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"It's not dignified, you know."
Shit, thought Josh, placing his hand against the bathroom door to make sure he'd closed it properly. Being caught wizzing in the bathroom of the girls' suite would certainly be undignified.
But after he'd made his two-beer quota at the fundraiser downstairs, he'd switched to sparkling mineral water, and the combination had made for an urgent situation. The suite the women had staked out for dressing really had been closest.
He'd hoped to be able to go in, do his business, put the seat back down, and disappear with none of them the wiser.
But the female voices outside the door told him that was apparently not to be. He was going to have to brazen it out. Silently, he eased the toilet seat back to the girly position. Being suave, that would be the key. Suavity and an urbane yet casual air. He was campaign manager, after all. If he chose to walk into--or even make use of--the girl-suite, he would. The men's suite was too far away for a busy man like him.
Right. He surveyed himself in the mirror. Tux smoothed down. Tie straight. Fly checked, again, just in case.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Donna's voice. He froze.
"Panting after him like that. It's not dignified."
No, he hadn't imagined it. That was Lou's voice.
He was screwed. Those two would have a field day with this, in ways no other women could.
Except maybe CJ. Or Amy. Or Mrs. Bartlet. Or Mandy. And actually, Helen Santos pretty much thought he was a class-A dick, too, and she wasn't shy about expressing her views these days.
A reexamination of his relationship with the other gender would have to wait, however. With those two out there, he needed to carefully time his entrance.
Eavesdrop.
Whatever.
"I was not panting after anyone." Donna's voice was mostly calm, with just a hint of annoyance.
He frowned. Donna was panting after someone?
"A) You were and B) you were being embarrassingly obvious," said Lou.
That would be Donna, of course. Possibly the least subtle pursuer of men he'd ever seen. His frown deepened--he hadn't noticed her flirting with anyone tonight.
"It's not like that."
Oh, it never is, Josh snarked in his head.
"Drool down the front of your dress?" said Lou. "Not a good look."
Lou was sure of something. The familiar tightness began to clutch at his chest, threatening to buckle his ribcage. Breathe, he told himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter tightly. Breathe.
"And he's no better," Lou continued.
"He isn't?" There was no mistaking the hope, the quiver of anticipation in Donna's voice.
His chest muscles twisted painfully. Breathe, he told himself again, staring down at the counter because he couldn't look himself in the eye at that moment. Breathe. Look at--okay, not the walls, they were bare--look at the counter, covered with girly makeup bags. He'd recognized Donna's floral monstrosity right away, a bag with so many zippered pockets you'd need an x-ray to find everything she stashed in there. Every woman must have dumped her bag in here...his fingers on the counter edge tightened in panic.
No, not panic. He was just--
"Ha!" Lou was obviously gloating. "HA! Caught you. 'He isn't?'" she mimicked. "Caught. You."
He could vaguely hear Donna protesting while the blood began to pound in his ears. Damn it. Not again. She was about to hook up with some new loser, and Josh was going to have to smile and fake enthusiasm and bite his tongue when it all went to hell.
He shut his eyes.
Outside the bathroom, he could hear Lou still crowing. "I knew it. I knew there was something between you the moment he mentioned your name. It's history, isn't it? A long history of--"
"No," Donna said sharply. "No history. None whatsoever."
"Please. He knocked on that door, right there, and asked you to tie his tie. His freaking tie. That's history, my friend, whether you..."
His eyes flew open, zeroing in on his reflection in the mirror. More specifically, on his tie.
Shit. He pushed away from the counter, whirling to face the door, to put an end--
CRASH.
His hand knocked one of the bags off the counter...
THUMP. THUMP.
...which bounced off the back of the toilet, then the toilet seat. He made a swipe for it, knocking it across the room, out of harm's way...
SPLASH.
...mostly. Several brightly-coloured objects had flown out of the bag and landed in the toilet bowl. Which led to the inevitable...
KNOCK-KNOCK. "Hello?" came Donna's voice. "Are you okay in there?"
ShhhhhhhhhSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFiiiiiizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
He yelped, any thought of pretending to be a deep-voiced woman with a constipated bowel vanishing.
"Josh?"
It barely registered that Donna had been able to identify his yelp. He was still staring at the hissing, bubbling mass in the toilet. "What the hell?"
"Josh?" Her voice sounded worried now.
"Josh!" Lou's voice sounded pissed.
He couldn't hide now, he thought, staring at the toilet. And those...things, whatever they were, might be spewing dangerous fumes.
He opened the door.
"Josh!"
"Sorry," he said. "I just...it was an accident."
"My bag!" Lou pushed past him, sinking to her knees to retrieve it from the floor.
"That was yours?" Josh asked lamely. "Some...some things fell, um, in."
"What?" she yelled, peering into the toilet bowl.
He took advantage of the distraction provided by the spitting multicoloured mass in the water. "Is it supposed to do that?"
Donna smacked his arm, which was only to be expected. "Not in a toilet!"
"It kind of looks like...Muppet barf..." Which he knew was pressing his luck, even as the words left his mouth.
