This chapter is M-rated
She takes a pause to catch her breath and speaks again. "God, how the hell did we get here?"
Harvey sweetly kisses her cheek, and that gesture only amplifies her tears. She can't recall the last time he kissed her with such tenderness, and she realizes how much she missed it. "I've been an idiot," he mumbles, burying his face in the curve of her neck. "And you don't need to respond. I know I am." He adds and pulls away slightly. With extreme gentleness, he wipes the tears from Donna's cheeks and, without releasing her jaw, leans his forehead against hers.
"I miss you," she murmurs, making an extra effort to control her breathing amidst the crying fit she's going through. It's an honest and desperate plea. It had been over two months since they had sex, and it hadn't been enjoyable for either of them. It had felt horribly mechanical, and she had even faked an orgasm to make him stop crushing her. Having him so close again after what felt like an eternity, flooding all her senses with his presence intensifies her longing for him to the point where she can't suppress it any longer.
"I miss you too," he sobs, feeling her hands gripping his waist.
"I know this won't fix anything," she says because, of course, she understands that some physical connection won't mend the hole they've fallen into, but she needs to feel that invisible bond that has always connected them. And right now, they are not ready to talk. She can't think of a better idea than this; besides, she needs it. "But please, Harvey," she pleads, closing her eyes. "Take me to bed and make love to me." She murmurs, not daring to look at him. She feels herself trembling from head to toe, and she doesn't even know if what she's asking for is right.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, a knot of anguish in his throat making his voice sound choked. There's nothing Harvey has missed more in these months than that connection with her, but he's so afraid of making a misstep and having the ground swallow them completely.
She nods, raising her hands to wrap his wrists; his hands are still holding her face. "We need to feel that for which we want to fight," she suggests, looking at him again.
He smiles shyly, brushing her nose with his, and without saying another word, he moves his lips towards hers. First, it's timid, because it's also been too long since they've really kissed, and they find themselves nervously giggling amidst the tears that are still streaming down their faces.
As they land on the bed, it's a mix of tenderness and passion, joy and sadness. They take their time, not rushing. They need this little oasis to last as long as possible. Their lips kiss, and their tongues entwine until their lungs demand air. Their hands, their lips, and their tongues explore each other until they both scream each other's name, not out of anger but because they're floating in a cloud of ecstasy and pleasure.
Donna's hands delicately trace every inch of his skin, following the lines of his veins and moles with light touches. She explores the familiar contours, knowing each detail by heart. Her lips join in, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses on his skin before her tongue takes over, savoring his body with devotion. Harvey lies peacefully, basking in the tender care of his wife, a mix of love and unbridled passion coursing through him. He purrs, murmurs, and moans her name repeatedly, lost in the sensations she evokes. Meanwhile, she maintains a teasing distance from his sex, prolonging the anticipation.
As Donna finally lowers herself further, she begins to caress the skin of his penis with her nose, moving slowly and gently, inhaling his intoxicating scent. It's a moment that drives Harvey crazy, his back arching as waves of pleasure wash over him, his blood rushing faster through his veins.
Donna moistens her lips as she gently moves her husband's sex against his abdomen, and she positions herself to lavish kisses and gentle caresses on her husband's length and his balls. She makes it too slow and too sweet that the sensation is both exquisite and torturous for him. Her hands grip his hips, and he wraps his own around them, pressing them a little each time a wave of pleasure passes through him, and damn it, when she slides him into her mouth, he struggles to hold back—it's been so long since they've taken the time to explore each other in that way—that the intensity of their intimacy is overwhelming them both. Donna, attuned to his every reaction, pauses briefly to allow him to catch his breath before resuming her ministrations, her tongue exploring every inch with fascination. She savors the sight of Harvey lost in pleasure; she had missed it so much.
With delicate precision, she teases him, prolonging the moment until neither can bear it any longer. Gently releasing him from her mouth, she savors the taste of him on her lips as she holds him in her hand. Dragging her arousal breasts all over his skin, she climbs up his body until her hips are over his; all the moisture she has just left him invading her. Harvey's hands find their way to her butt, a silent invitation as their lips meet in a passionate kiss. The intensity of their connection ignites a fire within them, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they lose themselves in the moment. When they finally part, breathless and gasping, Harvey's gaze holds a wild yet tender expression, a sight Donna hadn't seen in far too long. As his thumb caresses her swollen lips, a mischievous smile curves her own, anticipation coursing through her veins.
"What?" She murmurs and sensually licks his finger.
