A date. When Thomas asks her first thoughts should have been about attraction, chemistry, and long-held rules applying to the man actually asking. Instead, they're about Harvey. She blames her broken relationship history and fear. Why face truths when excuses fit like the perfect shoe?

Her plan is to go home and search for what to wear for her date the next evening, then soak in a tub fantasizing with help of the pleasured vibration of her favorite toy. An attractive, tall Russian furniture designer CEO luring her away from the man forever invading when she tried to keep him out.

Harvey invades before she can make it out of the building. A revolving door circling her in guilt right back inside. Guilt, not hope.

So many moments. Too many memories. Years held in place by uncertainty.

The three things sit in the forefront of her mind, words from tired gatekeepers that had cleaned up the Harvey mess thirteen years too many. She couldn't do this anymore.

She finds herself in the office she tries to avoid as much as possible these days, and especially on late nights. She plays with the fingers of one hand between the opposite ones while staring where his album collection once resided. Those have moved on to a new place. Why can't she?

The brushing of his pants from his stride alerts her, and she braces to face him.

Instead of curiosity or a soft grin, she sees stiff steps, a pulsing in his temple, and a slight jut of his angular jaw. He's lost his jacket somewhere along the night, and his sleeves are rolled. The look makes her heart race.

He scans over her as if to settle a growing rage, ending somewhere midbody on her front-zippered dress and then his gaze lands on her face. "You're using clients as a dating pool now?"

He already knows. Her lips part and she pulls in a breath before she jumps into his storm. "Are you really one to lecture on dating ethics?"

She almost regrets the words as soon as they come out. The heat in his expression fades to something unreadable, letting her know the jab is too soon.

"So you heard about Thomas."

"A client," he amends. Hard eyes are leveled her way, his fingers flexing in the slight way only she would notice.

She knows the next bit will hit worse. "He's not. He's leaving the firm. He said he was telling Alex."

"And you're really going to let your libido make us lose a client?" He motions low between them, the implication of where he's indicating matching the words.

His accusation ignites a dormant rage, acid poured on her base. She marches toward him. "Don't you dare accuse me of that."

His eyes widen, stance falling back.

The scene of her approaching him rapidly must feel too unsafe against old memories. The realization alone tells her she's had enough. She's calling him on it first. "We both know what this is about."

She expects him to deflect, or throw an accusation back in the mix.

Instead, he's oddly calm, hands stuffed in his pockets, an almost resolve to whatever this moment is leading to in a way that's unsettling. "And I don't think you're being honest about what that is."

Her mouth falls open in incredulity. "No, you aren't. This is about it bothering you, which is a nice way to say jealous."

He nods his head, she's sure far from agreement but from acceptance of the growing fight. "Is that what I am?"

It's a dare, and she's long ago let go of expecting him to ever play fairly enough to assume defeat. "You want the truth? He was going to leave because of the way you acted in that meeting. Not because he asked me out. So if it's just about him being a client—"

"Why would you think I'm jealous?"

She's thrown off balance by the question, not sure where he's taking this. "Because you're you," she says, feeling unsteady.

His brow draws together. "Do I have reason to be?" He swings his heat, like drawing back his bat before taking his swing. "Why would I? You're not my secretary anymore." He steps closer, and his gaze drops to her chest and back. "Not my girlfriend, right?"

"No," she answers with caution. There's a building frustration on his face, and for some reason she feels like running.

"Why are you in my office, Donna?" He shrugs his shoulders in question.

"Because I was…" She stops, uncertain how to keep ahead when all of this feels so combative.

"What?" he challenges.

"I thought you might react this way and I thought I should make you aware."

"Because he's our client."

"Yes."

He's staring her down, so much left unsaid lined up behind him. Always repressed, forever unsaid. His shoulders fall and he looks away. "Fine. Have a great time."

His tone is clipped and sour, and by the read of his expression he's anything but settled.

His mood is undeserved. He doesn't get to bend her life at will based on his inability to move. She's taking his way out; she's told him what she intended and she doesn't need to give him more. "Goodnight, Harvey." She turns to leave.

