M-rated.
I
Donna shuts her eyes tight, feeling a sudden onset of lightheadedness as if she's standing at the peak of some great precipice. A mountain, scaled for thirteen years, and now Harvey is pushing her toward the cusp, upsetting their delicate balance, leaving her teetering, weak-kneed at the very edge.
She doesn't want to fall.
No, what she'd very much like is to back-pedal, to take back this entire night. Her heart hammers inside of her chest – undo, undo, undo.
Harvey presses forward. Donna turns her head away, refusing to look at him. She tells herself this is just a body breathing lust up her neck, nothing more. She holds her guard, locks her heart. But he is whispering in her ear, "You want more," and his fingertips are trailing fire down her spine. Her heart skips, beats out a different tune – more, more, more.
His hands slide lower, following the curve of her ass, fitting her against him, close enough that she can feel a distinct hardness. Heat flares up between her legs. The silk of her robe is not enough of a barrier…but christ, it's too much of one. She shifts, instinctively trying to angle her hips closer, until he is pressed against that desperate ache at her center.
The tiniest of moans escapes Donna's lips. She makes the mistake of meeting Harvey's eyes. The warm brown of his irises are just a rim, surrounding pupils black and blazing with need. Her guard shatters, hits the tiled floor, and god, oh god, oh —
Fuck it, fuck this, fuck everything.
She grabs Harvey around the neck and pulls him into a kiss. He responds immediately, opening up to the thrust of her tongue, kissing her back with a greed and possession that is nothing like the last time. It is all tongue and teeth and an emotion somewhere between madly in love and unable to stand each other. There is no rhythm or synchronicity between them; it's just him taking and her taking, too lost in the moment to think of anything but their own pleasure.
Clumsily they maneuver to the bedroom, desperate, urgent, not losing a second of body contact. The back of Donna's legs hit the bed. Her fingers have already worked loose the buttons of Harvey shirt and are gliding over his chest and ribs, drinking in a body borne of years of boxing and morning runs. The surreal feeling of his skin sliding under her fingertips is almost too much for her. She sinks down onto the bed, and stares up at him. He seems very tall suddenly.
Harvey meets her eyes, and she senses the same apprehension edging into his lust. There are a thousand reasons why they shouldn't do this — a thousand reasons Donna recklessly decides to throw into the abyss. What's one more bad decision? She'll be in prison by the end of the month anyway.
She stands up, reaches for the tie of her robe and slowly pulls it loose. Harvey's gaze dips down to her plunging neckline, taking in her almost bared body. She lets the robe slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor.
"Donna," he breathes out.
She tips his chin up and presses a kiss to his half-open lips. It's tender, patient. There is no impulsivity or frenzied lust to blame it on.
Harvey wraps an arm around her back and carefully pushes her down onto the bed, a knee sinking in between her legs as he crawls on top of her.
Donna's hands glide over his chest, reveling in the way his muscles tense beneath her touch. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders, breaking away from his lips to kiss along his jaw and neck.
Harvey's head falls forward, cheek next to hers, his four-day's worth of scruff tickling her neck. She rolls her hips, rubbing deliciously up the bulge straining against his trousers. A groan of the purest need escapes him, followed by a quiet fuck that makes her throb. He responds with a thrust of his own, their bodies grinding together. The fabric that bars him from her is quickly becoming an exquisite form of torture.
She reaches for his zip, but he catches her wrist and pins it above her head.
"Harvey," Donna half whimpers, half hisses. "Clothing is becoming an issue."
He pulls back, looming over her, the muscles straining in his forearms and a surprisingly intense look on his face. "Just you," he says.
She tries to process this, but is jolted by the feel of his free hand, warm and heavy, sliding up her left side. He takes her breast in his palm and gently squeezes, his thumb brushing over the extra-sensitive skin of her nipple. The touch makes her gasp and tense up.
He dips back down and kisses her — slow, thorough, unhurried — then he is breaking off, trailing kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, over the swell of her neglected breast. His tongue circles languidly around the aroused nipple before he takes it into his mouth and sucks.
Donna's back arches and her heels dig into the bed. Each flick and jab of his tongue elicits a tremble and moan, making her practically wither beneath him. He continues to grind against her, his erection pressing at her center. She imagines her wetness coating his slacks, leaving a sodden trail up his length and wonders for half a second how she's going to explain this to the dry cleaner.
Harvey's hand slips off her breast, sliding lower, over the tense muscles of her stomach and down, and —
She throws her head back and tangles her fingers in the bed sheets. Harvey pulls away from her chest and kisses her fiercely on the lips, his fingers stroking circles at her clit.
"I'm…" she gasps.
He increases his pressure, rubbing in quick, calculated loops that make Donna's toes curl. Her muscles quiver and her breath comes out in a fervent pant. "Close," she breathes.
He slows. His fingers run up and down her lips, brushing at her entrance. She angles her hips, trying to get him in, but he slides deliberately over.
She can't take it. She needs him, desperately.
"Harvey," she begs. "Please."
Harvey removes his hand from her sex and cups her chin. Donna's eyes zero in on him. "I want to," he starts, then stops. She can feel him searching, hesitant, shy, lacking the right words, not wanting to offend her. "But I need to hear you say it."