"What are you doing here?" Donna demanded.
Damn. "I--I had to go. And, uh, have to go." There were times to make a stand, and times to strategically retreat, and this was definitely a head-for-the-hills moment. He was out of the bathroom, out of the suite, and striding swiftly down the hall back to the relative safety of the ballroom before either of the women could haul his ass on the carpet.
******
"Bastard." Lou was still on her knees, cursing as she scouted around on the floor, looking for other things that might have fallen out of her bag. "It would have to be my bath fizzies."
"They smell nice," Donna offered weakly.
"They'd smell better individually, and not in a toilet." Lou climbed to her feet, flipped the toilet lid down, and flushed the still-hissing bath salts.
"He'll replace them," Donna promised.
"He doesn't even know what they are."
"He'll ask."
Lou studied her a moment. "You." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
After another pause, Lou said, "Tell him I want the chocolate cocoa-butter ones in addition to the run-of-the-mill lavender and citrus."
"They come in chocolate?"
"Yes." Lou pushed the cosmetic bags on the counter around so that there was room for hers again. "But when you use one, you have to be sure that the chocolate you bring to the bath with you is the real stuff, not some mass-produced candy bar. Else the scents don't match and you end up disappointed."
"Right." Eating high-quality chocolate while bathing in chocolate-scented water. This would be an experience worth trying.
"Unless," Lou continued, "you have company in the bath."
"You'd have to share."
"Is he good at sharing? He doesn't look the type."
"I told you, I have no idea about that." Donna made a dismissive gesture with her hand and left the bathroom in a futile attempt to escape the subject.
It didn't work, of course. Lou had always been tenacious. "You could find out."
"Do you think he'd ever calm down enough to sit in a bath?"
"You could wear him out a little."
Donna sighed. "Lou, I'm only saying this once. There's nothing between us. There never has been. There never will be. We weathered two Presidential campaigns and two administrations before this, and never, not once, have either of us crossed the boundaries of friendship." And that, regrettably, was mainly the truth. "I know the rumours. The gossip. The lies. I know the betting pools no one ever collected on. I got through that, and I'll get through this, regardless of what anyone insinuates. But Lou?"
"Yeah?"
"It would be that much easier for me if you knocked this shit off."
Lou gave her a wry smile. "So this would be a bad time to tell you about the pool we have going?"
"You do whatever it takes to keep you amused."
"So you're saying I should change my bet."
"Make your own decision."
"Right." Lou finally seemed to be getting the message about how pissed off Donna really was. She went back into the bathroom to use the facilities, and when she came out, all she said was, "Remember. Chocolate and cocoa butter."
"Right." Donna waited until Lou left, then located the wingback chair farthest from the door, outside of any immediate line-of-sight.
She went to the bathroom too--after all, that was why she had come up here--made sure the door to the suite was closed, and then, grabbing a box of tissues, went to the wingback chair, sat down, and started to cry.
******
Safely back in the ballroom, another short glass of sparkling mineral water in his hand, Josh reviewed what had just happened.
The gossip was starting up again, just like before. And if it was at best annoying and tiresome for him, the things people said about her were much worse.
He knew exactly where to place the ultimate blame--the Congressman. His "just us folks" style had rubbed off on everyone. And now Josh wasn't getting the respect due a man in his position. On the Bartlet campaigns, none of the volunteers would have dreamed of gossiping about the senior staff.
The voice of Donna saying, "That you know of," immediately came to mind.
Or maybe he was romanticising the last eight years of his life. But it was unsettling to wander through the offices and hear frank gossip about who was bucking for a promotion among the envelope-stuffers, who had scored the highest donation last night among the cold-callers, and of course, who was sleeping with whom.
Donna had protected him from that while they'd been with Bartlet, whether she knew it or not. She'd been his shadow, dogging his footsteps like a good assistant. If he hadn't been talking to someone important, he'd been talking to her. No wonder he'd never heard gossip as they walked the halls.
He nodded to a couple of donors who were cracking up over scotch and an anecdote he probably didn't want to hear. The party was nearly over for him. People were starting to relax, becoming less and less willing to mix business with pleasure.
Swirling the ice and water in his glass, he wandered on through the crowd. Apparently, he'd forgotten what it was like at the bottom of the campaign food chain. Not that he'd ever had much time for that kind of thing--he'd always had a plan and been focused on implementing it. But hypotheses, rumours, and flat-out speculation had always flourished among the workers, and he'd forgotten how much those diversions made the grunt work bearable.
The Congressman hadn't forgotten. He was everyone's best buddy. And this was, as Josh kept reminding himself, a different campaign with a very different candidate.
Still, the feeling that he was being undermined persisted in some indefinable way. And Donna wasn't around to reassure him that wasn't so. Not that she wasn't around--she was. She just didn't make that her job anymore. Once in a while she'd deign to tease him or joke with him, but he wasn't usually in the mood to listen on those rare occasions.
Lou came back into the room, without Donna. His grip on his glass tightened reflexively. No, he told himself. Do not go over there. Do not make Donna a thing.
He gave Lou a brief nod, which she returned. Then they headed to opposite ends of the ballroom.
