounce of strength he had, and now he just had to keep it from slipping away again. Change didn't come easily to him and he'd been terrible at relationships his whole life. But no matter what odds were stacked against them, he was going to fight for this. He could be a realist, an optimist, and still manage idealism - he owed her that.

He linked his hands together and stretched them over his head; sleep patterns still messed up, he found himself drowsy again. He stood and looked out at the sea, drawing deep breaths of sea air and marvelling at how relaxed he felt. Leaning his head down onto the rail, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the feeling so he could remember it and invoke it.

Suddenly, Josh became aware of the sound of scared whimpers. He spun around and found Donna had curled up in a ball, facing away from him. She was visibly shaking and had kicked off the thin cotton sheet exposing her nakedness. He sprinted to the bedside and grabbed out to her, turning her over, calling her name.

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for air, staring through him. He reached out a hand and brushed sweaty strands of hair off her cheek.

"Donna," he whispered, cupping her face with his hand. She locked her eyes to his and he saw her come to, really wake up and realise where she was. She sobbed and reached out for him. He laid beside her and gathered her close, trying to fight back his own rising panic. He knew those dreams, so well, but he also knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop them for her.

He rubbed her shoulders and back soothing her, and as they lay in silence her breathing slowly returned to normal and the shaking ceased. She relaxed in his embrace and he allowed himself to calm down.

"That's the good thing about campaigning," she finally whispered into his chest. "You never sleep enough to dream." She leaned back to look at him and smiled weakly. He smiled back, trying not to show his concern.

"That's true."

"Do you still dream?"

"Sometimes," he said, "but not as often any more, must be six months since my last one." He added, wanting to qualify his admission, not wanting her to think there was no hope of respite. She'd been privy to enough of his nightmares that summer.

"Josh." She whispered. "I still can't believe it happened to me. I know I shouldn't, but I want to shut it out so badly. That seems so disrespectful."

"Disrespectful?"

"People died that day, Josh. I lived and others died."

It finally hit him. Survivors guilt, that was what she was going through, something he never had.

Only the shooters had died at Rosslyn, and he had never been able to muster pity for that loss to mankind. People had been injured, but no one had died like they had in Gaza. Why had he never considered that before?

Now it was his turn to dispense wisdom he knew she already heard, but wasn't sure she really accepted. One thing he did know and could say, having had heard it said to him so many times.

"Donna, you know it wasn't your fault."

"I know," she said, and laced her fingers through his, gripping his hand tightly. "I had to repeat that to myself, like a mantra, and I do believe it. But it is part of the reason I left."

He heard the unspoken "you" at the end of her sentence – the reason I left you.

"Part of the reason?" He didn't want to push her but knew she was asking him to help her get this out.

"I believed I had been given this second chance, or maybe it was my fifth, I don't know," she tried a smile again. "I knew I had to do something more. It was never that what I did for you wasn't important. I know I lashed out at you months ago, hurt you – letting you believe I didn't appreciate what I'd learned from you. I just wanted to do more with the chance I had been given. "

"I understand."

"I never meant to hurt you. I should have explained, I should have talked to you about it."

"You tried, Donna, but I was too busy pushing you away."

She was beginning to ramble now, the words spilling from her faster and faster

"This thing between us, it got so complicated. After Germany I didn't know what we were to each other – I just knew whatever it was wouldn't work if we carried on the way we had been. I would have ended up resenting you. And I didn't want to talk to you because my pain might have brought yours back, and I didn't want to talk to you because I didn't want you to think I was weak. But I wanted to talk to you because you knew what I was going through. I had to engage myself with someone else entirely, something that wasn't you, wasn't what I'd been doing…

"I didn't want to be alone with you in case these feelings I'd been fighting, in case I wasn't strong enough to hide them anymore, in case I didn't have the energy left to be careful. I didn't want to hurt the President."

"Donna."

"I didn't want you to think I needed rescuing, I needed to be me, be strong on my own, I couldn't let you help."

"Donna."

"I couldn't keep coming to work there, the place was making me feel trapped. I owed it to myself and to Admiral Fitzwallace and..and…"

"Donna," he said firmly and she finally realised he was talking. "You are right. It is complicated and we don't have to do this all in one day. You are going to be ok, you already are ok. You are strong and that means it is ok to be weak sometimes."

