He would never get tired of this. Having Donna beneath him, completely lost in the depths of pleasure.
He had slept with many women. And it had been good. Or at least, he had thought it was good. Until Donna. And after that, every other experience became dull. Because Donna was like no other. The way she moved, the way she moaned his name, the way her gaze changed when she surrendered to pleasure.
He grabbed one of her legs and swung it over his shoulder, pushing even deeper into her. They both moaned louder at the same time, enjoying the new angle.
He kissed her leg near his face and slowed his pace, trying to pull her back to reality.
"Please tell me you're not done."
"Who do you think I am?"
He almost pulled out completely before thrusting deep inside her again, making her moan louder.
"Harvey."
"Look at me."
But she didn't seem to hear him, biting her lip to keep from screaming. He pressed his hands more firmly against her body. One gripping her thigh, the other holding her hip. Tight enough to make her open her eyes. Tight enough to leave marks the next day.
"Stay with me."
"I'm with you," she murmured, but all he could hear was, "I'm yours."
And damn it, it went against all his principles, but she was. Completely his.
He picked up the pace again, sending them both over the edge for the second time that night. And as he came, he realized he could never sleep with another woman again. How could he, when he had found perfection?
Three months had passed since he'd started work here, almost two since their arrangement had begun, and it felt like he had always been here. Like he belonged here.
He stayed inside her as he lowered her leg, bringing her in for a kiss, gently guiding her back to reality. He didn't want to pull away. Not yet. So he stayed there, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, listening to her heartbeat against his.
.
Harvey was nestled against her, his face tucked into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. Sated, relaxed, almost vulnerable, as he often was after sex. His arm was draped across her chest, wrapping her in an instinctive embrace, as if he were unconsciously holding on to her.
Donna let her fingers trail absently over his bicep in front of her, tracing the familiar lines of his tattoo. The eagle, the globe, and the anchor. The black ink stretched across the top of his arm and up to his shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked softly, curiosity in her voice.
Harvey took a deep breath, as if pulling an old memory to the surface.
"An EGA," he replied wearily, his lips still grazing his shoulder.
"A what now?"
"EGA. You have the eagle."
She traced the engraved bird on his skin, its silhouette imposing and proud.
"Then the globe," he continued.
Slowly, she ran her finger over the sphere, brushing its curves with delicate precision.
"And the anchor," he finished, his voice slightly rough.
Her fingers caressed the sturdy lines of the anchor, appreciating the contrast between the softness of his skin and the sharpness of the black ink that told his story.
"It's the pin you get when you finish training and officially become a Marine," he explained, his voice carrying a distant reverence.
She raised an eyebrow, amused despite herself. "All that and you receive a pin for your trouble?"
Harvey gave a faint smile, barely perceptible. "The pin is symbolic The proof that you've earned the title."
"Was it hard? It must have been…" she murmured, her tone softer than she intended.
"Some recruits died in basic," he said gravely, his eyes still closed. "Not while I was there, but it happens."
"It must have been an incredible moment," she whispered, tracing the precise contours of the eagle with her fingertips. "Receiving it after everything you went through."
Harvey let out a joyless laugh, laced with bitterness.
"It was, at the time." He paused, as if weighing his words. "But now… I don't know. I almost regret getting this tattoo."
Donna turned her head toward him, her heart tightening at his words. "Why?"
"It feels like a constant reminder of the ways I failed. I'm not sure if I'm worthy anymore."
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was punishing himself for things beyond his control. But she knew those words would be useless. This wasn't the time, and his guilt was buried too deep for a mere whisper to erase it.
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was punishing himself for things beyond his control. But she knew those words would be meaningless. This wasn't the time, and that guilt was buried too deep for a mere whisper to erase it.
"Guilt is a bitch," Harvey muttered.
"Tell me about it."
"You know something about guilt?"
"Who doesn't?"
Silence settled between them, each lost in their own thoughts. In just a few days, Harvey had told her more than he had shared with most people he had known for years. And even though she knew this was probably just the tip of the iceberg, the trust he placed in her was dizzying. And deep inside, something strange stirred. An urge to share as well. To offer him a truth she had never told anyone.