Good, he thought. Stay calm. Donna can handle herself.
But even after all these years, it made him mad. People jumped to conclusions. People who didn't know either of them but who'd heard that he'd hired a young leggy blonde for no particular reason--a young leggy blonde who'd stayed with him for years, during which time he'd dated only occasionally. One who'd left suddenly, probably in a fit of pique. People made assumptions with a story like that. People made up their own stories with a story like that.
And despite his best efforts at denial, she received the least kind epithets when those stories got retold.
He didn't want her to go through that again. And, he admitted to himself, he didn't want to live with the guilt of putting her through that again.
Maybe it was harmless among the staff, who knew them and liked them and who were just having a little fun. But stuff like that couldn't be contained. It dispersed like dandelion fluff, fizzed off in all directions like those things that had fallen in the toilet, until all you were left with was a funny smell. Some intern's second cousin who was just in for the day to help out would get wind of the speculation and would talk to the wrong person and then there they'd both be again.
No, that wasn't going to happen, he thought, eyeing Lou across the room. Not this time.
And then it registered that Donna hadn't come back. He hoped she was okay.
And then he remembered--really remembered--what he'd heard of her conversation with Lou. Not just what she'd said, but how she'd said it.
Well.
Well.
There was really only one way to handle that.
******
When she'd finally done all the crying she could possibly do, she glanced down at her watch. Only half an hour. Not bad, she thought, pushing herself out of the chair wearily. Not bad at all.
She wasn't in any shape to go back to the ballroom, but with both Lou and Josh there, everything would be under control. Right here, she promised herself, was the only time she'd do this. Then she was going to wash up, reapply her makeup, and head back out for the last dance and then prep tomorrow's breakfast event and then the photo op, and then, and then, and...
The suite had a modest wet bar and she wrapped some of the melting ice cubes in a napkin and pressed it to her cheek. Crying always made her face red; hopefully the ice would take away some of the heat.
Keep moving, she told herself. She went to the bathroom to assess the damage. Definitely a full reapplication of makeup, she decided. Getting the cleanser from her cosmetic bag, she carefully washed her face in cool water.
Better. Her skin wasn't inflamed any longer, though her face was still puffy.
Visine, she thought, to take the red out of her eyes. She rummaged around in the pockets.
"Hey."
She jumped. Josh was peering around the half-open bathroom door.
"Hi," she said weakly. "I'll be back down in a minute."
"It's okay," he said. "It's getting to that point where everyone is a little too drunk for us to talk to seriously."
"Mmm." She kept her gaze fixed on her cosmetic bag as she continued to fumble around inside it.
"I saw Lou come back without you, and you didn't--you've been crying."
"It's nothing."
"Okay." But he didn't leave.
Finally her fingers located the Visine in her bag. The sooner she started dripping stuff in her eyes, the sooner he'd get grossed out and leave, and--
"Donna," he said hesitantly, waiting for her to meet his gaze before continuing. "About earlier..."
"You heard." Her gaze fell to the counter again.
He pushed the door wide enough so that he could sidle into the bathroom with her, glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been seen. The door shut quietly behind him.
With effort, she managed to meet his eyes.
He cleared his throat. Then he paused, as if considering what he was going to say.
After several seconds of silence, he began, "This situation, it's hard for both of us."
"Yes." He wouldn't get an argument on that.
"I know what people say about us," he admitted. "And with friends, it's not fun..."
"It's bearable," she interrupted.
"Yeah." He sighed. "But it's not just friends, is it?"
"The others don't matter." She shook her head for emphasis. They didn't. Enemies or the apathetic, either would say things, and she didn't care about any of it.
"No," he agreed. "They don't matter a damn."
"Okay." She opened the Visine, tilted her head back...
"But," he continued, and the Visine came back down. "I'm not eager to--" He sighed again. "To--listen to the leering insinuations of every bastard on the Hill who happens to be boning the youngest aide in his office."
She winced.
"I'm not that guy, and you're not that woman."
"No."
"I don't want to go through all that again," he said.
"Neither do I."
Gently he caught her hand, pried it open, and put the Visine bottle on the counter. "But at the same time," he continued, taking her other hand as well, "I don't want to regret anything this time around, either."
The lump caught in her throat again. "Josh..."
Stillness wrapped around them as he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. "Did I hear right?" he whispered. "Are you panting after me while I'm panting after you?"
Her lips curved into a smile. "That's such a romantic way of putting it."
Releasing her hand, he placed his thumb over her lips. "Shhh." He stroked her bottom lip gently.
And for once, she felt no urge to speak.
Then, achingly slowly, he leaned in.
He gave her a chance to pull away. Gave her a chance to laugh, to tease her way out. She didn't take it.
His lips brushed hers, faint yet assured, and she wound her arms around him.
And then he began to kiss her, warm and sweet and sure. She couldn't help but kiss him back.
It was nothing like she'd imagined or expected. His kiss wasn't arrogant, it didn't dominate or assert control. It coaxed her, stroked her mouth, caressed her. A strong, slow burn, instead of a greedy flame.