Donna smiles softly and captures his lips in a slow, passionate kiss. "Fuck me," she breathes into his mouth, her tongue following as she deepens the kiss. She breaks off with a moan as two fingers push inside of her, inch by excruciating inch, until his palm is pressed against her clit. She rocks with his fingers, riding against his cupped palm. The pleasure spreads throughout her entire body with each brush of his hand. Her mind blanks; she is nothing but her body. She arches underneath him, nipples grazing his chest, and then suddenly he is back at her breast, licking and sucking…
"Harv—" she gasps, bucking against him, clenching around his fingers. He keeps moving, working her all the way through her orgasm, making her shudder through the aftershock.
He doesn't stop.
He kisses down the sensitive skin of her chest, passed her stomach and over the crest of her hip bone. His lips ghost over her heat and his eyes meet hers, warm and brown and full of unconcealed lust.
Donna gives him a fervent nod, needy fingers already tangling in his hair, urging him down.
His tongue slides up her slit, delving toward her core. She whimpers, her flesh still over-sensitive and tries instinctually to pull away, but he pins her hips down and continues to lap at her.
"Wait," she breathes, withering, her thighs closing around his ears. He spreads her back open and pushes his tongue in deeper, licking feverishly. Donna digs her heels into the bed with a curse, but after a few agonizing seconds the pain is replaced by intense pleasure. She comes again, her body quivering, her moans almost turning into screams. It is either the longest orgasm she's ever had or two back to back.
She falls back heavily on the bed, breathing in huge gulps of air.
Harvey's head comes to a rest against her leg, which she has unconsciously draped over his shoulder. He presses a light kiss at her thigh. "You okay?"
"Mmm," she says, running her fingers languidly through his hair, nails scraping against the scalp, practically petting him. "I forgot how good you are with your tongue."
Donna expects an arrogant quip back, but is met with silence. She lifts herself on her elbows and finds him staring, serious, solemn – and so tense. She blames the beard. "I haven't forgotten about you, Harvey," she says, grabbing his bicep and trying to coax him back on top of her. He doesn't budge.
"'Fuck me' wasn't what I was asking you to say."
Donna, fully aware of what he was asking, tries not to roll her eyes. How very like him to want to finish an argument. She sighs, wondering how far this is going to go. "I shouldn't have to say it."
"Right." He stands up abruptly. The sudden movement makes Donna a little dizzy. Perhaps she's still drunk. "So it's okay for you to demand it out of me when you won't even answer for yourself?"
She doesn't take her eyes off of him as she says, "Yes."
"How is that fair, exactly?"
"Because I've been saying it every goddamn day for years," she snaps, a reckless little intensifier. She doesn't want to fight anymore, but she can't seem to stop the words from leaking out. There's a terrible new freedom in the air. "All the times I've put you first I have said it."
"Bullshit. You put me first because you're afraid of putting yourself first."
This comes out of nowhere, and is probably closer to the truth than Donna will ever admit. She should feel vulnerable being naked with all this honesty and anger being thrown around, but this isn't his office or a court room. This is her bedroom and within these walls she's the boss, the judge, the jury. He's not winning this one; she won't say her lines.
She waits for him to go on, to go on being angry, to keep pressing, but he just sighs. He seems very tired suddenly, and more defeated than she's seen him in a long time. A pang of sadness hits her, followed by the overpowering urge to take his hand and lead him towards the truth he seeks, to collaborate with him, even at her own expense.
"I want more," she admits, and it feels wrong, just as it did that night in his office, like she has no right to lust for another life after losing the one she had. "But that doesn't mean –"
"Donna," he warns.
"It doesn't mean I believe we'll work."
Despite his irritation he seems to consider this carefully. "So you have faith in me in everything but this?"
"It's not you I don't have faith in. After everything that happened with Jonathan and Alice…"
How does she explain this? That she's full of bad experiences. That her past has chains around her ankles, so tight it cuts off circulation. That she'd rather the slow death of loving him from afar than have him chained up with her. She has enough staining her conscience; she loves him too much to allow these ghosts to haunt him too.
"You're afraid," he finishes for her. "But what you're afraid of has already happened to you."
"And that makes me immune, does it?" She rises to her feet. "Lost a child, can't possibly lose another. Failed a marriage, left my husband – glad I got all that out of my system."
"Donna, I'm asking you to love me back. That's all."
"And I do. You know I do."
"Then why won't you say it?"
"Because I don't want to mislead you," she says, helplessly, tired of circling the subject. "I told you, I love you like a–"
He waves her down. "I can literally still taste your pussy in my mouth, so if you're about to tell me you love me like a brother or a cousin, you've got a fucked up notion of family."
She looks at him, surprised, her hindbrain latching on to "pussy" said as if it was common court room vernacular. She's not sure if it's the context or the raw emotion, but it excites her, softens her like a kiss between the legs. "I didn't ask you to go down on me," she breathes out.
"No." He steps up to her, his lips so close she can almost taste them, almost taste herself. "You begged me to."