.
Harvey could feel the tension in her. He knew her well enough now to understand that her mind was racing, that something inside her was struggling. In the way her body remained rigid, her hand was stiff in her hair, and her eyes stared absently at the ceiling.
"I killed my husband."
She said it so softly that he could have thought he imagined it. He tried to lift his head, but she stopped him. "Please don't look at me."
Harvey closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He stayed there, his arm still around her, tightening slightly to reassure her he wasn't going anywhere. He let the silence stretch, listening to the uneven rhythm of her breathing, but she didn't say another word.
He wet his lips, carefully choosing his words. "I thought he had a car accident."
She hadn't denied it. She hadn't confirmed it either.
He didn't ask any more questions. He knew what it was like to carry guilt so heavy it ate you up from the inside. He also knew that you couldn't force it out. You had to wait. Let the other person come to you. And that's exactly what he did.
He felt Donna tense slightly in his arms, as if her body itself was bracing for the pain of the memory before she even voiced it. He knew how to recognize a confession that weighed too much. One that had been held in for too long.
"Banana chocolate chip ice cream… That was my guilty pleasure when I was pregnant." She let out a small laugh, devoid of joy. "I could have lived on that alone. And when I didn't have any… I was unbearable. It's so fucking stupid."
Harvey pulled her a little closer, feeling the tension under her skin. He tried a hint of humor, offering her an escape if she wanted to take it. "Hormones make you do crazy things."
She didn't take the bait.
"There was no more ice cream." Her tone was more distant now, as if she were talking about another woman, another time, a life that no longer belonged to her.
"I was irritable. Peter… Peter was perfect. He already was before I got pregnant, but once Max curled up inside me, it was on another level."
Harvey could almost see the images playing behind her eyes, the happy memories that must have felt unreal now. Torn apart by time and pain. And other, darker memories she wished she had never lived.
When she spoke again, her voice was even lower. "It was late, it was raining. But he still went out to get me that damn ice cream."
He didn't need to hear the rest to guess how the story ended, but he stayed silent.
Her voice was calm, far too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm. "I told him not to go. I insisted. I told him it didn't matter, that I could wait until morning."
Her fingers, which Harvey had come to know as soft and delicate, had started tracing invisible shapes on his arm again, in a nervous gesture.
"But he went anyway. He kissed my forehead, ran his hand over my belly, and said…" She paused for a second, swallowing hard. "He said, 'I'll be right back.'"
Her voice broke slightly when she added, "And he never did."
"You know this isn't your fault, don't you?" he asked gently, his hand reaching for hers, intertwining their fingers.
She didn't answer right away but shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "I could have stopped him from getting in the car that night."
Her voice was raw, strangled by the emotion she was still trying to contain. He knew what was coming. He knew this guilt, this spiral that led nowhere, yet always managed to pull you in.
So he did what he had wished someone had done for him when he was trapped in that same endless maze.
"And he would have died anyway, one way or another."
She frowned slightly, as if unsure she had heard him correctly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that everything is written in advance." His voice was low, almost fatalistic. "The day we're born, life already knows exactly when it will end. Yes, you could have stopped him from getting in the car. He could have stayed with you, made you hot chocolate, and gotten electrocuted. He could have forgotten to turn off the gas and died of asphyxiation. He could have slipped in the shower and cracked his head open. You could have stopped him from driving, but you never could have stopped him from dying."
Donna didn't move, her gaze still fixed on some invisible point on the ceiling. Then, her lips parted slightly, and when she spoke, her voice was broken, trembling.
"So from the very start, it was written that I'd never get my happy ending?"
A tear rolled slowly down her temple, then another. Harvey felt his heart twist at the sight of her shoulders trembling under the weight of the emotion she was trying so hard to suppress.
He reached out, gently, and wiped away the wet trail on her skin with his fingertips. She blinked, as if that simple gesture had pulled her back to reality.
"Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story," he replied in a whisper.
She finally turned her head toward him, and for the first time, he saw something flicker in her gaze. Maybe not peace. Not yet. But an opening, a possibility.
