I
"...and it's affecting the polls. She's out of control, Wes. If you can't reign her in, we might as well kiss our chance at the Oval goodbye."
Donna rounds the corner and finds Travis, Wes' campaign manager, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Wes is sitting on a barstool in front of the island, listening to him with an amused expression. The sight of it stops her in her tracks. Travis notices her first.
"You."
Travis has never been Donna's biggest fan. In fact, they can hardly stand being in the same room with each other. There's something about the man that always seems so fake and overbearing. It makes her feel like she needs to shower every time she's near him. But they have an understanding – they tolerate each other for Wes. And Donna has made an effort to win him over, at least enough for him not to look at her like she's a stain on a nice rug, but it never seems to work. He resents her, plain and simple, and he has no problem expressing it.
"Hello, Travis, it's always great to see you."
He ignores her sarcasm and looks back at Wes, as if waiting for him to agree that yes, Donna is out of control. He's been doing this for weeks, ever since the wedding postponement. Every chance he gets to paint her as some kind of unstable, volatile person, he takes it. And it's really getting on Donna's last nerve.
Wes doesn't acknowledge him and instead turns to her, his lips turning up into a small, tired smile, but he looks pleased to see her, and the warmth of that eases her a little. "Morning, baby," he says, holding out a hand for her.
She goes to him without hesitation, threading her fingers with his. His palm is cool and smooth. Her own is clammy with nervous sweat.
"Hi," she says softly, smiling back at him. "You okay?"
His gaze searches her face for a moment before nodding and squeezing her hand gently.
Travis lets out an exasperated sigh and looks to Wes for some kind of acknowledgement. "Wes–"
"Relax, Travis." Wes says. He gestures at Donna with his head. "Get her a cup of coffee."
Travis looks like he's about to protest, but he catches Wes' expression, and quickly does what he's told. Donna can't help but smile, happy that at least for now, Travis's not in the driver's seat. She sits down on the stool next to Wes, resting a hand on his thigh as he runs his fingers through her hair. She sighs at the gentle touch and closes her eyes for a moment.
"What'd I do this time?" she murmurs, opening her eyes to see Travis glaring at her again.
Wes shakes his head with an amused smile. "Nothing, baby."
She lifts an eyebrow and looks at Wes expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He gives in.
"There's a picture," he begins slowly, "of you looking rather intoxicated, lying on the sidewalk with your associate outside her apartment building last Friday night." He gives her a stern look, his eyebrows furrowing. "You're a little bit too old for that, Donna."
She tenses.
Wes feels it, of course, because he runs a hand down her spine in a calming motion and then turns to Travis and waves him away. Travis nods reluctantly and gives Donna a disgusted look before exiting the kitchen, muttering under his breath, something about her being a coattail riding sewer rat, no doubt. Donna feels Wes' eyes on her, so she straightens her shoulders and clears her throat.
"Wes–"
He raises a hand to stop her and she goes silent.
"You need to be more careful. You're a public figure. People will do anything for a story, you know this. This can't happen again." His voice is low and measured, like he's talking to a child, but there's an underlying edge to it. An unmistakable hint of a threat. "It's my campaign, and my reputation you're dragging down with yours. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you these last few months, but if this doesn't stop, we're going to have problems, Donna."
Usually, his words are like a knife, but this morning they feel different, they sting a little less. It's a subtle change, and one she knows she shouldn't question too much, but it gives her pause, makes her look at him with fresh eyes. He's looking at her the same way, too, and for the briefest of seconds she sees something like worry and vulnerability in them, before he quickly masks it with the same stern expression from a few seconds before. She swallows. "I understand."
He shakes his head. "You're being sloppy and careless. It's embarrassing. People are noticing." He waves his hand towards the living room, where she can see Travis leaning over the balcony, smoking a cigarette while he scrolls through something on his phone.
She clenches her jaw, the frustration rising in her chest. "It was just one night of fun, okay?" she says, a little too defensively, her words coming out a little harsher than she meant. "It won't happen again."
