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They're not in love. She's never lied about that.
They haven't even had sex, not really, not in the traditional sense. Someday they will, probably, if they find themselves in the right circumstance. If she's honest with herself, though, Donna hopes that day is a long time coming – pun completely intended, because this is better, and simpler, and she wants to see how high the tension can go.
She can't remember how it started, just one more shared ritual they have no one else will ever understand. In the beginning, she would slide her panties all the way off and conceal them in a desk drawer, but it's easier to just push them to the side, let her fingers work their way underneath until she can feel how hot she is, how wet, hardly even started and she's slick and ready, could probably get off in two minutes if she could get her fingers inside. Stuck here behind her desk, all she can do is tease, her right hand concealed in her lap, fingertips just brushing her clit, and her left tapping away on the keyboard as quick as ever. She pauses only for a moment, to buzz Harvey, and goes back to work, her face giving nothing away.
“Yes?”
Harvey's voice in her earpiece is clipped, distracted, and she wonders if he's too buried in work to play this game today. She won't mind if he is, happened before and will happen again, and she'll still get off just as hard, knowing he won't be able to help at least a few surreptitious glances. But she has to admit, it's more fun when they do it together, partners in crime, a secret shared.
She doesn't give a response to Harvey's question, and that's the sign, that's how he knows. Donna peeks at him slowly over her shoulder, suppressing a grin when she sees his face. No one else would be able to tell, but she can read it on him as clear as day – his eyes darkening, the way his shoulders tense, that particular slant of his thin lips – and a smug satisfaction comes over her, followed quickly by a twist of desire. Wrapped around her little finger, still, much as he'd deny it, and one day she's gonna shove him down beneath her pointed heel and prove it with her thighs around his face.
If she was alone right now, she'd be moaning at the thought. Instead, she just presses harder, tiny perfect little circles right where it matters, and listens to Harvey breathe in her ear.
She won't see anything if she turns around – the walls are glass, and this isn't exactly a deserted hallway – but he knows she's the only one who can hear him, knows he's the only one with any freedom at all to express what they're both feeling, and, well, he's Harvey. Of course he presses the advantage.
There are no words, but Harvey doesn't need them. He grunts softly, under his breath, and a moment later a low hum follows, rumbling satisfaction that means he's got his pants open under his desk, one hand beginning to slowly stroke his cock. She licks her lips and wonders if he's matching her rhythm, if the sometimes uncanny link they share extends quite that far.
She stares blankly through her computer screen and refocuses her attention, reaching her fingers back to wet them again and swallowing hard at the needy ache in her nipples. If she was home right now, sprawled out naked in bed, she'd be twisting them just right between her fingers, one after the other, little zinging arrows of pleasure banking higher and higher and making her arch up off the sweaty sheets.
She arches her back now, getting a delicious tease of pressure from her clothes, and in her ear Harvey groans. She glances back at him again and catches him staring, not even pretending to work any more, and he should really be more careful, because she can see the flex of his arm, his lips parted now and his eyes boring into her like any minute he might come right through the glass. She raises her eyebrows in a warning, and in her earpiece he practically snarls, but a moment later he's composed again.
Good boy, she thinks, and almost gasps aloud herself when she imagines saying that to him for real, the way he'd thank her with his words, and then, with her permission, his tongue.
She's the only one who knows that about him, Donna thinks. She's not even sure if he knows it himself. Harvey's never been one for introspection.
She lets the fantasy run wild, then, imagines Harvey's cock hard and straining and wet, all wet for her, the way it must be right now, fucking his hand and wishing it was her. She'd put him on his back and kneel over him, so close, close enough to let him feel her heat, but just, just out of reach. He'd rail and curse and cajol, and eventually he'd beg, and she would laugh and let herself sink down onto his desperate cock, let all her weight rest on him and just be still for a moment, drink in the sensations of Harvey deep inside her and the needy groan rumbling out under her hands where they lay heavy on his chest. Then, when she couldn't wait any more, she'd ride him, hard and purposeful, throwing her head back and closing her eyes and working herself until she came clenching around him.
She's close now, right on the edge, and she hopes to god no one comes to her desk in the next two minutes, because she thinks her heart will stop if she gets interrupted now. She leans back in her chair and spreads her legs apart under her desk and shoves two fingers into her sopping wet hole. In her ear, she hears Harvey's loud breath stutter and stop for a single gasping moment as he strokes himself to the end, and she allows herself a grin, one teeth-baring cheek-straining beautiful grin of victory, because they're not touching, not even in the same room, but she did that, turned him in the space of ten minutes from the stoic, focused, perfectly-pressed businessman to a shaking, sloppy mess. He'll be feeling this the rest of the day, no matter how carefully he tries to clean up.
It's that thought that sends Donna over the edge, and one hand flies to her lips, sharp pain of her teeth flying through her as she bites down on the curve of one finger, keeping her silence. The sensation only sends her higher, every muscle going tight and her hand sopping wet as she works herself through the last waves of the orgasm.
Thirty seconds and a couple of tissues later, she's right back to digging through her inbox, not a hair out of place, and Harvey is already on the phone, back to business himself.
They're not in love. They haven't even had sex.
Donna smiles at her reflection in the computer screen. This suits her just fine.