The halls of Pearson Specter Litt buzzed with the usual morning chaos, but Donna Paulsen owned every inch of the space she traversed. Her stilettos struck the polished floor with a commanding *click-click-click*, a metronome of authority that parted the sea of junior associates like Moses himself. Yet, beneath her tailored navy blazer and pencil skirt, a secret simmered—a delicious, infuriating reminder of Harvey Specter’s early morning indiscretion. The evidence of their stolen moment in his office lingered between her thighs, a damp warmth that made her squirm with every step. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let it show, but the subtle hitch in her gait betrayed her.
“Get it together, Donna,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a low growl as she approached a trembling junior associate clutching a stack of files. The poor kid—Greg, or maybe Gary, she didn’t care—fumbled with a misplaced memo, and Donna’s patience, already fraying, snapped like a cheap garter.
“Do I look like I have time for your kindergarten-level screw-ups?” she barked, her green eyes flashing as she towered over him, hands on her hips. “Fix it. Now. Or I’ll have you fetching coffee for the mailroom until you’re fifty.”
Greg-or-Gary stammered an apology and scurried off, leaving Donna to exhale sharply. The irritation wasn’t just about the paperwork. It was the maddening distraction of Harvey’s aftermath, a slick reminder that clung to her with every move. She could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way he’d pressed her against his desk at 6:45 a.m., whispering filthy promises in her ear. And now, here she was, a walking crime scene of their lust, trying to run a law firm.
She settled at her desk, the leather chair cool against her heated skin, and crossed her legs. Then uncrossed them. Then crossed them again. The client file in front of her blurred as the sensation intensified, a slow trickle that made her bite her lip. She glanced around the glass-walled office, ensuring no one lingered too close, and shifted in her seat. Her breath hitched at the illicit thrill of it all—the risk, the memory, the sheer audacity of being in this state at work. A flush crept up her neck, and she cursed under her breath.
“Damn messy bastard,” she muttered, a wry smirk tugging at her lips. “Couldn’t even clean up his own mess, could you, Harvey?”
The phone on her desk trilled, shattering her reverie. She snatched it up, forcing her voice into its usual polished cadence. “Donna Paulsen,” she said, crisp and professional, even as the heat between her legs pulsed with a mind of its own. The client on the other end droned on about a merger clause, and Donna nodded absently, her free hand gripping the edge of her desk. She could barely hear the man over the thrum of her own body, her mind drifting to Harvey’s hands earlier that morning—those long fingers gripping her hips, the way he’d growled her name as he—
“Ms. Paulsen, are you still there?” the client’s voice cut in, sharp and annoyed.
“Of course,” she snapped, her tone like a whip. “I’m always here. Unlike some people who can’t seem to read a contract without a babysitter. Email me the revisions by noon, or I’ll handle it myself—and trust me, you don’t want that.” She slammed the receiver down before he could reply, her chest heaving.
Leaning back in her chair, she flicked through her inbox, but the words on the screen might as well have been hieroglyphs. Her mind was elsewhere—back in Harvey’s office, the scent of his cologne, the scrape of his stubble against her throat. She adjusted her skirt, the fabric brushing against her sensitive skin, and a shiver shot through her, sharp and electric. Her fingers twitched, itching to do something about the building tension, but she clenched them into a fist instead.
A knock at the glass door jolted her upright. Louis Litt poked his head in, his beady eyes scanning her with that infuriating mix of curiosity and desperation for approval. “Donna, quick question—do you think Harvey would mind if I borrowed his—”
“No,” she cut him off, her voice a blade. “And if you value your ability to walk, Louis, you’ll turn around and pretend this conversation never happened.”
Louis blinked, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before he mumbled something incoherent and retreated. Donna’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. Alone again, she leaned back, her gaze darting to the empty hallway beyond her office. The hum of the firm buzzed around her—phones ringing, associates arguing, the printer whirring—but all she could focus on was the ache that refused to relent.
Her hand hovered over her thigh, fingers trembling with the urge to slip beneath the hem of her skirt. Professionalism screamed at her to stop, to get a grip, to be the unflappable Donna Paulsen everyone feared and admired. But the primal need clawing at her insides was louder, more insistent. She smirked to herself, a wicked glint in her eye.
“Screw it,” she whispered, her voice dripping with defiance. “Harvey owes me this one.”
Her fingers dipped beneath the fabric, deft and discreet, finding the heat that had been tormenting her all morning. Her breath quickened, her movements hidden beneath the desk as she bit her lip to stifle any sound. The office carried on around her, oblivious to the storm brewing in her chair. Her pulse raced, her body tightening with every subtle stroke, so close to the edge she could taste it—
The door swung open with a force that made the glass rattle. Jessica Pearson stood in the frame, her presence a thunderclap, her piercing gaze pinning Donna in place. Donna froze, her hand still beneath her skirt, her heart slamming against her ribs. Jessica’s eyebrow arched, a silent accusation that could’ve cut through steel.
“Well, Donna,” Jessica drawled, her voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything… critical.”
Donna’s mind raced, her lips curling into a daring smirk even as her pulse thundered. She withdrew her hand with deliberate slowness, smoothing her skirt as if nothing had happened, and leaned forward, meeting Jessica’s stare head-on. “Not at all, Jessica. Just handling some… personal business. Care to join me, or are you here to lecture me on office etiquette?”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing behind the steel. “Oh, I think we’re past etiquette, don’t you? Let’s have a little chat about boundaries, shall we?”
Donna’s smirk widened, her voice dropping to a purr. “Boundaries? Sweetheart, I broke those with Harvey years ago. But by all means, pull up a chair. I’ve got all day.”
Jessica stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a deliberate click, and Donna knew this conversation was about to get very interesting.
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