It burnt her anyway.
Slipping her tongue between his lips, she deepened the kiss, taking it to an urgent new level. His hands cupped her face, she wound her fingers through his hair. Closer. She had to get closer.
He apparently felt the same, walking her back, aiming for a wall she couldn't wait to be pressed up against. Closer.
Her calf hit the side of the tub and she stumbled, overbalancing. Clutching at him frantically, she felt a sudden wash of relief when his arms clamped around her, pulling her back upright.
"Thank you," she exhaled, feeling her lips curve up into a smile. "Kind of got carried away there."
"Yeah," he agreed, but he wasn't smiling.
She leaned in to kiss him again, and he kissed her back briefly, then pulled away.
"Wow," he breathed.
"Yeah." She couldn't stop the goofy grin that plastered itself across her face, and it took her a second to realize that he was staring through her, not at her.
"Damn," he said.
"Josh?"
"I better go."
And then she was suddenly alone, wondering if she should rationalize his departure with a simple explanation.
******
At many, many times in his life, Josh had been accused of not thinking things through properly. This time he wouldn't even be able to blame it on the mineral water.
Overexcited, realizing that he could reach out and pluck the forbidden fruit off the tree and that she'd willingly fall into his hands, he hadn't stopped to think of all the other reasons why this was an astonishingly bad idea.
He strode back into the ballroom. Clearly, the blame rested with her, he decided. Until now, she'd always been the ultimate stopper. He hadn't bothered spending the time and energy trying to get around all the other reasons, because in the end, it didn't matter. She didn't want him.
Except she did.
It was time for another mineral water. A cold one. He went up to the bar, nodded to a state senator who was getting drunk on something green, and ordered.
That he wanted her had never been up for debate. He knew, and now she knew. But why he wanted her was very much a source of internal rumination for him, usually around 4 a.m. when his body was too exhausted to sleep and his brain had rebelled against electoral math.
The bartender slid a crystal tumbler of ice water in front of him, and he took a long sip, letting the cold hit the back of his throat.
An elderly female cousin at a family wedding had once told him that the secret to a happy marriage was never to initiate a conversation with your spouse at 4 a.m. The baby may be crying, she'd said, the basement may be flooded, a tree may have fallen on the house--whatever the crisis, don't talk to each other. Just fix the problem and go back to bed. Otherwise you'd get into a conversation it was likely one or both of you would regret.
He was so talented that he could have regrettable conversations like that with himself at 4 a.m., no partner required.
Sliding onto a barstool, he took another drink, then turned to face the thinning room. Another night nearly over.
He really didn't like some of the things he'd come up with in the dark of night, during his regrettable conversations. His ego, for one thing. Apparently it was so fragile it needed her to constantly shore it up. And then there was her status as an appendage in his life. In the beginning, she had been grateful and had offered him every administrative service he could think of.
And then she'd become more confident, and he'd had to coax her or bribe her to keep giving to him.
And then he hadn't needed to coax or bribe her anymore--which he'd thought at the time meant she liked doing it--and he'd congratulated himself on forming a successful professional relationship, and then she'd left.
He eyed his glass for a moment and wished he was drinking something stronger.
Because there was also the question of her extremely hot body. Her long legs, curvy ass, and soft breasts that were made to be taken together in handfuls. He'd conditioned himself not to respond to that early on, but after she'd left, his immunity had worn off. At 4 a.m., he sometimes couldn't help thinking about that.
Which led to his biggest problem. Her eyes. Because he couldn't think about her encouragement, her hard work, or her body without thinking about her eyes. For years, they'd lit up every time he'd walked into a room. And then she'd get up, and come to him, and ask him what he needed, and he'd told her, and she'd done it.
And that was what he'd taken for granted. Over and over. And at 4 a.m., he wanted to kick himself for not reaching out and taking what she was offering with her eyes.
More cold water slid down his throat.
He knew why he hadn't. That had also come to him at 4 a.m. He hadn't because he would have had to give her something back.
He'd have had to consider her feelings, her needs. Otherwise he would have been exactly what everyone said he was: another Beltway politico who banged his assistant on the side. So he left things as they were, with her doing all the giving and him taking everything she offered because it was all right for things to work that way. He was the boss, she was the assistant. She was supposed to do all those things and offer more.
And maybe, at 9 a.m., he wouldn't recall things working exactly like that. But at 4 a.m., the light in her eyes haunted him, a ghost he hadn't seen since she'd left him.
Until tonight, and he'd left just as the light had started to die.
"Josh!"
The Congressman hailed him loudly from across the room, a blatant signal that he needed an excuse to extricate himself from the gaggle of donors that surrounded him.
Slipping off the barstool, Josh signaled discreetly to the Secret Service and nodded at Lou. It was time for them to head out. The silent message spread swiftly through the staff; Josh could already hear their goodbyes as he made his way over to separate the Congressman from his garrulous supporters, using a wit and grace that fooled anyone who didn't really know him.
"Thank God," said the Congressman five minutes later, as they strolled casually but purposefully in the direction of the exit. "I didn't think I was going to get out of there without promising a Cabinet appointment."