"And it's your story. Feel free to hit them with a plot twist at any moment."
At least, that managed to make her smile. "You give great advice, Gunny. You should try following it yourself."
He raised an amused eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek and pulled her closer into his arms.
Donna's scars were invisible, but just as deep as his own.
Sam was extremely observant. It was probably her greatest strength—and the most annoying one, too. She noticed everything, the tiniest details, the most imperceptible shifts in people's behavior. An essential skill in the field, where a single second of inattention could mean the difference between life and death.
And Harvey? She knew him by heart. They had served together, gone through hell side by side, and as far as she was concerned, he was both an incredible leader and a reckless hothead who only listened to his superiors when it suited him.
She had never had a real family. No loving parents, no siblings to bicker with, no warm home to return to. She had been bounced from foster home to foster home, with nothing solid to build herself on. The military had been her first real anchor, her first sense of belonging, and Harvey was part of that—whether she liked it or not. He was like the brother she had never asked for, the insufferable kind you wanted to strangle. But as irritating, stubborn, and exasperating as he could be, she wouldn't trade him for anything. Because at the end of the day, he was still her family. And like any good family, it was her duty to tell him the truths he didn't want to hear.
She entered without making a sound, accustomed to moving unnoticed. But the moment her eyes landed on the scene before her, her instincts told her something was off.
A problem with hazel eyes, more freckles than she could count, and a damn mane of red hair.
.
Harvey and Donna were sitting in the living room, engaged in light conversation. She spoke animatedly, gesturing as she talked, while he watched her with that fake blasé expression.
A casual discussion, but Sam saw the details others would miss. The way Donna leaned just a little too much against the back of the couch, as if naturally drawn toward him. The way Harvey, supposedly indifferent, let his gaze linger on her a fraction of a second longer than necessary. This wasn't just familiarity, it was a silent connection. A language spoken without words.
And then, there was that small smile. Not the one he wore out of arrogance or defiance, but another. Subtler. More sincere.
She might not have even raised an eyebrow, if she didn't know Harvey so damn well.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked, her tone feigning innocence.
Harvey immediately looked up at her, and in a split second, his usual mask was back in place.
"How did you get in?"
"Through the door."
He sighed, visibly annoyed. "You know exactly what I mean."
She shrugged, that infuriating nonchalance of hers on full display. "I've worked with you forever. I know exactly how to get in, and you know damn well that doesn't mean security's compromised."
They locked eyes for a moment, their own silent language at play. After years of practice, of having to be discreet, communicating without words had become second nature.
Donna cleared her throat, pulling them back to reality. Harvey turned toward her for introductions.
"Donna, this is Sam. The biggest pain in the ass the world has ever known."
She raised an amused eyebrow. "Bigger than Mike?"
"You have no idea."
Sam rolled her eyes. "You really wanna compare who's the bigger asshole, Specter? Because we could talk about San Diego when—"
"What the hell are you doing here?" he cut in, clearly not in the mood to go down that road.
"Jessica sent me," she said, lifting the file in her hands.
The mention of their boss was enough to get his attention.
"Duty calls," he said to Donna with an apologetic smile as he got up.
He joined Sam, and they headed up the stairs, bickering like children, but she could feel Donna's eyes on her back the whole way. Once again, her instincts had been right.
.
Harvey shut the door behind them and walked over to the bar, pouring two drinks before handing one to Sam. Then he sank into the armchair across from her, his gaze locked onto the file she was still gripping tightly.
"What are you bringing me?" he finally asked.
Sam placed the folder on the coffee table and opened it, pulling out several documents.
"Photos. See if any of them match the guy from the parking lot so we can question him."
Harvey grabbed the pictures and flipped through them one by one. Faces of men—some blurry, some caught mid-conversation, others clearly pulled from surveillance footage. All connected to events or places where Donna had been. He studied them with absolute focus, searching for the detail that would confirm one of them was their guy.
Then he stopped. His expression hardened.
"Him. That's the guy from the parking lot."