She nodded, but let a small wry grin cross her face, aimed at his amateur attempt at psychoanalysis he guessed. "I know. I'm just…."

"I know."

She sighed heavily and lay back on his chest. Josh rested his chin on the top of her head and breathed out long and softly. She'd said some important things and he wasn't sure if she knew she'd said them, but he knew. "I should have said something in Germany, after Germany. I shouldn't have let you go"

"It's ok, Josh." She reassured him as the tables turning imperceptibly. "We hurt each other. But if we hadn't been through everything we have been through, we wouldn't be here now. I knew how I felt about you and I thought I knew how you felt about me after Germany, but I couldn't process it. We weren't ready to be together."

He marvelled at how right it was that simple statement surmised what he'd been thinking, another Donna trait – simplifying a matter, boiling it down to its component parts so he could see past the extraneous and see the important. If they hadn't been apart from each other, hadn't been forced to address deep secrets, they wouldn't have ever got here. They had to be apart so they could both grow and prioritise.

"Well your leaving had it's upsides." He smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"You left and I left that day too. All the offers to run campaigns, I'd been thinking about them. You knew that. I'd been thinking what I could do to ensure Democrats kept the White House, who could possibly follow Jed Bartlett. The day you left I went to Texas. As soon as I realised you'd gone for good, I was on a plane."

"You're saying I'm the reason Matt Santos is the next President of the United States?"

He laughed. "I'd like to think he had a little to do with it."

She laughed too.

"I wanted to take you with me."

"I know."

"You were right years ago, you outgrew the assistant role way back. I just wouldn't find anyone as competent as you. You're gonna have a fleet of your own staff now. "

"It's funny, that's what CJ said."

"What?"

"CJ said you kept me around because you wouldn't find anyone else to run your office like I did. She thought you didn't want me the way I wanted you. I knew different but she made me realise I had to do something about it."

Josh became silent and loosened his embrace of her. Donna watched him, he looked annoyed and sad all at once. She understood she had been angry with CJ too.

She knew they were more than boss and assistant, more than friends. Their relationship was different; it was precious and had been since before Rosslyn. She suspected no one knew the depths of emotion they had invested in each other after the shooting. She didn't want CJ to be right and knew deep down she wasn't, but the words coming from her friend had upset her. Coupled with Josh's lack of support in her career, she's started to doubt everything and she'd run away from him that night. She'd hated that she'd done it, that her faith in him had been shaken.

Then, when she woke in Germany and he'd been there, both times she came round from surgery, she knew she'd been right.

Josh was still quiet. He was obviously processing his thoughts and she waited for him to speak.

"I don't remember when I fell in love with you. I wish I could, but it sort of crept up on me. I didn't realise what it was till Gaza."

"Josh," she whispered. One word, his name, that spoke more than any other reply could have done.

"Not very romantic, I know." He said, lifting one eyebrow smirking a little ironically, looking at her.

"It's ok. I probably couldn't put my finger on when I fell for you either. I just know that I love you now."

"But you know what." He rolled towards her and leaned close, kissing her firmly. She responded and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. "We finally seem to have got it right."

"Yes," she agreed. "But you know something?"

"Mmm?" He questioned, muffled as he leaned down and rested his chin on her neck.

"We're gonna screw this up sometimes. I mean you're you…"

"Hey!"

"Josh," she playfully reprimanded him. "You're you and I'm me. We're gonna piss each other off."

"A lot."

"You'll piss me off more."

"Probably," he deadpanned and then kissed her again, finally pulling away slightly and whispering against her lips. "I'll try really hard not to."

………………….

Later, they both sat on the balcony, showered and dressed. They were eating a light breakfast and reading newspapers. She'd nearly had to pick herself off the floor when he told that he'd left his pager and blackberry behind in DC, so the least she could do was allow him a copy of the Washington Post – mainly because she was itching to see what was going on too. They decided not to bother with the television, knowing that once it went on, it would be hard to switch off. Falling back into old habits was inevitable, but they'd talked about fighting those urges for a few more days yet.

As she finished off her juice and fruit, she folded the pages of the Times over and looked over to Josh. She nearly had to pick herself off the floor all over again. He'd fallen asleep, at the most preposterous angle, his hand round a glass balanced on his knee, chin on his chest.

Fighting the urge to just watch him for a while and stifle giggles, she leaned forward and gently tried to take the glass without waking him.