He exhales deeply, at a loss for words in the midst of the emotional turmoil. There's so much he wants to express—his love for her, his admiration, his gratitude—but the weight of the moment renders him speechless; they're still sailing in open waters, in the midst of the storm of the century. Instead, he opts for action. "It's my turn," he murmurs hoarsely. Without waiting for her response, he shifts his position, positioning himself on top of her.
Harvey's large, rough hands begin to navigate her body with a delicate touch, as if she were made of porcelain. His fingertips trace a path between her breasts, eliciting a deep sigh from her with each caress. Moving upward, he traces the contours of her breasts, almost as if he were sketching them, and her nipples respond eagerly, despite not being touched directly yet. As he gently squeezes both breasts at once, she's caught off guard, yet her body relaxes even further for him. He then begins to roll her nipples between his fingers, his movements slow and tender. Everything feels soft, unhurried, and it brings her to the brink of tears. The last few times they had sex, it had been rough—not by choice, but because their anger was stronger than anything else. And that tenderness overwhelms her.
Squeezing both breasts with his hands, he moves down the center of her body with wet kisses, eliciting anticipation in her sex. But just as he's about to reach that peak of arousal, he takes the opposite path, causing her to laugh. It's a familiar trick of his, one that never fails to amuse her.
"Do you really think I'd miss the chance to taste your breasts?" He teases her, drawing another laugh from her lips. Despite everything, she can't help but adore this man.
Harvey alternates between both of her breasts, lavishing attention on her nipples from every angle. He licks them, sucks on them, sending shivers down her spine. Her legs unconsciously spread apart, and her back arches, a silent plea for more, for Harvey to consume her completely with his passion.
After a few minutes, he finally goes the way down, his attention drawn to the moisture pooled between her labia. Unable to resist, he trails a finger along her slit, instinctively causing her to spread her legs further, granting him complete access to her intimacy. His fingers tease the heat and moisture gathering at her core, trailing over her, brushing and pressing gently, each touch escalating the pleasure she feels.
Harvey's thumb focuses on her bundle of nerves as two fingers enter her, sending an intense wave of pleasure coursing through her. She can't help but scream her husband's name as he expertly stimulates her inside and out simultaneously. And he doesn't let up; as her body writhes with overwhelming sensation, he continues to stimulate her, gently but firmly, never pausing for a single second.
Just as she's on the brink of release, he withdraws his fingers from her sex, using his thumbs to separate her lips and taste her essence, sending another surge of pleasure through her body.
His lips are sweet and moist, running all over her sex, concentrating on her clit, playing with it in the way he knows makes her scream. His tongue is savoring her again after so much time, in a mixture of tenderness and warmth that makes her want to cry. She feels a pang of regret for letting everything crumble like she did. She feels remorse for believing that she could have everything. She feels foolish for needing him to give her at least one reason to stay and fight when this feeling is more than a reason to do it.
Harvey holds her, one hand on her hips, the other kneading and squeezing her breast. Her hands linked to his, her nails digging into him, a plea from her for her not to stop as he's about to push her over the edge with his mouth, and she knows she won't take it. She spreads her legs even further as he captures her completely in his mouth, sucking at that rhythm he learned a long time ago that she enjoys and that he now knows by heart. She even bursts into tears before the first wave of orgasm hits her and can't help but put her hands up to her face, needing to hide herself. Not only has the orgasm been too good, but she feels like all her strength has just been knocked down and she has nowhere to hide. Harvey lets her vent, slowly and sweetly finishes savoring her, seeking to relax her and extend her pleasure as long as he can. Then he goes up, kissing her entire body, until he gently removes her hands from her face.
"I'm so sorry," she sobs, feeling completely vulnerable in front of him, as if the nakedness she is wearing right now was not only physical but also emotional.
"Did it stink?" he giggles, gently smoothing her hair back.
She giggles too. "It doesn't matter that you don't practice often; you always nail it," she reassures him, and he gives her a cocky smile. Having made their problems disappear for a few minutes and made her feel that good, it felt much better than he could admit. "But I've ruined everything."
"We both have," he admits. The vulnerability of the moment allows him to drop some bricks from the wall that he has put between them while wiping away his wife's tears. "Can I hold you for a while?" he exhales.
She doesn't hesitate for a second, turning just enough for her body to mold to his. Their naked bodies intertwine, embracing each other tenderly. Fingers trace delicate patterns, Donna's breasts pressed against his chest, their sexes slightly pushing against each other, and their legs entwined. Their labored breaths, accompanied by uncontrollable sobs, are muffled against their shoulders as they seek solace in each other's arms.