"Happy to help, Congressman." The rest of the staff had left the ballroom by now, and on the other side of the ballroom doors he could see the trickle of formally-dressed people toting garment bags out to the waiting motorcade.
"Oh, Congressman!" An older gentleman puffed his way over to them, halting their progress mere feet before freedom.
The Congressman turned, his trademark genial smile plastered on his face. "Mr. Highland. I'm sorry we didn't have more time tonight..."
Josh saw Donna go past the doorway, her bag and his in her hands. He nodded to her, but didn't budge from the Congressman's side.
If the Congressman was going to use Josh as cover, he could damn well return the favour. Josh stuck close all the way out, delaying the Congressman by those few precious seconds that ensured he alone would end up in the Congressman's limo.
Oblivious to Josh's machinations, Santos settled back into the limo's seat with a sigh. "How long?"
"Two hours, Congressman. If we arrive on time you should receive a solid five hours' sleep." Josh wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.
"Who the hell thought this schedule was a good idea?"
Josh cleared his throat. "You'll be flipping eggs at the soup kitchen bright and early, a mere twenty minutes after you've rolled out of bed."
"I will get some kind of hat to wear there, right?"
"No one will notice your lack of mousse at all, Congressman."
Santos grinned. "And here I was missing my wife's smart remarks."
"Happy to be of service." Josh closed his eyes and tried not to think about missing blondes.
"Good idea," said Santos, and Josh felt the seat move as the Congressman made himself more comfortable. "I'm going to catch some extra time now, too."
Josh barely heard him. His body sagged with relief and fatigue, but his mind was filled with Donna. Her skin, warm and flushed beneath his hands and lips. Her sweet taste, tempered by the salt of her tears. Her fragrance, separate and distinct from the hint of perfume she used. Her smile.
Her eyes.
"Damn."
He didn't even realize he'd spoken out loud until the Congressman said, "Problem?"
Josh shook his head. "No."
Her eyes wouldn't leave him, though, and he stifled a sigh.
"You sure?" the Congressman asked mildly.
"Yeah."
"Because you look like a man with a problem."
"The schedule works, sir. We have it timed down to the second."
"I noticed," said the Congressman dryly.
"Nothing to worry about."
"And yet, there you are." Santos smiled. "I realize this is a wacky, off-the-wall supposition, but is it possible your problem has nothing to do with the campaign?"
"Not possible, Congressman."
"So what you're actually saying is that your only problem in life is, in fact, this campaign?"
"You're very funny when you try, sir."
"So I've been told."
And there was Donna again, in his head instead of safely in another car, holding his bag, taking care of him. Give something back, every part of him screamed. Don't give this up again. Don't let her do everything for nothing.
Between her and the campaign, he'd have nothing left for himself. That's what it would take.
"I just..." He was talking out loud again, even though he shouldn't. "I'm trying to step up and be a man."
"Ah," the Congressman said, so blandly that he had to be stifling a reaction. "One of those times."
"You know?"
The Congressman threw him an old-fashioned look. "I learned a bit about stepping up in the Marines."
"Yeah." Josh exhaled. "I guess so. I've just always thought of myself as a lover, not a fighter.
This time Santos did chuckle. "Oh, that's not true, Josh. Not one person I know would describe you that way. Flip those words around and you might get some takers."
A fighter first and foremost. Ordinarily, he'd be pleased.
Silence stretched out for another minute or two. "Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever it is, remember that you can be both. They aren't mutually exclusive."
"Right."
"As long as you step up," Santos added unnecessarily, and Josh had no reply to that.
He did doze off somehow, his head still full of Donna, and when he woke, as the motorcade slowed and pulled into the hotel's drive, he realized he didn't have a choice.
He and the Congressman were first to be unloaded, and he walked Santos up to his room.
"I'll be back for you at six."
"Right," the Congressman grunted.
"You did get some sleep in the car, didn't you, sir?"
"You snore, Josh, and I don't care who knows that I know that."
******
By the time he found his room, Donna was nowhere in sight. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled out his phone.
"Hey," he said when she picked up.
"Hey." Her voice was hesitant.
"I'm in 2103. Could you bring my bag over?"
A silent pause.
"Please?" he asked, wincing.
"Fine." She hung up.
While he waited, he checked out his room and made a few preparations. It was one of the nicer ones he'd been in, large enough for a sofa and writing desk in addition to the wide bed and television. When he wandered into the bathroom and saw the big Jacuzzi tub, he knew exactly what his first question to Donna was going to be.
Her sharp knock sounded on the door. "Josh?"
Opening it, he stuck his head out past her, looking up and down the hall. Nobody there.
Excellent.
Tugging her inside, he shut the door behind them.
"Donna," he began, "I have a very important question to ask you."
Her face was completely expressionless, and he kicked himself again. She shouldn't look like that around him.
"Damn." Throwing his speech out the window, he kissed her hard.
Her muffled squeak of surprise didn't last, her arms circling his neck as he drew her closer. Lifting her bodily, he took the few steps needed to tumble her back onto the bed and followed her down.