But that wasn't to be, he stirred as she pulled the glass away from him and looked surprised at himself.

"Wow, fell asleep there?" He questioned groggily.

"Yeah, you did."

"Sorry."

She grinned, stood up, and dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead as she walked past him back into the kitchenette, placing the glasses in the sink.

He yawned and stood up leaning, his elbows on the balcony rail, andholding his head in his hands. He rubbed his scalp sharply to try to get the blood flowing. He didn't notice her come back until he felt her arms loop round his waist.

"Hey."

"Josh, why don't you rest? If you need to sleep you should."

"If I sleep now, I won't sleep later."

"That works for me."

Grinning, he twisted in her arms to face her, leaning his cheek against hers. "Mmm, must be all the love making."

"Sapping you of your powers? Seriously Josh, you sleep for a while or go for a swim. I'll go into town and wander around."

"No, Donna."

"Josh, I'm going shopping."

"Swimming for me, it is then."

"I'll get lunch out. How about I buy food and we eat here tonight, or a picnic? Picnic on the beach for dinner?"

"Sounds fantastic," he said, stifling another yawn, though she got the impression that her suggestion of a picnic probably wasn't a winner with him. Tough.

"Great. Now go to bed."

"I think I'll sit here for a bit longer first."

"Ok," she leaned in and kissed him gently. He returned the kiss, trying to deepen it, lifting his hand to her waist, so she leaned back and broke it off. "I'm going shopping – you're a distraction, but you're not that good."

He cocked his head to one aside and winked at her as she backed away.

"Dammit."

…………………………….

Donna enjoyed her time alone; browsing in quaint shops, trying on sarongs and sandals, buying trinkets for friends. She wandered on the beach and sat on the harbour wall watching the world go by. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken the time to appreciate her surroundings like this.

She had to be alone after this morning's nightmare. Part of her had been grateful that he was there when she woke, but she needed to make herself work through the relaxation techniques and cleansing rituals she'd developed for dealing with her fear and grief.

Concentrating on beating fear had led to time spent considering the job waiting for her back in DC. From the moment Helen Santos had offered her the job of Chief of Staff, there was no question she'd take it, no need for a list of pros and cons, it was an unbelievable offer. But her rational side stopped her from accepting it on the spot. Two hours later, no problem! She still had so much to accomplish and this was the greatest way she could see to do that. Helen Santos wouldn't be window dressing on the Santos Administration; she was going to muck in, get dirty, and work hard, and Donna couldn't wait to get started.

Of course she was terrified too. The odds were stacking in her favour, and as she contemplated the weeks, months, years ahead, in a way she hadn't dared herself to for a long time, she was content. She had the tools, the confidence, the ability, the connections, and she knew she had the beginnings of a trusting relationship with Helen. All these things gave her cause to believe she would succeed.

And now she had Josh too, with his wisdom and experience.

She wanted to make sure they'd make time for each other, more than brushing past each other in the halls and stolen moments. She wanted more, but she was realistic. There was a lot of hard work ahead for them both, but making their relationship work might prove the hardest task of all. She just had to count the failed marriages in the West Wing, the relationships that never got off the ground, and it was clear the odds were stacked against them.

But it wasn't like they'd just me; they knew the pressures they were both facing better than anyone, they justneeded to control them. After his declaration last night, she knew he was as willing to fight for them as much she was, she just hoped that was enough.

She blamed her melancholy mood on the downward slope from an adrenalin high. The sun was hot on her shoulders, so she left the harbour wall in search of a wide brimmed sunhat to shade her. She could happily have stayed at on the harbour side for another hour, just people watching. She wanted to give Josh hours by himself; to sleep, to relax, to do whatever it was he needed to do. But in the end, the incentive for going home was too great, knowing he was waiting for her. A few more shops and then time for home.

………………………………

He hadn't meant to sleep. Almost as soon as Donna had left, he'd collapsed on the bed with the full intention of finishing the paper. The next thing he knew, it was late afternoon. Sleeping in the day was completely alien to him, reminding him of being sick as a child. But today it seemed his body didn't take dislike into account as he woke late, groggy, with his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton wool.

He heaved himself off the bed, deciding to swim. And while Donna wasn't there to berate him for his choice, he chose to use the hotel pool rather than the sea.