"So that's it?" He asks to her back and she stops. "You're dating this guy and what? You move on, we forget everything that's happened? Am I moving on, too?"

She takes a breath before spinning around, not able to let that go. "Move on from what? I don't know what you're doing because it sure as hell hasn't included me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"No more of this, Harvey. You said before our boundary lines were perfectly clear. Well, this is my boundary."

"And what was your response to that? I think it was something about being blurry, right?"

She shakes her head. "I'm done."

"Say you don't want me. And this is over."

If he'd shoved her it might have been less jolting. She shakes her head attempting to clear the fog she feels trapped under. "You've never wanted more. We're friends and we've always been friends. So why are you making this an issue?"

His head tilts. "You did when I was with someone."

She sighs at the memory of his therapist-girlfriend, shoulders dropping. "One time. In over a decade. Which you somehow think gives you the right to be upset?"

"I thought something was unsaid between us."

She blinks. "What?"

He takes a step closer, erasing the distance she'd created by almost leaving. "You kissed me. I chose you and I broke up with Paula. You invited me in."

"I was trying to be a good friend," she evens, avoiding his eyes. "And you chose me only after—"

"We laughed over drinks." He's moved again, and suddenly she's hot and he feels too close.

"We've always done that," she offers weakly.

"We danced the entire night of Mike and Rachel's wedding."

She pauses, her insides tumbling in knots. "I told you I didn't feel anything."

"And I told you it affected me."

"What are you doing, Harvey?"

"I think you know." His voice is low and deep, making it hard to breathe.

She catches her mouth hanging open. "No. All I know is you're getting in the way when you've done absolutely shit since all of this happened."

"Neither have you."

"Because you made me promise it never would!" Her arms raise at her sides, exasperation building.

"I was with her then."

It stings. Her. It shouldn't. Frenzied frustration climbs, brewing a cloud that hazes up every reply. She sighs heavily, letting truth fall after the exhale. "Then. And it's been months and we're still in the same place. I don't want to be anymore."

"Donna." Suddenly his fingers are wrapped around her wrist and she stills, lifting her face to him. He takes another step, stopping just a layer between them.

He's rigid. She knows he's terrified. Only the movement of his chest tells her he's more than stone. Maybe he wants to prove something to himself. And while she'd bet on him in any other circumstance, when it comes to this she has no faith.

"We both know you won't," she challenges.

Somewhere between that cocky young lawyer that relentlessly flirted he'd turned into a man petrified with a resolve he'd never cross that line. She's not giving him the chance anymore.

Before she can leave their chests collide and his lips are on hers. He's still reserved and she's frozen. Not willing to give in from sheer stubbornness and shock. A part of her feels desperate. Wanting to shake him away because of fear or maybe stop the raging emotions being close enough to smell his woodsy aftershave creates. He's so soothing she could drown in him or lose herself, then be ripped away all at once. This is a test. She's failing fast once he's pulling her closer.

His slow inhale circles around her, breathing her in. She feels it against her lips as he exhales and his chest falls. The pads of his fingers gently skate up her arm, over her shoulder and against her neck until they're at her face. He angles his lips, his thumb brushing her cheek and then he's tasting her rather than pressing. Multiple brushes against hers growing more urgent, building her own need. Whatever wall holding him back has snapped, he's open and fully willing, her response growing even more eager too. When their tongues finally touch he groans into her mouth, the sound plunging her need low while his lips turn hungry against hers.

A part of her wants to cry into his lips. The other part wants to shove him, slap him for starting this without explanation or the answers she deserves. She should have more resolve than this. Body not craving with need for any part of him to fuck her—tongue, dick, or digits. If her anger controlled like she wanted maybe she'd be the one to shove him until he tumbled backward onto the surface of his sofa, while she rode him hard and without attachment, getting off for herself and not them. Using him for pleasure in the center of the dual sets of glass. One in front of the world, the other in front of theirs.