He doesn't answer right away, just watches her, like he's deciding how he wants to handle this situation. It makes her skin crawl. The silence between them is deafening, the tension thick in the air around them. After a few more moments, Wes leans in closer, his eyes boring into hers. "You know what happens if you disobey me. Don't make me go there, Donna. Not tonight." His voice is low and cold, sending shivers through her. She hates this. The fear, the uncertainty, the feeling of always being one mistake away from the worst possible punishment. She feels a familiar pressure on her throat, one that's been getting stronger over the last few months.
Her heart beats faster and she looks down at her hands, which are shaking slightly, trying not to let her emotions show, because that's what he wants, what he lives for – seeing her crack and crumble and bend to his will.
"What happens, Wes?" she whispers, forcing herself to meet his gaze, even though every part of her is screaming for her to look away, to run. She knows she should shut her mouth now, that this is dangerous territory, but she doesn't care. "What happens if you can't keep control of me? Go on. Say it. Call it what it is."
His jaw tenses as he stares back at her, his expression darkening. She waits, not knowing what's coming next, bracing herself. His hands grasp the edges of his stool tightly and she knows he's thinking of striking her. He never has, not outright, not with fists, but there's a first time for everything.
"Say it, Wes," she repeats quietly, almost begging now, almost pleading. She needs to hear it. She needs him to put the words out there so she can confront them and decide what she wants to do with them, once and for all.
He holds her gaze and doesn't respond for a moment. When he finally speaks again, it's in a tone that she hasn't heard since their earliest days together, back when things were different between them, back when she didn't know all the ways in which he could make her suffer, or just how dark he was.
"I know I'm getting worse, Donna." His voice cracks a little as he says her name. He reaches out and gently strokes the side of her face. He sounds tired and sad and desperate, and something about the way he's looking at her now reminds her so much of the way he looked after their first kiss. Like he knows better than to touch her, but he can't stop himself. "I'm trying, baby. That's why I've been in D.C. so much these last few weeks. To give you space and get myself under control."
Donna feels a rush of emotions: sadness, empathy, anger, confusion...love. She's not sure if he's just being manipulative, or if this is real. She's never quite able to tell with Wes. It's been this way from the start of their relationship – he makes her feel things she doesn't want to feel, and she's never sure whether she's actually feeling them or whether he's forcing her to. It's confusing and frustrating and exhausting, and sometimes, when he's looking at her like this, his eyes filled with remorse and regret, she almost believes it's possible to save their relationship. That if he just works harder at it, maybe he can overcome his demons. That if she loves him enough, she can fix him.
But not today. Because as much as she wants to believe in him, as much as she wants to love him and make him better, she's tired of trying, and she's not going to give in again, because it's always her who has to make the concessions, and it's just not fair anymore.
She stands up.
Wes looks up at her with wide eyes, a mix of fear and confusion written across his face. "Donna–"
She shakes her head and steps back.
"No."
She backs away, her hands shaking, her voice wavering slightly as she speaks again. "I'm going to need more from you than empty promises. If you want to work this out, then show me, because I don't think I can trust anything that you say." Her throat is thick and tears burn her eyes as she stares at him, the pain radiating through her, making her heart hurt and her chest ache. "I won't come home tonight and have you tie me up and fuck me like I'm some kind of...some kind of–"
Her voice cracks and she bites her lip as a few tears slip down her cheeks, and she feels pathetic for it. But she's exhausted and she just can't hide it anymore. "I'm not some plaything, Wes, or a punching bag you can take out your anger on when I say or do the wrong thing. I'm a person with needs and desires, and if you can't treat me as such then I can't do this."
Wes is on his feet, his hands up as he reaches for her, but she steps back.
"Baby..."
Donna shakes her head, the anger bubbling inside her again. "You can't just expect me to go on like this forever, Wes." She runs her hands through her hair as her chest rises and falls rapidly. She looks him right in the eyes and speaks as firmly as she can manage. "I won't."
He lets out a low, frustrated growl. "Donna–"
She doesn't let him continue. She turns on her heel and walks away. She grabs her purse and walks out of their townhouse without another word, her hands trembling.