Exiting the hotel, he padded across to the pool in bare feet, the heat of the day radiating from the tiles. He draped his towel over the back of a sun lounger. He was almost alone; a man and woman, probably in their early 60s, sat a few chairs away, both reading novels. Josh watched the man pick up a bottle of water, take a sip, and pass it wordlessly to the woman, who, without taking her eyes off the page, reached out and took the bottle, putting it to her own lips. Watching the unconscious gesture and recognising something in it, he couldn't help the grin that appeared.

He slipped into the warm water and relaxed; he ducked his head underneath, pushed away from the wall and skimmed out on his back. He floated for a few moments, looking up at clouds and birds, then turned over and swam with strong, even strokes.

He'd spent a lot of time swimming as part of his recovery years ago; it was good exercise and he had always enjoyed it, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been swimming when he wasn't hurried. He had not been in the last 18 months, and before that he resorted to squeezing in a few lengths at lunch if he could. It was one of the few sports where you could just clear your head, not think about anything, and just do it. Finally unfogging his head.

This afternoon he'd had a dreamless sleep, and now his blood was pumping. He felt invigorated for the first time in a long time. He swam for a long time, without any unease at who might be watching. He would alternate between chopping through the water as fast as he could and slowing to a few lengths of gentle backstroke. Sometimes he just floated on his back, trying to keep his mind clear.

He finished a fast length, head down, breathing on every third stroke. As his fingers came into contact with the wall, he broke above the water, breathing hard. As the water cleared from his eyes, he saw her. She was sitting on the edge of the chair on which he'd placed his towel, a few shopping bags at her feet. She had a new sun hat, brim pulled down low, but he could tell she was watching him, even from behind sunglasses.

He folded his arms and lifted his elbows to the side of the pool, holding himself up on the side.

"Hey." He said.

"Hey yourself."

"How long you been there?"

"A while."

"You coming in?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nope, not what I had planned." He may have been imagining it, it might have been water in his ears, but he thought her voice had a deeper than usual quality to it.

"What did you have planned?"

"Come inside away from people and I'll show you."

Nope, definitely not imagining it.

"Donnatella?"

"Joshua. Get out of the pool."

He didn't need telling twice. He put his hands flat on the edge of the pool and kicked off from the bottom, pushing up and out.

He walked over to her and grabbed the towel from the back of the chair, rubbing it quickly over his face and hair. He looked down at Donna; she was looking at him over the top of her sunglasses, comically slack-jawed. He couldn't help laughing and knelt down, pushing her bottom jaw up with a fingertip, planting a quick soft kiss on her surprised lips.

"Donna? You ok?" He quipped, fully expecting a slap upside the head.

"We have to get inside now, away from, you know, people."

"Ok," he replied standing. "I'm all stood up, ready to go. You're not."

"Uh, yeah, right." She rambled, standing and grabbing her shopping bags. "Hurry up," she said indicating the hotel with a nod of her head.

"Sure thing, what you got in here?" he replied, taking a bag from her. He looked in the bag, mostly to delay thinking about what was going to occur once they got back to the apartment. He was only wearing a pair of swimming shorts and would like to make it back to the room without embarrassing himself completely.

"Uh, umm, some fruit, bread, salad, some other stuff. ….uh….Wine."

"Sounds nice," he laughed, rejoicing over her lack of verbal skills. As always, making her tongue-tied made him unbelievably happy.

He made an effort to find out what she'd been doing that day to pass the time on the way to the room. By the time they got to the front door, she'd really given up trying to answer any of his inane questions and he'd stopped asking them.

Unlocking the door, she rushed inside, dropped her bags on the floor and pushed him roughly against the door, kissing him fervently.

"Mmm, Donna?"

"Mmmmm"

"Donna….."

"What?"

"Shouldn't we, you know, not leave the food on the floor?"

"Mmmmm, what?"

"Donna, come on, we should put this stuff at least in the fridge, before you ravish my body."

His stomach bottomed out as she pulled away and grabbed the two bags off the floor and stalked over to the kitchen. Worried he had said the wrong thing he started after her quickly.

"Here, Donna, let me…" but was gobsmacked again as she wrenched the door to the fridge open, shoved both bags in without any care and slammed the door shut. She swivelled on her heel and marched back over to him, latching her lips to him again and grabbing his ass. "Mmm. God, Donna."