Suddenly his body is coaxing her backward until her spine meets the pillar next to his glass. Her palms slide up his chest to meet behind his head, coaxing him closer, her lower half pressing into his body already pinning hers. His hips rock and the contact of his erect groin on her abdomen makes her gasp against his mouth. Her need has grown faster than her brain can keep up. This feels like everything and the loss of all solid ground all at once. She's suddenly thankful to be pressed between a pillar and his wanting body.

Pillar. Glass. Office.

His mouth has moved to her jaw, working its way down her jugular while his thigh parts her legs and a hand fists fabric on her dress to find the bare skin of her thigh.

"Harvey," she manages; breathless.

He pulls his face back and watches her, fingers resting almost between her legs more than halfway up her thigh. His pupils are large, his look so dark and wanting she almost trembles at needing to fulfill it for the both of them. He's asking with his eyes.

She swallows, almost involuntarily widening her leg a touch in answer. His travel is slow, purposeful as he studies her face. Every inch he reaches higher brings more tingles and heat between her legs. He stops just at the apex of her thighs, then brushes her laced center with the pad of his thumb. Her breath hitches and staggers out as he traces the center. She can feel she's pooling with wetness and she knows he can too.

"If someone sees—"

"They won't. Are you saying you want me to stop?" His thumb pauses.

She feels herself pant out air, nearly dizzy with want at the idea of disengaging now. She's not chancing fate to block the way after waiting for so long. She curves her spine to press more firmly against him, asking with her desperation while her head does an unneeded shake of confirmation she doesn't. He presses in further, then searches to the side for the edge of her panties.

She's already dizzy and unsteady on her legs when his fingers slip between her lips, maneuvering space until he brushes her clit. Her knees nearly buckle at the contact. His mouth finds her neck again, suction she hopes won't leave marks. His fingers brush her nerves in a rhythm, just stopping short over her entrance each time as need climbs.

Almost without warning he finds his way inside. He stills his fingers at first then wiggles them until he gets them deeper. She's grabbing his arm as he begins to thrust them in and out, thumb flicking across her clit, drawing her close too easily.

Her palm slides down his chest, feeling the tense muscles over his ribs and abdomen until she grips him over his strained pants.

He hisses at the contact, his head shaking against her chest before pulling back to see her. "I'm not lasting, and you'll recover faster."

She wants to protest. More than anything she wants to free him and have all of him possess her. Instead she maps out his delectable length and then pulls back while he's doing an extra hard thrust of his fingers.

His opposite hand pulls at her zipper, freeing it open just enough to get to her breasts. He takes a laced nipple in his mouth, the warmth and saliva getting through. She's getting so close. He rolls it between gentle teeth and she might as well be liquid she feels so loose.

She feels around her sides, finding nothing more than a lamp and the side of his shelves for support.

"Use my shoulders."

He's placing open mouth kisses over her cleavage and neck. She rests palms on each side of his neck, loving the firmness there. The feelings of muscles shifting in his lowered shoulder as he's working her to orgasm does nothing for the headiness she's feeling. Tension builds. The tightness inside from her legs so close together with his invasion making her ache and want to beg for more and harder to make the feeling blend in to ease the delectable pain.

His body is lowering and suddenly he's hooking her leg with his opposite arm and raising back up, giving him more room between her legs. She's wobbly on her single heel but when he starts hitting the front spot on her walls her eyes slam shut. His thumb and the fingers inside seesaw between the two pleasure zones and she has no room for bearings.

Her hips chase his hands, needing more but not able to force herself to communicate beyond movements and involuntary sound.

He gets the message. His thumb presses just a bit more, the tightening in her belly mounting.

She opens her eyes and he's there, watching her, like he's seeing her at her fullest for the first time. It's almost too much. If she wasn't gripped by a giant ball of bursting tension the thought might take hold more.

"Let go for me."