Oh god, she thinks to herself as the door shuts behind her, what the hell did I just do?
II
Harvey shifts uncomfortably in his chair, acutely aware of Donna's presence across the courtroom. It's been a week since that night in his office, a week of studiously avoiding each other, and while he tries to convince himself it's better this way – that it was a one-time slip-up and he's over it – he has yet to convince his dick. Every time he's alone, even just in passing, his mind will start wandering, fixating on the memory of how hot and wet she felt wrapped around his fingers, the sounds of her moans as she came around his tongue. Even the way she looked up at him as he knelt between her thighs, flushed and hazy with pleasure, pleading for release... It's all he can think about lately. And the worst part is, he doesn't even really know why. He's had dozens of one-night stands. So why can't he get this one out of his head?
And now he has to sit here and look at her and act like he can't remember every goddamn detail and pretend like he doesn't want to cross the floor right now, fall to his knees in front of her and beg her for another taste.
As if she can feel his eyes on her, Donna turns suddenly, catching him staring. She arches an eyebrow at him, her expression cool and unimpressed, and it pisses him off, how unaffected she looks. Like she couldn't care less that they almost fucked a week ago, and the way he'd made her come was nothing more than a distant memory. The fact that he's the only one obsessing over it makes him feel weak and pathetic, and suddenly, he wants nothing more than to wipe that condescending look off her face.
The judge calls the conference to order. Pre-trial negotiations begin. All Harvey can focus on is her. She's wearing a black pants suit today, the tight jacket hugging her slender waist, showing off her perfect curves. The vest is cut low, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage peeking out. His palms ache to touch her. Her hips are doing this thing where she's sort of moving in her chair – nothing overt or blatant – more a subtle roll or twitch, barely noticeable in fact, unless you're paying close attention the way he is, but it's enough to drive him crazy. The image of her riding his face, moving beneath him as he licked into her, rises unbidden to the forefront of his mind.
She's doing it on purpose, he's sure of it. Teasing him. Messing with his head. She has him under her spell. And it infuriates him. He has no control. Not a shred.
The motions come first, an hour-long exchange of proposed rules and procedures. It becomes clear early on that things aren't going to go smoothly. Every point becomes a battle, each issue sparking heated debate. Harvey finds himself arguing against positions he might have considered reasonable a week ago, driven by some perverse need to oppose Donna at every turn.
"Your Honor, the defense's motion to exclude the Berkman documents is completely without merit," Harvey argues, his voice sharp. "Those records are crucial to establishing the timeline of events."
Donna levels an irritated stare at him. "The Berkman documents are irrelevant and prejudicial. They have no bearing on the case at hand and serve only to confuse the issues."
"Everything about this case is based on facts. How can any of these documents be deemed irrelevant?"
"Because they contain information that has no relevance to the charges and only serves to show my client in the worst possible light," Donna says. "Nothing in those documents gives even a whiff of context to the chain of events that led to the alleged fraud. You're trying to manufacture a side issue just to dilute the central allegations."
"But the documentation shows that he acted willfully and that the actual act took place long before the filing took place," Harvey counters, trying to conceal his anger. "You know as well as I do that those documents provide key context."
"What I know," Donna replies, "is that you're grasping at straws, trying to muddy the waters because your case is weak."
"Your motion is baseless, Donna, and a transparent attempt to keep damaging evidence from the jury."
"And you're trying to railroad my client with irrelevant character assassination. Your whole tactic is a witch hunt."
"As if you have any grounds to lecture anyone about character," Harvey snaps.
There's a beat, a palpable shift in tension in the room as the audience absorbs the insult, heads turning subtly, pens and recorders poised. It takes Donna a moment to register the low blow, the insinuation. When she does, it's like a veil lifting. Her face drains of color, the heat leaving her cheeks, replaced with a look of pure rage.
"You think this is a joke?" she says, her voice low and trembling with anger. She rises from her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turn white. "You think it's funny to belittle me and drag me down to your level?"
"Now, Ms. Paulsen, that's really not necessary..." The judge's voice wavers nervously, eyes flicking back and forth between the two lawyers.