It had been so long since they had been like this that now the familiarity feels both comforting and heartbreaking. As their bodies mold together, each curve and contour fitting perfectly as if they were two halves of a whole, the weight of their recent struggles fades away for a moment.
Donna, still nestled in Harvey's arms, traces invisible patterns on his skin as if committing every inch of him to memory. Harvey does exactly the same. The room fills with a bittersweet silence, all the unspoken words hanging in the air.
"I'm sorry, Harvey," she repeats through tears, willing to utter those words as many times as necessary if she believed it could change something.
"I'm sorry too," he sobs, his pain crashing against her neck. "But... Listen to me for a moment." She nods as they part just enough to look into their eyes again. He delicately traces the features of her face, attempting to erase the traces of her tears. "We're in a tough situation right now." She nods, sniffling. "And I want to escape from it, at least for a little while." He calmly explains. "We're doing this to remember what we must fight for, or so you said." She nods again. "And I really want to keep going, can I?" he asks, lovingly curling her hair around his finger.
She smiles at him and pushes his lips to hers, inviting him to kiss her again because she also wants more. The kiss starts out tender, but it doesn't take more than a few seconds to turn passionate again. "I really want to feel you inside me again," she gasps, her hand reaching for his manhood to stimulate him.
"God, that's my favorite place…" he grunts, enjoying the softness with which she holds him in her hands and how her fingers find all the right places almost effortlessly. "Inside you." This time he whispers against her ear, lowering his fingers between her legs again, enjoying how she arches her back and spreads her legs wider to give him more access.
They say no more. They continue kissing and pleasuring each other with the sole goal in mind: to feel at home again.
Harvey positions himself over her and slides inside her with a slowness that makes Donna tremble, until he's completely buried in her. Their gazes remain connected, something they haven't done in a long time, and they both smile when they feel that kind of deep connection again: her warm and wet sex wrapping his. He collapses for a moment on top of her, tenderly smooching her neck as she trails her fingers down his back, giving themselves a moment to take it all in. Then he begins to move over her, still keeping it gentle.
"Look at me, please," she murmurs, his head buried in her neck yet.
He smiles and lifts his head to look at her. It goes without saying. Everything feels like it did before, for a brief moment. Their looks scream how much they've missed this, and it's all they need to know right now.
They extend the moment as much as their bodies allow, one on top of the other, rolling on the bed, and never tiring of the intimate contact they're sharing after such a long time.
Always on the verge, not merely of an orgasm but also of falling apart in the tangle of feelings that are currently inside their hearts. This much-awaited reunion in the world of intimacy reveals what they have been trying for a long time to bury, to deny. And they feel like a huge mess.
One look is more than enough to know that they can't take it anymore, so Harvey lies in bed, and Donna straddles him, her hands on his chest. One of Harvey's hands holds hers, the other on her hips, helping her move.
Both are close; they know it. Their bodies are screaming at it. Their mouths too. They both know that they have dragged it out as long as possible. And they both knew that the oasis was going to end at some point.
Harvey is the first to give in, spilling inside her, and she doesn't stop moving until she feels pleasure coursing through her body from head to toe—a pleasure that quickly turns into a liberating cry again. They squeeze every last second of their orgasms, and the mix of emotions runs through them again. Harvey sees her struggling with her tears, so he gently tugs on her, and she falls on top of him. He wraps his arms around her, stroking her back. Their hearts beating violently against each other.
"Should I quit the play?" she asks, her voice broken, hiding her face in his neck.
"Donna," he sobs and kisses her forehead.
"Tell me," she pleads, with hiccups from crying. "Because this is worth it."
"No, I don't want you sacrificing things for me anymore," he says, the lump in his throat reappearing.
She pulls away slightly, propping herself up with her arms on his chest, to look at him. "Then what do we do?" she asks, pain palpable in her voice again.
"I don't know," he answers, hating himself for not having an answer to give her. "What do you think about sleeping on it and talking tomorrow when we're calmer? I don't think we can think clearly right now," he says, wiping her tears again. He knows it's an excuse, acknowledging that he's avoiding a conversation that terrifies him.
She swallows hard and closes her eyes for a moment. "Do you want to have breakfast together?"
"I can wait up for you at night," he suggests, knowing that it will give him a few hours' advantage.
"Okay, whatever you prefer," she replies, sensing that it didn't take even two minutes for him to shut himself off again. Without saying more, she gets off him, grabs a nightgown from under her pillow, puts it on, and heads to the bathroom.
Harvey sits on the bed, exhaling deeply, knowing he's just messed it up again. He gets up, puts on his underwear, and approaches the bathroom door, where he knocks with his knuckles.