They rolled, their arms and legs twining, their bodies fitting together, and the last considered, coherent thought he had was, "Be good."
Be good. Make this good for her. It was an easy thought to remember, but harder to put into practice. She felt terrific, the evening gown she still wore exposing an abundance of hot, silky skin for him to touch.
Finding her zipper, he eased it down, and she pulled back from nipping at his ear to sit up and slip the tiny straps off her shoulders.
She wasn't wearing a bra. There they were, rounder and fuller and rosier-tipped than he'd ever believed possible. It was a religious experience. When she laughed at his expression, and they bounced, just a little, he almost came right then.
Climbing off the bed for a moment, she shimmied the rest of the way out of the dress. Tiny panties. Heels. Nothing else.
"Oh my God," he said, while his conscience chanted "Be good" over and over again.
If he'd ever imagined she looked this good without her clothes on, he wouldn't have hired her. He'd never have made it all these years.
She sauntered over to where he still lay stunned on the bed and reached for his tie, the tie she'd knotted hours earlier, tugging the end. It unknotted easily and she drew it off, tossing it over her shoulder with a grin.
Leaning down over him, her breath against his face, she made as if to kiss him, and then pulled away. Moving down. Down over his chest, lingering at his beltline and the obvious bulge there for a deliberate second that made him whimper. Then farther down to his thighs, then past his knees...to his feet.
Laughing at his moan of frustration, she took off his shoes and socks, then went for his belt.
"Oh my God," he repeated, because she was doing the leaning over thing again and looked as though she were about to pull off his belt with her teeth. "Wait..."
Be good, his conscience said sternly. Don't let her do everything here.
Besides, pointed out the rest of him, if you're good now, she'll sleep with you again and you'll be able to convince her to completely undress you with her teeth.
He couldn't argue with logic like that.
"You're killing me," he said with as much of a smile as he could muster through his thick fog of arousal. Gently pushing her back, he stood and undressed himself properly. His jacket, his shirt, his trousers--all of them landed in a heap on top of her gown.
His cock, hard and ready, was obvious under his boxers, and she reached for the waistband and tugged them away.
Then, smiling, she came to him, one hand on his chest, one hand around his cock.
"Josh," she whispered. "I've wanted to do this to you for so long."
Slowly she sank to her knees, grasped his cock with both hands, and put it into her mouth.
He nearly passed out. Not only because it was Donna, or because he'd wanted her to do this far more than she had, for longer than he cared to admit, but also because she was very good.
Very, very good.
Extremely good. His fingers sank into her hair at the sight of her taking him into her mouth, over and over.
Too good, he realized with regret moments later. "Stop!"
Grinning, she climbed back to her feet. "Problem?"
The picking her up thing had worked well last time, so he did it again. Picked her up and threw her onto the bed.
"It's only a problem," he said as he slid up her body towards her, "if you don't ever do it again. But now," he paused to kiss her, hot and deep, "I think I need to demonstrate a few things I've been wanting to do to you."
"Just a few?"
His mouth on her nipple changed her teasing tone into a gasp. "I'll let you know what I come up with," he said mildly, then bent his head again.
The "be good" thing was much easier to remember when he was in control and she was moaning and gasping and clutching and arching and, on two separate occasions, shrieking his name.
This wouldn't make things up to her, he reminded himself sternly, even as he dipped his head to lick her inner thigh again, preparing to take her to her third peak. This was the easy part. The giving back part would happen later, away from the naked part.
Though he didn't mind giving during the naked part, either. For a woman supposedly in the throes of orgasm, she gave non-verbal instructions frequently and clearly. A shift here, a nudge there...and he was willing to oblige every hint, pick up on every signal, because the payoff was worth it. She'd gasp and whimper his name, and he never wanted those sounds to end.
He settled in to lick and nibble at her sex again, making himself comfortable. This time, her thighs clamped around his head. Yep, he thought, definitely not shy.
The first time appeared to have caught her by surprise. He'd been playing with the waistband of her panties and had tongued the scrap of lace, probing for her clit. She'd come almost immediately. The second time her panties had already been discarded, and she'd known where he was heading, but hadn't been able to hold back at all.
This time, she appeared bound and determined to enjoy it to the full, and he was happy to oblige. She smelled good, she tasted good, and her gratifying response to every caress of his tongue or lips rewarded him.
It still didn't take that long. She was able to hold out for several minutes, but in the end she came, shouting loudly, which wasn't anything he was going to complain about.
Switching his attention to her thighs, her hips, her stomach, he waited for her to recover. As he began to move his way back to her sex, though, she stopped him.
"No. Get the hell up here."
Testy. This could be interesting. "Mmm?"
"Now, Josh. I need you now."
"Are you sure you don't want to come one more time, first?" He sounded smug, he knew, but he couldn't help it.
Fortunately for the fate of the rest of the night, her reaching down and squeezing his dick in her capable hand was more than enough to curb that.
"Ohgod. Donna..."
She rolled him onto his back. "Josh," she wheedled, her other hand reaching down to join the first. "Where are the condoms?"