Her eyes close again briefly, the thought seering from her mind to her deepest parts. She's flushed, on fire. Her legs have long ago lost all control, and she's only upright by his strength and the solidity behind her. It grips her before she even has time to expect it. Taking over like wanting him had, complete and rough, unexpected in crests of pleasure, pulsing against his slowing fingers. He finishes, pulling out leaving her aching. Abused in the best ways, longing for even more. Her leg that had been held up meets the floor and his arm hooks around her waist. Aftershocks let nothing fade away. He pulls his fingertips between his lips and before she can make a remark he's kissing her, hard and purposeful. Her taste on his tongue, him invading her mouth again and she curses her body from pulsing from the idea.

He practically glides her to his couch, sitting close beside her, fingers tracing her hair. His teeth are skating over his bottom lip, and there's a self-satisfied grin on his face while he gawks at her.

"Stop that," she says.

"Stop what?" he asks cheekily.

"Looking like the cat that just ate the canary."

He tilts his head, his brow raising in suggestion while he struggles to contain his grin.

"Harvey."

"Later."

She rolls her eyes.

"Still planning on going out with Thomas?" He smirks.

"Not now."

"You going to tell him?"

She shoots him a pointed look. "Not with you around."

"That might be a problem because I wasn't planning on letting you out of my sight for awhile."

"You think you have a say in that?"

He grins. "Come on, Donna."

She smooths out her dress a bit more, putting her zipper back in place. He's still hard, and something about the fact makes her realize an orgasm didn't make her not still angry with him. "Why tonight?" she demands.

His shoulders drop. "We really have to do this?"

"Yes." She leaves no room for arguing. Because she deserves more than him getting her off without an explanation.

He doesn't answer at first, staring at no specific place across his office. "Because I thought we'd been heading here for a long time. I couldn't risk losing you until I had a sign. But after what happened with Paula, I was never going to risk someone coming in between us again."

"So finger banging was the first step?"

"Christ Donna." His head falls back.

"Come on, Harvey. Discussing your feelings? Heartfelt words? Offering more?" Any would have been the more obvious choice if he was really ready.

His brows raise. "You kind of encouraged it."

She stared at her lap, shaking her head.

"Donna, I love you," he blurts out.

Her mouth hangs open, breath trapped in her throat tangled between hope and old panic.

"Watching you while I made you come is now one of the top favorite moments of my life."

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, despite the protest building in her throat. Her eyes can't help but gravitate to his.

"Almost every top memory minus a few early ones have to do with you. And I don't want any of the rest to not include you too."

A heavy sigh forces its way out. "So what you're saying is you're intensely jealous and possessive. And you still love me but won't tell me how. You do look at me sexually and you like having me around."

He's biting the inside of his cheek, jaw working and ready to throttle her with an argument or pin her beneath him. "You know, you haven't said what you want from me either."

"Besides having the urge to punch you right now?"

He grins and she hates how fucking devastating he looks wrapped in all-knowing crinkly eyes and dimples.

"If you're going to talk physical, I want to take care of that problem in your lap with my hands, my mouth, and…" His grin stops her from giving him the last word. "Because I feel like you have the upper hand right now and I don't like it."

"I think all three can be arranged. I'll even take the punch if it helps things along."

She punches his arm, hard enough for not much more than a physical tease. He works his jaw in a way that makes a surge strike between her legs again. She just knows his pants are tighter again.

"Are you finding us somewhere more private, Specter?"

He stands up, tilting his head and looking down at her. "I'm finding us a bed, because with what I'm doing next you'll want a soft surface." He grabs her hands and helps her up, raising her face to face with him.

She circles her arms around his neck and his hands rest at each side of her waist. "I do love you, Harvey."

The widest grin she's ever seen him possess stretches across his face. "I love you too, Donna. And I think we both know how."

A/N's: Thank you so much for reading!

I know I haven't been posting as often, and as many of you know, I've been going through hard things. I mention this only to say that my driving force behind making it through has been the support and friendships I've made from this fandom. By taking a break from fiction writing and coming back to fanfiction I've gained more than I could imagine. I appreciate the support more than I can say, and for having a place to put the words that both torment me to write, but also torment me not to. I'm especially appreciative and grateful for the incredible friendships I've found in Bew0G, mieh, Specter-Paulsen, and notwithhaste. All four unique, all four very special to me. So in the US month of thanks, thank you!