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I’m not the only one noticing—seeing how his muscles ripple and flex as he moves like a lynx through the ring. But I’d like to think I see details they don’t—details that can only be picked up on after working as closely as we have, after knowing someone as intimately as we do—in every possible way.
His eyes are bright and focused, the brown deeper than usual—like dark chocolate. His hair is shining with sweat, and I watch as a single bead slides down his forehead, along the jut of his jaw, past his collarbone, and underneath the neck of his shirt.
My brain flashes to a memory of his chiseled torso, covered in a sheen of sweat as he hovered above me, whipped cream spread messily between us. A memory I try to repress for the sake of all we’ve built—if we went forward, could we ever go back? I keep the thoughts mostly at bay during the day—when he’s shrouded in a custom Tom Ford, and I’m in my armor—a professional dress. But it’s harder to forget the way he moved inside of me years ago as I watch him dip and flow through the ring.
I’m wearing a leather skirt and blouse, and I have no doubt the same sort of thoughts crossed his mind, too, when I walked in—his eyes roamed every inch of me, so distracted that he barely noticed Mike and Rachel showing up to surprise him.
“GET HIM, HARVEY,” Rachel yells next to me, her hands cupped around her mouth to make her yell louder, prominently showing off the stack of diamonds on her left ring finger. My best friend is happy, and I’m elated that she and Mike decided to show up and cheer for Harvey. He’s fighting a Broadway Actor who played a boxer on the big screen last year, all for charity, to get gifts for needy families in time for the Holidays.
“Yeah!” Mike yells. Harvey’s foe falls backward into the corner after a hard strike. Harvey grins—that devilish grin that makes the crowd think everything is easy and effortless for him. And sometimes I think everything is simple—but then I think of all we’ve been through, and I see the depth, the pain, the pleasure behind that signature smirk.
Harvey steps to the opposing corner and stands on the ropes, his arms in a victory pose. His eyes scan the crowd wildly until he lands on Mike and Rachel—and finally me. He stares. I shoot him a wink, and his grin gets even wider.
TWO HOURS LATER, we’ve raised enough money to feel great about ourselves. We decide on a nightcap and catch up at Harvey's. I kick off my stilettos as I enter, quickly crossing to the liquor cabinet and grabbing the Macallan. Harvey pulls down four glasses.
“London is gorgeous; you have to check it out,” Rachel beams as she tells us about their European honeymoon. She and Mike laugh and banter, raucous and happy, telling us about their adventures and new house.
I sit next to Harvey at his bar and realize his thigh is emanating heat—heat that my body senses, drawing me closer to him. I’m watching Rachel’s lips move, but I’m hearing nothing—distracted by the smell of Harvey’s sweat. I feel a yearning that I manage to deny so easily at work but seems so ridiculous to ignore as I sit in his apartment.
“I need to shower,” Harvey says to the group, still in his t-shirt and shorts from the fight.
I lean into him, whispering in his ear, “Don’t.”
He turns to look at me, his brow knit tightly in confusion.
Rachel and Mike smirk at us, as I pull Harvey’s ear to my lips. “I like you like this, don’t shower.”
I see his pupils dilate as he pulls away from me; he’s a shark smelling blood in the water as his hand moves to my thigh. It’s my rule, after all, not his, and at this moment, I can’t stop picturing his sweat-covered body enveloping me.
“Anyway….” Rachel says, giggling. “Catching up has been amazing, but I’m gonna take this hunk of mine home and remind him why what we have is so special,” she winks.
“Maybe you should try it sometime, Harvey. Making someone realize that they’re that special,” Mike says as Rachel pulls him toward the door.
*
I LICK MY LIPS SUBCONCIOUSLY as the air hangs heavy between Harvey and me. His hand squeezes my thigh as we watch our friends put on their coats and wave goodbye.
I hear the door click, my ears are ringing and I feel a pulse between my legs, but I manage to focus on the one word from Harvey’s mouth—he takes my breath away.
“Donna,” he whimpers.
His fingers skate higher up my thigh and his mouth moves toward mine—slow. He moves and holds and we stare at each other. “I have to know,” he says, and then his lips are on mine, the soft heat of his mouth pushing breath into me, and thank God because I find myself breathless and limp within seconds of his attention.
Every kiss with him is hotter than I remembered it could be. His hands run through my hair, pulling my mouth tight against his. His tongue works against mine, lathing and licking. I inhale his musky, sweaty scent, and I know none of my boundaries will keep me from making him mine tonight.
“Why tonight?” he whispers into my ear, his hot lips dropping wet open kisses on my neck. “After all this time?”
Before I can answer, he’s wrapped his hands around my ass and lifted me onto the bar top, forcing my skirt to ride up over my hips. He closes in on the space between my legs; I watch him palm his cock through his sweatpants. Fuck.
“Allow me,” I say, reaching down and feeling his divine bulge. I gasp as memories of it fucking me hard flow into my brain. It was the best sex of my life then; it still stands as the best sex of my life even now.
“Why, Donna? Tell me,” he demands. His fingers stretch up from my ass and pull my blouse out of the skirt.
“Mmm,” I roughly run my fingers through his hair, moving his face so I can sneak a peek at his gaze before licking and tasting the salty skin on his neck. “You were all sweaty. It reminded me of you hovering over me, giving it to me, sweat covering your brow.”
He grunts, liking that answer and sealing his approval with a soft kiss. “But I don't think I have any whipped cream?”
I smile as I grab his bulge again. Then, feign sadness, “No whipped cream?”
I pull him close and whisper in his ear, “Do you have a tomato? I hear they’re the most sensual fruit.”
He pushes back from me and laughs. “On second thought, we don’t need any props—I just need you on my bed now.”
“Yes, Harvey,” I reply sweetly.