"No, no, no. Let her speak," Harvey says casually, waving the comment off, his face set in an unreadable expression. "She clearly has something to say."
"And you're clearly a sad little man, resorting to cheap playground bullying when you get backed into a corner."
"All part of the job, Donna. At least I know how to do mine."
"Fuck you, Harvey."
"Enough!" The judge slams his gavel and the sound reverberates through the room. Harvey blinks, taken aback by his sudden outburst. "I don't know what's going on between you two," he says. "But I won't stand for this kind of vitriol and disrespect in my courtroom. I don't know where you get off thinking it's appropriate, but if there's another outburst like that, I'll hold you both in contempt. Do you understand me?"
Both Harvey and Donna nod silently.
"Good," the judge says with a sigh. He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples for a moment, then puts them back on, looking exhausted. "We'll adjourn for lunch, and when we come back, you'd better have sorted out your issues and be ready to proceed like professionals. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Harvey says. He steals a glance at Donna, who's shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He holds her gaze steadily for several moments, then, turning his back on her, he walks out of the courtroom without another word.
III
Donna finds him hiding away in one of the private conference rooms on the fourth floor. He's leaning on the edge of the table, reclining back on his forearms, glaring at the door as if she's broken some sacred rule of personal space and privacy by coming in here after him. He looks simultaneously agitated and completely at ease, a strange contrast to his usual cool, put-together exterior, and it makes her pause momentarily, like he's a tiger who's grown suddenly unpredictable and she should keep a cautious distance.
The silence stretches between them. A long, almost breathless pause, heavy with anticipation. After a minute, Donna's resolve begins to falter. She sighs, unable to maintain the bravado.
"Come on, Harvey," she says, crossing her arms. "Really?"
He stares at her for several seconds, his expression unreadable. "Get out."
"Not until you explain what the hell just happened in there."
"I don't owe you shit."
"You're acting like a child."
"I'm just trying to do my job, Donna. If you can't handle a little heat, you should let somebody else take the lead on this." He sounds perfectly calm, but there's something hard and bitter in his tone that sets her on edge. She feels her temper flare.
"You call that doing your job? You were taking cheap shots left and right."
"Oh, like you weren't? You were coming at me just as hard."
"Because you were antagonizing me!" she shouts, frustrated. "What the hell did you expect me to do after you threw that jab about my character? What are you even trying to say? That what happened in your office was somehow my fault?"
Something flickers in his expression that gives her a sudden chill. He pushes off the table, moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps. She stays where she is, eyes following him warily as he approaches. He stops a foot in front of her. She can smell his cologne, spicy and masculine. It brings back memories from that night, when he was kneeling between her legs, his tongue buried inside her, and she can't help the tightening low in her belly or the way her breath hitches.
"It is your fault," he says, his voice so low it sends goosebumps up her arms. "You knew exactly how I'd react when you goaded me into touching you. You wanted me to break, and I did. I played right into your hand. But guess what? I'm done with that now. I'm done with you."
It hurts more than she expected it to. All those stupid feelings she was hoping were misplaced or at the very least a superficial physical attraction have clearly gone way beyond that and are burrowing deeper. And now they're spiraling into a tangled mess of humiliation, embarrassment, and most importantly, regret, and all she wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. But instead of curling up into a little ball on the floor like her brain is begging her to do, her own anger sparks hot in her chest and before she knows it, she's responding in kind.
"Well, at least we finally agree on something," she says. "I'm done with you too."
The words come out harsher than she intended, and she can't help the pang of guilt she feels at the way his features soften briefly before hardening again.
"Then why are you here, Donna?" He takes another step closer, invading her personal space. "Why seek me out if you're so 'done'?"
She doesn't know why she followed him. Why she hasn't walked out yet. Why she keeps coming back again and again to this man who seems to bring nothing but trouble. Why she lets him get under her skin and twist and knot the butterflies in her stomach and invade her every waking thought. Why she can't just move on from this, from him, from whatever they are. She shakes her head slowly, unable to answer, fighting back a tide of frustration.