Harvey turned the photo between his fingers, scrutinizing the face. Pale skin, long stringy hair, and a gaze just empty enough to be unsettling. His scrawny frame only added to the overall disheveled look.
"His name is Gary Douglas. An obsessive fan," Sam said, checking another file.
Harvey raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.
"He shows up at every event Donna attends. He's got pictures of her all over his social media, tracks her every move. We managed to get statements from security guards who've seen him try to force his way toward her before. Nothing arrest-worthy, but classic stalker behavior."
Harvey closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep his rage from boiling over. "He has to be arrested."
"For what, exactly? Being obsessed with her? If that were a crime, half the country would be in jail."
He opened his eyes, and Sam immediately saw that he wasn't going to accept that answer.
"He followed us at six in the morning. It's probably him who sent the letters, who tailed us in a car, and who broke in just to jerk off on the bed. And you're telling me we can't do anything?"
Sam met his gaze head-on, her voice calm but firm.
"The key word here is 'probably'. We can't do anything without proof, and you know that."
He abruptly got up, frustration radiating off him as he started pacing the room. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to act, to do something, anything, to make sure Donna was never threatened by this creep again. But he also knew Sam was right. Without evidence, they were stuck. There was always a tiny chance it could be someone else.
He ran a tense hand over his neck before stopping in front of the large window, watching the wind stir the trees in the yard. His face was tight, marked by exhaustion and barely contained anger.
Sam joined him, staring out at the vast property as well. She let a few seconds pass, then said, almost too calmly, "You need to stop this."
Harvey didn't take his eyes off the glass. "Stop what?"
She let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head slightly. "Don't play dumb with me, Specter. I'm talking about you not being able to keep it in your pants."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to tamp down his irritation. "That's none of your business."
Sam let out a bitter laugh. "You think Jessica will feel the same way when she finds out?"
He finally turned to face her, his eyes burning with a mix of defiance and frustration. "You planning to rat me out, Wheeler?"
She held his gaze without flinching, an unmistakable warning in her dark eyes. "I'm trying to keep you from getting yourself killed."
He exhaled a humorless chuckle and turned back to the window. "I've got it under control."
"Then control it by ending it," she sliced.
"Sam—"
"Cut the bullshit, Harvey."
Her voice was sharper now, colder, and Harvey knew she wasn't going to back down. "You know I'm right. End it. Because if you don't, Jessica will."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't give him the chance. She spun on her heel and walked away, her stride quick and decisive.
Harvey watched her go until she disappeared down the hallway. He remained there, unmoving, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.
Because what made Sam so damn annoying was also the fact that she was rarely wrong.
He had to end this. For Donna's safety. Because as long as he was this involved, he wouldn't be able to do his job properly. He knew it. Sam knew it. And if Jessica found out, she wouldn't hesitate for a second to pull him from the case.
Harvey clenched his fists, angry at his own stupidity. He hated this feeling. This sense of being trapped, of losing control. A man who had built his entire career and personal life on always staying one step ahead now found himself caught in a game he could no longer control.
The first thing Donna thought was how could she be dry with so much rain falling? It was dark, the rain was pouring down in torrents, crashing against the asphalt with a deafening roar. And yet, she felt nothing. Not a single drop on her skin, not the slightest shiver.
She looked down at her body to be sure and realized she was in pajamas. Which was strange, because she never went outside in pajamas, let alone barefoot. And why wasn't this damn rain wetting her?!
She lifted her eyes to the sky, trying to understand. But no tangible explanation came. The only thing she could see was the full moon. So immense it seemed disproportionate, almost unreal behind the buildings of Manhattan.
The sound of an engine pulled her out of her thoughts. A car was approaching in the distance, and the harsh glare of its headlights blinded her so much that she instinctively raised a hand in front of her eyes.
But she knew this street. For the first time, she looked around, and her blood ran cold. She knew exactly where she was, and even though she couldn't confirm it yet, she knew exactly which car was coming. This was the moment when her life had shifted from the best to the worst, and she was about to live it.
Donna squinted, her hand still raised to lessen the intensity of the lights, until her gaze finally locked onto the vehicle. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird.