I pop down from the bar and he wraps me aggressively in his arms all the way to his bedroom. One hand grabs me from behind and roughly palms my breast over the black lace while the other pulls down the zipper of my skirt. I pull his lips to my neck, and he licks me while I push my ass back against his cock.
In a move that only Harvey Specter could execute, he grabs my hand in his and spins me away—as if we’re dancing—I spin until I’m facing him now, and he pushes me softly onto the bed. I land, feeling the soft bounce of his mattress and watching as my tits jostle to the rhythm of the wave. He doesn’t miss it, squeezing his dick again before stripping off his T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Give me that,” I motion toward the T-shirt. He raises one eyebrow in surprise, shrugs, and tosses it to me.
I wad it in a ball, close my eyes, and press it against my nose, inhaling his scent. Oh fuck, I love this man.
I sense movement and flash my eyes open in time to watch him climb on top of me in nothing but his boxer briefs.
“You really have a kink for my sweat, huh, Donna?” His voice is deep and quiet; it’s world’s different than his office voice, even different from our first encounter when I think he was a little nervous. This is a man who’s confident—an animal who’s been hunting for too long and has finally run down the prey he desires: me.
“I’ve never been able to stop thinking about this—with you.” He whispers roughly as he litters kisses all over me—my collarbone, the valley between my breasts, the jut between my hips. He moves down and drags the sides of my panties along with him, and I’m immediately reminded of something of Harvey’s I’ve never stopped thinking about. His mouth.
“Oh god,” I wiggle as his hot tongue blazes against me. He reaches for my calves and throws them over his shoulders one at a time until it’s all of me open for all of him. He’s lapping at me now, twirling his tongue around my clit with each pass. My hands run through his hair, nails scratching and pulling him closer, tighter. “Harvey, please,” I beg.
He stops—lifting his face. I lean up on my elbows and find him smug and smiling, my wetness covering his mouth. “Please, what?” he smirks.
I push his mouth back against me and lay back. “Make me come,” I demand, teasing my covered nipple with my free hand.
He shoos it away, taking over, squeezing my breast. “Take this off,” he orders. I shift up slightly and pop the fastener of my bra; his hand is immediately back, gently squeezing my nipple.
“I’m so close, Harvey,” I whine. He grunts as he inserts one, then two fingers inside me and carefully sucks my clit into his mouth. “Oh, god.” As I fall over the edge, I feel his hand leave my nipple and spread across my chest—it feels possessive and right.
I can’t move. I’m not sure if I’m floating or sinking. My breath catches and I feel a warm shiver all over my body. No one makes me come like Harvey Specter.
“Donna…” he whispers softly in my ear. I reach blindly—eyes too heavy to open yet—and pull his mouth to mine, tasting myself on him.
“Mmmm,” I whine. “That was nice.”
“Nice, huh?” He teases.
I open my eyes and lock onto him. His dark chocolate irises burn into me. I notice a sheen of sweat across his face. “Worked yourself up, I see,” I shift up and run my open mouth along his jawline, tasting each drop of salt.
“I am worked up, Donna. Do you think you could help?” He palms himself again, and every time he does, I swear that bulge gets bigger.
Although I try to hide my amusement, one side of my mouth quirks into a large smile. “I always take care of you, don’t I, Harvey?” I reach down and tuck my hand underneath his boxers, feeling his velvety cock. “I always give you what you need.”
I move to my knees, remembering doggy style as his favorite position. I bend my elbows, allowing my cheek to lean down on the mattress. He kneels behind me, and his hands run along my back as his body drapes on mine. I feel his rigidness poke at my center.
“Condom?” I ask.
“I always do,” he replies. “Except with you before.”
“Me, too,” I gasp, “just take me.” I don’t want a single barrier between us. Not tonight. We constantly dance around each other: with the constructs of law, the physical barriers of a fiftieth-floor office. Tonight, it’s just our bodies, no boundaries.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp as he pushes inside me. He’s bigger than any other man I’ve been with. Go figure, God gave this man a brilliant brain, a beautiful face, a secret—massively sweet heart, and a cock that could please any woman upon sight.
“Oh my God, Donna,” he’s grunting into my ear as his body rocks in and out of mine. He wraps one hand around my chest, roughly grasping my breast, and his other gently re-initiates contact with my clit.
“Yes,” I encourage him. It’s perfectly timed—coming down from my first massive orgasm, I’m ripe for a second one.
I reach back and play, delicately palming his balls and using my fingertips to rub the part of his penis that doesn’t quite make it inside me. The action seems to surprise him; he growls and starts to fuck me harder and faster. “I wanna see you,” I say, remembering that haunting visual of him sweating above me years ago.
He flips us over and doesn’t miss a beat, pounding into me. I pull his face down for a kiss and suck hard on his lower lip. He’s flush and sweaty, and at this moment—he’s all mine. I wrap a leg around his hip, and he pulls it up even higher. The increased angle lets me access my clit again, and I rub it just a few times before I’m coming again. My pussy squeezes and clenches, and I can see torment cross his face as he holds on.
“Let go, baby,” I say, and with two more hard thrusts, he’s coming, his face shifting into a gaze of pure oblivion.
He crashes down on me, and I’m blanketed by his sweat and heat, and it’s everything I’ve needed, everything I’ve been denying myself. I bask in it, a full grin taking over my face.
I hear him inhale, and he works to shift off me slightly, wrapping his arms around me and resting his cheek against my chest. He lazily licks my nipple as he speaks, “So if you see me sweaty, you might—from time to time—abandon your rule?”
I mentally answer yes, but before I can respond that way, my mouth—my heart—forms its own answer, “What rule?”
He grins and kisses my lips softly, pulling the blanket to cover us, and I know it’s right. No more rules. No more boundaries. Just us.