The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn't smile. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmurs. "You're not done with me."
"What do you want me to say, Harvey? You want me to admit that I was wrong?"
"No, I want you to admit that you wanted it just as much as I did."
"Of course I did! You were good, and I was horny, and it felt amazing at the time. But it was a mistake, and I wish it hadn't happened. That's all there is to it."
His eyes darken, his jaw clenching. "That's all there is to it?"
"Yes. There's nothing else between us. Nothing but a legal dispute, an inconvenient attraction, and a mistake that won't be repeated."
"Tell that to the goddamn contract that you shredded. I signed it. I was ready to be done. You're the one who left the fucking door open for another round."
She draws in a sharp breath, her cheeks flushing with heat. "Fine – yes. I shredded the agreement. I'm sorry. It was stupid and impulsive, and I should've told you to go fuck yourself instead. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is go another round with you. So you can relax."
He shakes his head, looking at her with a mixture of frustration and disgust, and it makes her blood boil. How dare he? How dare he act like he's so high and mighty, like he isn't the one who instigated every single thing that's transpired between them since day one. If anyone is disgusted it's her, by him, and his double standards, his insane power games and his bullshit hypocrisy. This is all his doing. Every bit of it.
"God, I hate you," she says, meeting his glare. "You're such a hypocrite."
"I'm the hypocrite? Look in the mirror, Donna."
"You act like you're better than me, but you're not. You don't get to put all this on me and walk away clean. We're in this together. We made this mess together."
"You think I want to be in this? You think I enjoy spending every goddamn minute thinking about you?" He takes a step closer, looming over her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I didn't choose any of this. But it happened. It's happening. And I can't fucking stop it. So I just need you to give me space, to let me focus on my job without feeling like I'm gonna explode every time I look at you."
She stares up at him, the tension between them rising. She wants to be angry at him. Wants to push back and argue with him. Wants to say something nasty that'll make him back off. But instead she just feels...lost. And tired. And confused.
"What do you want me to do?" she whispers. "Tell me how to fix this."
"Just go away."
"Harvey –"
"Get. Out." He takes another step forward, bringing them within an inch of each other, staring down at her. He's so close she can feel his breath on her lips. Her whole body is buzzing.
They stand nose to nose for what feels like a full minute, holding each other's gaze, neither backing down. And the anger is still there, burning inside of her, heating the blood in her veins and making her heart pound, but there's something else too, something bigger and more pressing that overrides everything else, something that feels an awful lot like lust and desperation and longing.
Donna clenches her jaw, forcing herself not to react, not to let him see, because the last thing she needs right now is to give him any sort of satisfaction. And yet, despite her best efforts, her eyes betray her, sliding over his features hungrily, tracing along the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones and mouth, lingering on his lips. She can still feel them on her body, kissing and sucking and licking until she was a quivering, trembling mess underneath him. It makes her skin tingle and her chest ache. It makes her crave more.
He watches her silently, his expression unreadable, but she knows he's feeling it too, whatever this thing between them is, whatever kind of spell they're under. It's palpable, undeniable, consuming.
His gaze flickers down to her lips and then back up to her eyes, darkening with desire. She should walk away. Should leave right now and never look back. But she can't bring herself to move, paralyzed by some invisible force that keeps her rooted to the spot.
"Admit it," he murmurs. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch her. "You're not done with me."
Her breath catches in her throat and her heart threatens to stop beating.
He has the nerve to smirk. The smug, self-satisfied smile of someone who knows he's won.
And that's when she snaps. Her hand moves faster than she can even consciously process, grabbing him by the tie and yanking him forward. Their mouths crash together. Hungry, messy, open-mouthed kisses, all teeth and tongue and frantic desperation.
The small piece of Donna's brain that's not overwhelmed by lust is screaming, berating herself for letting this happen again. Because they're in public, in a goddamn conference room, at a court hearings, for Christ's sake. Anyone could walk in. But she can't stop. Whatever fight she had went out the window the second their lips touched.