It was his car. Peter's car. The silhouette behind the wheel was blurry due to the reflections and the rain, but she had no doubt.
"PETER!"
Her voice cut through the air, but it was lost immediately, smothered by the rain.
"Stop!" she screamed, her voice torn with panic.
But he couldn't hear her. He couldn't see her. The car kept moving forward, passed right by her, and continued down the road without slowing down.
"Don't turn!" she pleaded, chasing after the car. She started running, trying to catch up even though she knew it was impossible. "Don't go through that intersection! Brake, please, Peter! Brake!"
Nothing. He kept going. As if she didn't exist. As if she weren't there at all.
Her bare feet slapped against the asphalt as she pushed herself harder, water splashing around her, but she still felt nothing. She was screaming so hard her throat hurt, but nothing could stop the inevitable.
And then she saw it. That enormous puddle. The moment that had changed everything.
No.
No, no, no…
"Don't drive into it! Peter! Listen to me!"
But it was too late. The tires screeched on the water, and the car violently skidded across the road.
Donna couldn't breathe, couldn't move forward. She stood frozen in place, unable to look away from what was happening. Her stomach twisted as she saw the curb, the tree, the unrelenting trajectory.
Then, the impact. So brutal that the front of the car crumpled on it, the twisted metal screaming under the force of the crash. The silence that followed was louder than anything else. Everything was still. Only the sound of the rain remained.
The world tilted around her as she bolted toward the car, her heart pounding wildly. The front of the vehicle was crushed against the tree, the bodywork warped, the hood smoking under the relentless rain.
She gripped the edge of the door, her trembling fingers slipping against the cold metal. "Peter?"
She whispered his name like a plea. Her vision blurred with the tears welling in her eyes.
The interior was cloaked in shadows, but she could see the deployed airbag, the silhouette still sitting behind the wheel, his head resting against the headrest, deathly still.
Her heart skipped a beat. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.
"No…"
She yanked at the door, pulling with all her strength until it finally gave way with a dreadful creak. Her gaze fell on the driver, and her world stopped once again.
Those weren't the bright, lively blue eyes she had loved so much.
They were dark eyes. Familiar eyes. Eyes she would recognize anywhere.
The pale glow of the streetlights reflected off his lifeless skin, emphasizing the terrifying stillness of his features. He was there, his head tilted to the side, his chest unmoving, his eyes wide open. Empty. Lifeless.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, every part of her being refused to accept the image before her.
No, it couldn't be him. It wasn't supposed to be him. He was supposed to be okay. He couldn't do this to her. He knew how she felt. He was supposed to be careful. He had to be careful. For himself. For her. For Max.
Her trembling fingers reached for his hand, searching for warmth, for a sign of life. Of anything. But his skin was cold.
"NO!" she suddenly screamed, panic exploding inside her as she grabbed that handsome face between her palms. "Not you! You can't leave us too! Please!"
She shook him, refusing to accept the inevitable. But he didn't react. He would never react again.
.
Donna jolted upright, gasping for air, her heart pounding wildly. Her sheets were soaked with sweat, her breathing erratic. It took her a few seconds to register where she was.
Her bedroom. Her bed. Nothing but the familiar darkness and the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows.
Just a nightmare. That's all it was. But it felt so real.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady the tremors still wracking her body. Her stomach was in knots, her throat dry as if she had actually screamed. She glanced down at her hands, clenched tightly around the sheets, her fingers white from the tension.
The image of Harvey, inert, his empty eyes staring back at her clung to her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push it away, but it was burned into her, searing and unbearable.
For a brief moment, the urge to get up, to go to him, to press a hand against his chest just to feel the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing overwhelmed her. She wanted to hear his voice, his sarcastic tone telling her she was overreacting.
But she forced herself to stay in her bed.
If she woke him up, what would she even say? That she had dreamt of his death and was terrified of losing him? That she couldn't go through another loss like Peter's?
She couldn't. So instead, she lay back down, her heart still racing, her sheets cold and clinging to her skin.
She knew what she had to do. She couldn't take that risk. She couldn't go through that again. She had to end this.
No feelings, my ass.