He brought his hands up into her armpits and picked her up, and she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist. She clung on, digging her nails into his shoulder blade, still damp from his swim, and gasped as he pressed them against the nearest wall.

"Josh." She moaned into his mouth, and squeezed her thighs around his waist nearly causing him to lose his mind. He hadn't held anyone up like this for a long time and as detached as his mind was, feeling her warm centre grind against him, he knew he wasn't going to be able to continue on this course against a wall. Disappointing as that was he was still able to concoct a reasonable alternative.

He swung her away from the wall, and strode to the kitchen table. planting her on it. She was immediately lower than him so he grabbed her face firmly and lifted her lips to his.

His hand moved to her breast and hers to his back, running them tightly across his shoulders. He lowered his head and suckled at her nipple through the light fabric of her dress. Donna sighed loudly and thrust herself forward into his hand. Desperate to get her clothes out of the way, he moved his fingers and found the tie at the top of the halter neck, pulling one end and hoping it would fall undone. Luck was on his side; the fabric fell down and away and he had immediate access to her glorious breasts.

She reached down, past his busy hands, and squirmed, trying to get her panties off. He drew back, incredibly aroused at her urgency and the way her breast heaved under his palms. She pulled her knees up, most ungracefully, and slid the white panties off her body, then grabbed the waistband of his shorts and pulled them over his cock.

Unmistakable desire coursed through her as she laid her palms flat against his chest, dropping her head back inviting him in to kiss her. He obliged, biting her lower lip and drawing intense moans. She drew back erotically, slowly, breaking the kiss, trailing her nails down his chest until her fingers could no longer reach him and she was laid flat on the table.

He hoped the furniture was up to this.

He grasped her slim ankles, pulling them up, so her knees were bent and her legs slipped again around his waist. He leaned over her to take a nipple between his teeth as he let her ankles go and felt them lock together behind his back. He slipped his fingers along her centre to test how ready she was for him.

Oh man, she was ready.

He released her nipple and tilted his chest over hers, placing his cock at her entrance, gently nudging, positioning himself, planning to tease her as long as they could both could stand it. But she got one better of him again as she tightened her grip of his torso and pulled her ankles towards herself. He groaned her name loudly as he slid inside, and then again as she squeezed him. He buried himself as far inside her as he could, feeling her stretch and relax around him. Finally, as she curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and urged him forward, he began to thrust. Slowly, deeply, drawing as far out of her each time as he could, almost out, before she drew him back in with her legs.

Needing his hand to brace himself, he gripped the edge of the table and the other moved up to attend to her breasts. Taking the initiative again, she took his hand and placed it between her legs, leaving him no doubt where she wanted his attention. Shit, he loved this assertive side of her, always had, but loved it when it was demonstrated in this particular manner.

Against her demands, he brought his thumb up to her lips, offering it to her to lick, which she did, grazing her teeth over it before he finally began to circle her clit with his thumb and finger.

He watched, enchanted as she rocked her head from side to side, moaning his name. He started to speed up his thrusts, shoving himself as deep as he could. She was clenching around him in a rhythm to match his invasion of her, squeezing his each time he pulled back, making it impossible for him to slip out of her. He moved harder until she began to whimper.

He looked at her breasts, moving in time with the thrusts and wished he could reach them with his mouth, wished he could taste her. He let go of the table for a few seconds, enough time to take her hand, which itself had been gripping the edge of the table and moved it to her breast, inviting her to play with her own nipples. She complied immediately and he watched her hand pinching her own taut peak. She lifted her head to stare at the joining of the bodies, the angle affording her a view of his shaft invading her again and again. He placed his hand behind her head, holding it up so she could watch them as they became one.

The combined pressure of her legs around his waist, the massaging of his cock, and the image of her teasing herself was more than he could stand.

"Donna, I'm close…."he murmured insistently.

"Me too."

He sped up as much as he could without the risk of the table collapsing beneath them. His thrusts became less coherent and he began to shake with the onset of his orgasm. He flicked her clit with his thumb and she screamed as they came forcefully together.

He collapsed over her, leaning his forearms on either side of her, gasping for air, staying inside of her, feeling the aftershocks of both their orgasms continue to pulse through them. His head felt heavy and he leaned his forehead to her shoulder, chests heaving.

Only one thing could really be said when he finally regained the power of speech, so he raised his head and looked her in the eye as she re-focussed on him.

"So you missed me then?"

……………………………………….

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