God, she was pumping him like a shotgun.
"Gah...uh..."
She leaned down just long enough to breathe hot air on the tip of him. "I know you've stashed some somewhere..."
"Drawer," he gasped. "Beside. Bed."
"Excellent." Both her hands left him abruptly and it was his turn to whimper her name.
She was back shortly, however, condom in hand. "Only one?"
"You're going to kill me with sex, aren't you?"
"You won't mind." Ripping open the package, she grasped his erection again to get him ready.
Be good. The words came back to him as he tried to concentrate on not coming just yet. "You had my bag," he managed to say, realizing even as he spoke what a non-sequitur that must have sounded like.
She understood, though. "So this is the one from your wallet?"
"Yeah."
"In that case," she tossed the wrapper away, "I'm going to do you a favour." Sliding over him, she positioned herself to begin taking him in.
"What?" His voice was hoarse, now, as she hovered, his tip just barely inside her heat.
"I won't look at the expiration date."
"Funny." Grasping her hips, he pulled her down, arching himself up into her at the same time.
She cried out and he felt himself bottom out at her womb. God, she felt good.
Amazing, even.
"You okay?" he asked.
Wriggling a bit, she said, "Yes."
Conversation ceased. She controlled their movements for the most part, riding him, finding a rhythm that pleased her, and he was happy to oblige. His hands found her breasts and he massaged them, enjoying the little jolts that passed from her sex to his whenever he did something she especially liked.
Be good, he thought.
It wasn't an easy proposition. She was so hot on him, her tight passage wet and caressing him, her breasts swaying gently against his palms, her hair, already tousled, pulling free from the last of its pins.
"Mmmm." Her hands came up to cover his, guiding him as he worked her nipples, showing him exactly how she liked to be touched.
Her look of bliss was not to be missed.
Nor was the swirl of her hips as she picked up the pace. They moved on together and he let the sensation wash over him in waves of heat.
When her hands fell to her sides again, as she began to concentrate more on speed, he let one hand drop lower too, seeking out the little nub he'd been teasing earlier with his tongue.
The effect was immediate. Urgency made her movements faster, wilder. She began to whimper every time his cock filled her completely.
His other hand left her breast and grabbed her flailing hands, helping her keep her balance as she climbed towards another peak.
"Josh," she panted. "Josh...Josh!"
And then she shattered around him, his name still on her lips. It was incredible.
He didn't give her time to recover, staying inside her, tugging her down and rolling them so she was the one on her back. He shifted them to facilitate his own pleasure, drew back, and rammed into her fully.
She cried out for him.
He loved driving deep, and she was made for it. Her shrieks met his every pounding thrust. When he grasped her thigh, encouraging her to put her legs around him, she lifted both of them high, hooking them over his shoulders, surrendering any leverage she might have had.
One more time, he thought, reaching down to find her clit again. She was nearly sobbing when she came, clamping hard around him.
He didn't want to finish. She'd just yielded everything to him, given him so much more. He'd had such good intentions. How had he ended up owing her again?
"Anything." He was groaning the words as he pushed into her over and over. "Anything you want."
She shouted something incoherent.
"Anything, Donna. Anything."
"Josh--"
"Donna--"
"All of it," she cried. "I want everything."
"Yes" he hissed. "Yesyesyes..."
And then he had no idea what he was saying, only that he was talking, and promising, and she was pleading and sobbing, and he was pounding into her, and she was screaming and so was he and then...
She exploded, her final orgasmic cry penetrating his chest, and his body detonated. His answering cry escaped his throat, his come pumping out of him into her. His contractions seized him powerfully by the sex, shaking him to the core.
As he slowly collapsed, he barely had the presence of mind to pull out of her, rolling away so she wouldn't have to take his weight.
"Oh my God," he panted.
"Yeah." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Yeah."
******
He'd rolled away only briefly, to take care of the condom, and now they lay together, wrapped around each other. Eventually she felt his heartbeat slow, his breathing even out. Her own exhaustion was almost overwhelming, but she didn't want to miss any part of this.
"So," she began a few minutes later, when it became clear that neither of them was going to doze off immediately.
"So?"
Snuggling closer to him, she felt his embrace tighten around her. "Was that your question?"
He gave a sleepy chuckle. "Actually, no."
When she realized he didn't intend to say anything more, she poked him. "Well?"
He turned his head to nuzzle her ear. "It would involve getting out of bed."
"Forget it, then." She wriggled, settling in to sleep.
"Mmm."
When she opened her eyes again a minute later, he was looking down at her with an intense expression. "What?"
"Actually..."
"I really don't want to get up, Josh."
"It'll just be for a minute. If you say no, we come right back to bed. But I wouldn't feel right if I didn't ask." He rolled away from her, taking his heat with him, and she stifled a whimper. "C'mon." Tugging at her hand, he forced her to get up.
"Fine." She was up and allowing herself to be led in the direction of the bathroom, shaking off her sex-induced lethargy. "But this had better be good--"
She paused at the doorway. The bathtub was huge. Enormous. Any bigger and she'd be able to invite friends over for a party.