Harvey reaches behind him, fumbling blindly for the doorknob, his mouth never leaving hers as he turns the lock. He guides her backwards, stumbling toward the table, knocking chairs over in their wake, moving clumsily until Donna bumps against the wooden surface and he's pinning her with his body, his hands gripping her ass as his tongue explores her mouth with deep, slow strokes.
Her mind is swimming, drunk with pleasure. There's no rational thought left. Only desire. And his hands are everywhere. Like he can't get enough of her. Like she's the most exquisite thing he's ever touched. And it feels so good that she lets him, encourages him, revels in it. Because even though she knows this is a mistake, she wants it anyway.
"Harvey," she gasps against his lips. She's panting, out of breath, unable to catch it with the way he's moving his mouth over hers, nipping, sucking, licking. It's driving her insane. She presses her hips against him, feeling his hard length rubbing against her thigh, and she moans, low in her throat, unable to hold it in.
He breaks away and rests his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged, chest heaving. "I know we can't do this, but god..." he murmurs against her skin, his mouth moving along her jaw and down the column of her throat. "I want you so fucking bad. All the time."
"We can't," she agrees breathlessly, but she rocks her hips against him again, chasing the contact. She can't seem to stop the needy sounds escaping her throat, the way her body seeks out his. She can't stop the wave of pleasure that overtakes her at the sound of his words, at the feel of him growing harder and thicker against her with each pass of their bodies.
She grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him again, deeper this time, sliding her tongue into his mouth as her fingers rake through his hair. His hands cup her ass and lift her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pulling him between them as she leans back, balancing herself on the surface with one hand behind her while the other grips his bicep. She rubs her body against his, desperate to feel every part of him against her, needing him to fill her up, to quench this unrelenting thirst that's been consuming her since he slid his tongue between her thighs and licked her to oblivion. It hasn't gone away, it hasn't faded, and now it's roaring back to life with a vengeance, demanding to be sated.
She nips at his bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth. "You're right," she breathes. "I'm not done with you."
Harvey groans into her mouth.
Donna reaches between them and runs her hand along the length of his erection. "It's all I've thought about since you slipped your finger inside of me." She kisses him. "Fucked me with your tongue." Kisses him again. "Made me come so hard."
"God, Donna." He thrusts against her hand, his breath hitching as she squeezes lightly.
Her lips brush his ear as she continues, "And every time I touch myself..." Another squeeze. "It's you inside of me, fucking me until I scream."
"Fuck..." He drops his head to her shoulder, panting against the curve of her neck, his hands groping her body roughly as he grinds into her hand, his entire body shivering in ecstasy.
Donna slides her other hand between them and unfastens his trousers, her fingers quickly working open his fly. Her hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, freeing him, and a thrill shoots down her spine when she feels the heavy, velvety weight of him filling her palm. He's thick and hard, slick with precum, and she starts stroking him slowly, listening to his ragged breaths, feeling his hips pumping into her hand. She watches, transfixed, as the tip slides against her thumb.
Harvey groans. "Donna..." His grip tightens around her, his muscles flexing beneath her fingers, and his next thrust is more forceful, jolting her backwards against the table.
She pushes back against him, matching his movements, stroking faster, harder, angling his cock so that the tip bumps against her clit through her slacks with each stroke. She moans into his ear, rocking into him, the delicious friction making her body tremble as the orgasm builds. They're both breathing heavily, covered in sweat, moving against each other with fierce, frantic abandon.
His hand slides up from her ass and slips inside her pants, his fingers pressing into the soaked crotch of her panties. She whimpers into his mouth as he teases the lace of her underwear, his fingertips caressing lightly over her clit through the damp fabric with slow, languid strokes.
She lets out a breathy moan, grinding herself against his fingers, seeking out that elusive pressure that will send her over the edge. His fingers push aside the fabric and graze along her slit, making her gasp and shiver, before slipping inside of her.
"God, you're so wet," he rasps.
Donna presses her face into his neck, her breath coming faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she rolls her hips against his hand. Her grip on his cock tightens, tugging and twisting with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. "Yes, that's it," she says, her voice low and strained. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop..."