Her eyes flutter closed. A strange arousal pools in her stomach; she has no idea what the hell is wrong with her. She licks her lips, swallows, attempts to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I'm done talking."
"Good."
He pushes her down onto the bed, the frame creaking as he drops on top of her. He grabs her face and kisses her hard, his teeth scraping briefly across her bottom lip, his tongue slipping inside. She kisses him back with just as much hunger, sucking the taste of herself off of his tongue, her fingers working past his belt, his button, the zip.
She reaches into his pants and strokes him through the thin cotton of his boxers, drawing her fingers across the underside of his length. Harvey lets out a soft groan, and then suddenly he is grabbing her by the waist and flipping them around.
She straddles him, takes him in, eyes gliding covetously over the broad expanse of his chest, his scruffy face and messy hair, his beautiful brown eyes.
Harvey.
Jesus Christ Harvey. This can't be real. She's lost her mind, and clearly he's lost his too. But god, they've already come this far, why stop?
"Take your pants off," she demands, getting onto her knees so that he can lift his hips.
He does what he's told, silent and eager. Completely at her mercy. It's as if he exists just to please her and that thought alone, the power it entails, is almost enough to make her come again.
He springs free and she immediately takes him into her hand, slowly pumping, her thumb teasing the dripping tip. The sound he makes, a low throaty moan, radiates straight to Donna's core. His hands grip her thighs, curling and twitching, a mix of pleasure and frustration playing across his face. He's already close.
She stops stroking him and leans a hand on his chest, using the other to guide him inside.
He stops her, a hand cupping her chin to draw her up to his half-lidded gaze. "You sure?"
"I…"
Is she?
No. No, not at all. She's scared and worried and feeling so damn broken – there's no room in her for certainty. But the one thing she is sure of? The world is crashing down around her; she can no longer tip-toe safely passed unscathed, she needs to run.
She slowly sinks down, taking him inside of her. As deep as he will go, until there's nothing left of her inside: just him – strong and warm and whole and yes – yes, this.
She falls forward on all fours, her hair cascading down, surrounding her and Harvey like a silk curtain. They lock eyes and for a fraction of a second time freezes, the world skids to a halt.
She smiles. His warm browns smile back, lips curling into a lazy, sultry smirk.
"Crazy?" he breathes.
"Crazy," she agrees.
"But I feel amazing, right?"
She laughs, softly. "Yes, Harvey, you feel amazing."
"Good," he whispers, shutting his eyes. There's a look of pure ecstasy on his face; Donna's pretty sure it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen.
She lowers her mouth to his and kisses him deeply. He moves inside of her, slow and deliberate; she matches his rhythm, rolling her hips with each glorious thrust. Arousal ebbs – it's less desperate than before, more controllable. She tries to ignore it and focus on him.
"I'm not gonna last," he admits, his voice oddly strained.
"Don't worry," Donna whispers against his lips. "I wasn't expecting you to."
As if permitted, Harvey grabs her hips and drives himself deeper. The fullness, the stretch of it, makes her moan and fall against him. He pulls out a little and thrust back in. The bed creaks. She grips his shoulder, the headboard, trying to keep steady, because he is wild, fucking her fast and hard, deep and almost frantic. It's like he's trying to split her in two, and that's exactly what she needs.
He pulls out. Lets himself cool. In the intermission, he gives attention to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth while palming the other. Donna's body starts to quiver. Her delighted moans become sharper, more anguished and desperate.
Harvey starts again, pushing himself in slowly. A knuckle brushes against Donna's clit and she clenches and cries out, which makes him groan and slam into her. The head of his dick touches an end, and there's a sharp brief pain and then total pleasure.
She comes with a sob, her whole body shaking as her orgasm rips through her. Her joints give and she collapses into him. He wraps an arm around her and holds her tight against his chest, thrusting in deep — once, twice and then stays there, shuddering with her.
Gradually the pleasure recedes and reality trickles back in. Donna rolls over, exhausted, feeling sex seeped and wrung out.
Harvey's hand finds her fingers and grips them. They lay in silence, side by side, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to regain themselves.
"So…" Harvey says after a while. He sounds hoarse.
Donna turns and finds him watching her intently. "So?"
"What do you think? Better with whipped cream or without?"
She smiles despite herself. "It's definitely more intense without."
Harvey lifts himself onto an elbow and leans down to kiss her. She touches his face, fingertips scraping lightly against his beard, comforted by his smell and the way his lips move against hers. For half a heartbeat she allows herself to sink into the rosy effusion of blissful ignorance. She imagines falling without hitting ground, a heart without ache, happiness that doesn't slip so easy through her fingers. She sees him being the future she is so afraid of, and thinks maybe she could find a way to believe in it.
"I have faith in you," Harvey whispers, surprisingly in tune with her thoughts. "If you want this, we can make it work."
Donna nods silently, but for some inexplicable reason she is hit by a sudden and terrible anxiety about whether or not there's milk in the fridge. And if there isn't, will he be disappointed? Does she have it in her to go out and get some?
Donna turns and stares at the ceiling. He loves her, but he doesn't know her at all. Her heart slams against her ribcage – undo, undo, undo.