Josh looked over at her hopefully.
She smiled. "This was your question?"
"Actually, my question was, 'How much sleep do you feel you need tonight?'"
She slipped her arms around his naked waist. "I slept in the car."
His grin widened. "So did I."
She reached over and turned on the hot water faucet.
While she was adjusting the temperature, Josh poured in the hotel's complimentary bath gel. "Green tea and cypress," he read off the bottle. "Not too girly."
She sniffed at it. "And not too manly, either."
"Just right, then, Goldilocks?"
"Don't call me that."
"Okay." He pulled her closer and kissed her. "We have a little time to kill."
"True."
She was pleased to note they both had the same idea, which was for her to perch on the counter, wrap her legs around his waist, and make out with him like bandits. But even though she was completely spent sexually, as was he, she found a desperate quality to their kisses. It was as if he was anxious or afraid about something--of what, she didn't know. The way he touched her, though, held her tightly, ran his hands possessively over her body, all spoke of those issues they'd never actually talked about.
She tightened her grip on him, too, clutching at his biceps, his back. Cinched him closer with her legs around his waist. She wasn't going to wade into that discussion now. It was their first night together, and he'd been right to suggest a long, hot bath after the mind-blowing sex. When they'd next have the opportunity to be together at all, neither of them knew. She wasn't going to let anything ruin it.
Minutes passed as the tub continued to fill, and their necking eventually lost its desperate quality. Neither of them had the energy for more sex tonight, she realized, but being together, as close as possible, was what they both needed.
He'd just helped her off the counter when they heard a knock at the door. "Josh?"
It was Lou's voice.
Josh shut off the tub faucet and looked over at her, a question already forming on his lips.
She hated that she was blushing, especially after all the sex and heavy petting.
He closed his mouth, his question unasked, and she blushed even more.
The knock sounded again. "Josh?"
"Stay in here," he said quietly. "No noise. This is important."
And then he was outside the bathroom, leaving the door most of the way open, so she could hear him stumbling around, his voice shouting for Lou to hang on.
She heard him answer the door.
"Josh?" came Lou's voice.
"Aren't you getting some sleep?" Josh's voice floated into the bathroom, loud and clear.
"Nice boxers."
"Thanks."
"I was looking for Donna."
"I haven't seen her. What's going on?"
"Really?"
A creaking door hinge whined. Josh must have swung the door open, showing Lou the room. "See?" he asked. "She came, she dumped my bag, she left."
"Oh." There was no hiding the surprise in Lou's voice.
"What's going on?" Josh repeated, his tone switching to one of professional enquiry.
"Nothing. I..."
"Feel free to look around." Josh's voice was dry. "I have a fantastic sofa in here that I won't have time to sit on."
"No, it's okay." Lou's voice was puzzled.
"Is it important?"
"It can wait." She sounded reluctant.
"See you in the morning, then," Josh said firmly.
"Right. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
The door closed.
He came back into the bathroom. "Hey."
"How did she not see my dress and stuff?"
"I hid it behind the door. When I opened the door to show her the room--"
"It was the only thing she couldn't see. Nice."
He took her hand. "But Donna..." He paused. "I want to tell people."
"So do I," she said quickly.
He nodded. "Good."
He handed her into the tub, which felt amazing. Warm water surrounded her feet, then her ankles, then her calves, then her knees... She sank down to immerse herself fully in liquid heaven.
She sighed.
Carefully he climbed in too, settling behind her, and she turned so that she lay on her side on top of him, her cheek resting against his chest.
She felt the need to explain. "I think it was just embarrassment tonight, so soon after that whole thing with her earlier at the thing..."
"Right," he said. "So when will it be?"
Looking up at him, she grinned. "You want to set a date?"
"Something like that."
She slid a bubble-covered hand up to his shoulder. "I'm going to have to do some research. It will require planning."
"Are we still talking about the same thing?" he asked mildly, and the fact he wasn't freaking out or tensing up told her a lot.
"Absolutely," she said firmly. "As soon as I find out how to get action on that betting pool, we are going to make a mint."
He chuckled. "Can it be a big, romantic spectacle? Can we fight really viciously in the middle of headquarters and end with me finally shutting you up with a kiss?"
Pinching him was her only recourse, but she did it gently, because he was being good. "Something like that," she teased, "with a few important differences in my scenario. But let me find out what will make us the most money, first."
"Okay." His warm hands came out of the water and began slowly stroking the length of her torso, from shoulder to thigh, stopping briefly to cup and gently squeeze her breast before continuing down.
"It might be something incredibly public and embarrassing," she hinted, her hand reaching down to caress his hip and thigh.
"I won't be embarrassed."
"You won't be, will you?" She shifted to look up at him.
He smiled. "I'll take you any way I can get you--"
Her face melted into that goofy grin again. He was really being sweet. "Josh..."
"With or without the large cash dowry you're planning on bringing to the relationship."
"Ha." She shimmied up his body to kiss him. "You know you're bankrolling the stake."
"There was never any doubt."
And wrapping his arms around her, he sank them both deeper into the steaming, fragrant water.
END