A whimper escapes her lips, a shudder running through her body, as his fingers curl inside her, hitting a spot that makes her gasp.
"Ohhh," she breathes. "Right there, Harvey."
He answers by adding a second finger, stretching her walls as she rides his hand, each roll of her hips bringing her closer and closer to climax. Her thighs are shaking, her muscles tensing, her entire body coiling tight with pleasure. She digs her heels into the back of his thighs, urging him on, begging him not to stop.
Harvey lifts his head and looks into her eyes. Their gazes lock. He stares at her intently, his breath heavy and labored, his expression a mix of lust and something else – something deeper and more complex. She can't read it, can't put a name to it, can only feel it deep inside her chest, beating in tune with her pulse.
She feels herself begin to unravel, feels her release building. It's like nothing she's ever experienced before – it's almost painful in its intensity, every nerve ending in her body firing wildly, her vision beginning to blur.
"Oh God..." she gasps, arching her back and grinding herself against him as she approaches her peak. Her hand moves faster, stroking him furiously, the rhythm of her hips faltering as her legs begin to shake.
"Fuck, Donna," he groans and his cock erupts in her hand, spilling hot, thick jets over her fingers and palm. Her insides clamp down around him, muscles tensing and contracting as she loses control of her movements, bucking uncontrollably against him.
"Oh god... oh fuck, fuck, fuck..." She buries her face into the crook of his neck, whimpering helplessly as he rubs her clit faster, fucking her mercilessly through her climax, his fingers curling and flexing and stroking and pounding, his thumb rubbing her into a sobbing, trembling wreck. It feels like it's never ending. Wave after wave of sheer euphoria washing over her. His rhythm never breaks, not once.
And all she can do is cling to him helplessly, riding the waves of pleasure that he keeps pushing into her until she thinks she'll burst out of her skin from sheer overstimulation. He doesn't relent until she's shaking, gasping and moaning incoherently, her thighs clamping tightly around his wrist.
Hestills and slowly withdraws his fingers, keeping his hand between her legs, cupping her possessively while her body quakes with aftershocks. She can feel her wetness coating her thighs, his hands, the soaked crotch of her panties. She can't help the soft sob of pure satisfaction that escapes her lips when he brushes his fingers along her sensitive slit.
Donna rests her forehead against his, panting heavily. Her hand leaves his cock and wraps around his neck, holding him close. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as he continues to lazily stroke her through her last few tremors. His fingers trace gentle patterns against her still-pulsing flesh, soothing her tingling skin as she begins to settle.
She nuzzles into him, savoring the sensation of having him so close, of touching him, kissing him, being with him. Just sitting here like this feels better than anything has any right to.
But after several minutes, the quiet realization of what they'd done sets in, and the afterglow begins to dim. She stiffens.
He feels it too, she knows. The way his body tenses, his hand falling away, the loss of contact sharp and immediate. He pulls back, looking down at her, his expression unreadable. Her own breath is shallow, chest heaving as she stares back at him, searching his eyes for some sign of what's coming next.
Donna licks her lips nervously. "What are we doing?" she whispers, almost afraid to ask the question aloud.
"I don't know," he answers honestly, his voice low and hoarse.
She swallows hard, biting back tears. This was never supposed to happen again. And yet, here they are. And it feels right. And terrible. And wonderful. And wrong. And every other contradiction she can think of. She wants to run away from him. Wants to stay forever. Needs him. Doesn't need him. Can't stand him. Wants him desperately. Hates him. Loves him. Loves him?
Oh god. No. That's not possible. She can't love him. She doesn't. She loves Wes. Her cruel, controlling, abusive and probably sociopathic fiancé. Right? Yes. That's who she loves. That's who she's with. That's who she has given her whole life to, for years. And she can't just throw that away because some hotshot lawyer gives her a few orgasms. Not even if those orgasms were the best of her life. Or if he can make her smile without even trying. Or if he challenges her in ways she's never been challenged before. Or if he makes her feel things she's never felt with anyone else. Or if she thinks about him constantly and misses him when he's not around.