"Hey..." he says from the other side. "Are you coming?"
"Give me a minute," she replies, looking at herself in the mirror after washing her face.
"Alright," he answers, and some seconds are filled just with silence. "You want a drink?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to sleep?" She snorts in response, opening the door, wearing pajamas now.
"Donna—" he murmurs, wanting to grab her hand, but she moves away.
"No, Harvey. It's not like that. You want to sleep? We'll sleep."
He nods, acknowledging that there's nothing he can do or say right now to improve the situation. Perhaps it's best to let the anxieties and frustrations dissipate, get some rest, and wake up with clearer minds and lighter hearts. That's what they both hope for, but reality often has its own plans.
As they lie in bed, both tossing and turning, the silence between them becomes heavy and tense once again. They move carefully, avoiding accidental touches, fully aware that any physical contact might exacerbate the discomfort between them.
Sleeping and finding rest in this atmosphere seem practically impossible.
Their minds refuse to rest, with a chaotic mix of possibilities, especially the most catastrophic ones, coexisting simultaneously in their thoughts.
Donna swallows back her tears, attempting to keep her composure, while Harvey struggles to keep his body still, feeling his heart pounding forcefully in his chest. He acknowledges the need to cut back on Scotch, realizing that he can't control it anymore. At this moment, the desire to get up and have another drink is tempting, if only to momentarily drown the pain of having Donna so close yet out of reach.
Harvey decides to rise before the alarm sounds, accepting that he won't be able to enjoy more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep. He opts to hide in the office, distracting himself with piles of work.
Similarly, Donna finds it challenging to gather more than a few minutes of sleep that night. She despises the fact that she can only find solace in slumber when she's alone. The presence of Harvey, once a source of comfort, now feels like a threat, and this is one of the worst things she has ever felt.
The day drags on too slowly for Donna, who feels the urgent need for an honest conversation with her husband, while for Harvey, time seems to pass too quickly as he attempts to avoid the impending dialogue.
Donna finds some relief in her yoga class, though it offers only a temporary respite. The same goes for the bath she takes upon returning home. Momentarily distracted, reality quickly crashes back, leaving her with barely enough time to take a few deep breaths before the overwhelming urge to cry returns.
Harvey, as is his usual coping mechanism, immerses himself in paperwork, meetings, and a concerning number of drinks throughout the day. Macallan pours generously, causing the pain in his chest and worry to persist. The ideas of time and space in his mind start to blur.
A blackout at the theater where Donna is performing prompts her to interpret it as a sign. It's an opportunity for them to have a quiet dinner at home, providing ample time to address the lingering tension between them. She takes charge of ordering from their favorite restaurant and selecting a wine they typically share during special occasions. Nervously awaiting his return, a mix of anxiety and fear accelerates her heartbeat, but she attempts to maintain composure.
As the usual time for Harvey's return from the office passes, Donna sends a message, receiving no response.
"Okay, Donna. Breathe," she tells herself. "He might have stayed a little longer at the office and got stuck in a meeting."
Another half-hour elapses, and a second message goes unanswered.
Growing more concerned, she checks with the building's security manager, where the clinic operates, only to discover he hasn't left yet. The news leaves her in uncertainty.
Minutes tick by without his arrival. Donna puts the food in the fridge and prepares herself to wait with as much patience and tranquility as she can muster, though it's not much at this moment.
Approaching the usual time she would return from the theater, and with Harvey still absent, Donna can no longer feign calmness. Despite agreeing to postpone the conversation until the morning, Harvey suggested addressing it that night and waiting up for her. And certainly he should be here by now to do it.
Donna stops texting and starts calling him repeatedly, but he doesn't answer.
Harvey, once again, has forgotten about her. The pain she feels transcends anger. She discards the food in frustration, drinks a couple of glasses of wine, and cleans up the kitchen, lacking the strength to endure another humiliation.
An hour and forty minutes later than the hour she usually arrives, Harvey finally comes back home, and even from a distance, it's evident that he's drunk. The combination of arriving late and having so much alcohol in his system is almost too much for Donna to bear.
"Donna, you're home!" he slurs, stumbling toward her, unsteady on his feet.
"I didn't have a performance today; I've been waiting for you for hours! You're late! And for what? To get drunk like a teenager? How stupid I am; I thought you had grown up!" She yells, extending her arm between them to keep him away from her.
"But I'm here now!" he says with a rather crooked smile.
"You're really drunk," she grumbles. "I'll go make you some coffee." She says it without thinking and hates herself for it because, once again, despite her own pain, she's putting his needs above hers.
"Coffee?" he asks, confused.
She doesn't respond, swallows her reply, and retreats to the kitchen to make him a black coffee without sugar, hoping it will work some kind of miracle on Harvey's inebriated state.
"Drink this," she says, placing the coffee cup on the kitchen counter in front of him, next to a bottle of water. "And this too."
"Aren't you drinking with me?" he asks with a pout on his lips that Donna finds ridiculous.
"No, Harvey. You're the one who came home drunk when you were supposed to have an important conversation with your wife, not me." She says that, and though she wants to sound angry, the pain wins. "Don't go to the bedroom until you've finished all of this." She tells him, and from the way he looks like a wet puppy, she knows he'll listen to her.
About ten minutes later, Harvey—still in his office clothes—collapses next to his wife, and in less than a second, he's completely snuggled up against her.
"Can you tell me what the hell you're doing?" She grumbles, trying to get away from him.
"I want to snuggle with my wife." He says with a smile that Donna feels like smacking off his face. "We do this every night."
"You clearly have no idea what's going on around you, do you?" she yells, pushing him away. "Take off your suit, and if you want to sleep here, do it far away from me." She says with determination, hating him too much right now for forcing them to push that conversation they need to have further into the future, again.
"Take it off for me," he says, approaching her again in a clumsy attempt to flirt that only makes her angrier.
"You're a grown man; I'm sure you can do it yourself." She responds immediately, moving away from him, already too close to the edge of the bed.
"Grown men can do naughty things when a grown woman undresses us. You know that, don't you?"
"Take your clothes off yourself, or I'll sleep somewhere else, whatever you prefer." She threatens.
"You're cruel," he retorts and clumsily gets up.
"Yeah, sure, I'm the cruel one here," she says under her breath.
Harvey doesn't hear her; he's putting all his effort into getting undressed, something that wouldn't be so complicated if he hadn't emptied his bottle of Macallan that night.
Several minutes later, he manages it, and when he collapses on the bed again, it's once again too close to Donna. He hugs her, rubbing his crotch against the side of her thigh, while his hand goes straight to squeeze her breast, and she pushes him away with a quick and sharp movement.
"Do you really think you'll fix this with sex? You're completely wrong, Harvey!" she growls. "Either sleep far away from me, or we'll sleep in separate beds."
"You're my wife!" he complains.
"Well, I suppose it's good that you still remember that," she says under her breath, lying down again, curling up by herself, and turning her back to him. "I'm sick of this," she says out loud this time, making sure he hears her.
Harvey doesn't respond. It's too difficult for him to think right now. In fact, he falls asleep too soon; the alcohol in his system doesn't allow him to stay alert for long.
Hearing him snoring, fury reaches a boiling point inside Donna, and she gets up before she's tempted to wake him up to keep yelling at him.
She tries to calm herself with herbal tea that doesn't work, and she knew it wouldn't work before drinking it, and she returns to bed. She knows it will be another sleepless night, and she doesn't know how much longer her body will be able to endure it. She sits there, against the headboard, her arms crossed under her breasts, and her legs stretched out on the blankets.
"I don't know where the hell you are, Harvey," she sobs, looking at him sleeping with envy for his tranquility. "Where have you gone?" she asks, foolishly hoping for an answer.
They had been fed a thousand fears about marriage over the years, but when he proposed out of the blue, in the middle of someone else's wedding party, she thought it was the most natural thing in the world. It was just right for them. Once they had finally found each other, spending the rest of their lives together seemed inevitable. They both knew it couldn't be any other way. They couldn't be happy apart.
She felt so proud of how well they were managing their marriage and how they had learned to adapt to each other and to know each other on an even deeper level than before. They had learned about individual spaces and the time each other needed, and they had also learned to savor every moment they shared.
Donna was completely fascinated by the idea of getting to know Harvey on such a profound, intimate level. Being a front-row spectator in Harvey's life felt like a much bigger gift than she could have ever imagined.
The happiness she once cherished, the man she loved with every fiber of her being, now appeared to be slipping away at a pace outrunning her desperate attempts to catch up.
"How do I get you back?" she murmurs through tears, briefly stroking his hair and then lying down, facing him. "Please, tell me what to do." She whispers. "Tell me, because I'm so damn tired of having to guess what you want." She adds, her voice is angry again.
She turns away from him, and she feels him approaching, embracing her completely, and she can't stand having him so close; it only confuses her further, and what she needs right now is clarity.
Without caring if he wakes up, she slips out of bed, adjusts her pillow under her arm, and goes to the guest room, hoping to at least get a few hours of sleep.
Thank you for reading :)