Donna swallows again, pushing those thoughts out of her head. No. She's not going to fall down that rabbit hole. This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. It can never happen again.
Harvey stares at her silently, his expression unchanged. He doesn't look away from her, but his eyes aren't quite focused either. She can tell he's lost in his own head too, and she wonders what he's thinking. Wonders if he feels as conflicted as she does. Wonders if he's wrestling with the same doubts and fears and desires that are currently making her feel like she's losing her goddamn mind.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he sighs softly. "We need to get back to court."
"Right."
They stay there, staring at each other for a moment longer, neither of them moving. Donna feels her pulse quicken, her skin growing warm again. Her gaze flicks down to his swollen lips, and she wants nothing more than to kiss him again, to forget about everything else and lose herself in his touch.
But she can't. Because this isn't right. She knows it isn't. And she has to stop before she gets even deeper into this mess than she already is. So she slowly pushes herself up off the table and off of Harvey, ignoring the ache in her thighs and the dull throbbing between her legs. She steps around him, turning her back on him as she wipes her hand on the inside of her blazer, trying to hide the evidence of their mutual indiscretion. She hears him tuck in his shirt and zip his fly.
When she finally turns to face him again, he looks completely composed, like nothing ever happened. But there's something dark and broken behind his eyes. A look of hurt and shame that he's desperately trying to mask.
"This can't happen again," he says quietly.
She nods, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
"It's wrong."
"I know."
"We have to stop."
"I know."
He lets out a shaky breath. "So we're agreed then? This was just...heat of the moment. Stress relief. We needed to get it out of our system."
She nods again, her stomach twisting into knots at the words. She doesn't believe them for a second, and she's pretty sure he doesn't either. But they both know that admitting otherwise would be more than either of them can handle right now. So instead, they both cling to the lie.
"Okay," he says, straightening his tie. "Let's get back out there and do our jobs."
Donna watches as he turns away from her and unlocks the door, her heart sinking with every step he takes toward it. The urge to call after him, to beg him to stay, to talk about what just happened between them, is overwhelming. But she bites her tongue and holds her breath and lets him go. Because she knows if she speaks now, she'll never stop. And that can't happen.
But then he pauses at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. He holds her gaze for a moment. She can see the conflict written all over his face. It mirrors her own. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "About what happened in the courtroom, calling you out like that. It was uncalled for."
Donna opens her mouth, about to offer a denial or brush the comment off, but she pauses. Her eyes soften and she smiles sadly instead. "Thank you," she says. "But I was being unreasonable – about the Berkman files. I'll drop the motion and stop fighting you on it."
"Well, you're not wrong for it." He smirks. "The documents don't offer any kind of context or timeline. I am just trying to assault Wolcott's character and muddy the water."
She shrugs, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Still, your case is so weak, I might as well afford you some kind of victory here. I'll even let you pretend to hold me off."
He snorts. "Don't let me ever be grateful then." He tilts his head toward the door. "Time to go. No more drama. From here on out, we behave like professionals."
She hesitates, staring into those warm brown eyes and wondering for the thousandth time how it all came to this. It feels like a dream. They must be crazy. "Okay," she says, smiling wistfully, her voice soft. "See you back out there."
Harvey nods and turns away again. The door closes behind him with a click, leaving Donna alone in the conference room, surrounded by upturned chairs and scattered papers and the lingering smell of sex.
A/N: I've read and considered all your comments and concerns over the triggering aspects of this fic and I thank you all for being respectful and open to constructive discussion.
I didn't have a chance to respond to all the comments, but I wanted you all to know that I heard you loud and clear, and I have adjusted some aspects of my story and tweaked it in a way that I hope addresses your concerns in a satisfactory manner without compromising the story that I'm trying to tell.
With that being said, I think this chapter shows a little bit of the progress you were all hoping for. Donna isn't caving to Wes' emotional manipulation. And while that may seem like a small victory, in the context of this fic it is quite significant.
Thank you so much for the continued feedback and encouragement. You're the best!
-Kelly