Power suits. Power ties. Power haircut. Most people, when asked, would probably say that there’s nothing more that Harvey Specter cares about than himself, but HE would probably say ‘power’.
There’s a reason why he became a lawyer, after all. Not just for the opportunity to constantly argue with people who are absolutely convinced that they’re smarter than him (and the absolute satisfaction of seeing them proved completely wrong, over and over and over again. Knowledge is power, after all). Not for his high class salary, of which he is worth every damn cent (as are the power suits, power ties, power haircuts and the power suite of a condo over looking his city. He who has the money has the power.)
Power comes in all shapes, sizes, and forms, and the females in his life have no qualms or illusions about the power over him that they hold in their oh-so-capable, exquisitely manicured hands. Harvey respects that power, that strength, more so than he would in a man (which is one of the many reasons why he takes pleasure in riling Louis up so much). So he appreciates that power when he deliberately pushes Jessica, just a bit, testing her status as alpha bitch, only to have his feet verbally knocked out from underneath him with no more than a slight lip curl, pointed look, and a few well placed retorts. He enjoys the challenge that Donna presents, that she isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with him, confident in her own power and knowledge, as a woman and as his assistant. He respects Gabby Stone a bit more after her explanation of why she was the one who got flagged is made clear; he admires a woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.
And he loves knowing that despite his current position on his knees, he is the one holding the power and control over the woman writhing above him.
He sits back to admire the view; she’s truly a piece of art, stretched out on his bed,her wrists bound with one of his ties (more durable and thicker than silk; nothing but the best for the best closer in the city, after all). Dark curls tumble around her head in a silken waterfall, framing a heart-shaped face, and impossibly long dark lashes hide almond shaped eyes, the molten chocolate color hidden as she squeezes her eyes shut.
Harvey tsks. That won’t do at all. “Lauren,” he calls, letting the rumble of his voice break through her haze. She doesn’t immediately respond, so he taps her lightly on her inner thigh in warning. “Eyes open.”
He watches intently as she jerks at the smack of his hand, slightly cupped so that there’s more noise than pain. Those eyelashes flutter and lift, and her gaze clears. He smiles, slowly, intently, and trails just his fingertips up her body. Over the flat planes of her stomach, skimming over the curve of a breast and lightly flicking one hard nipple, following the line of her collarbone before ghosting back down her side. She shivers as the puff of air left in his wake teases her skin, already sensitized by what he’s done and the potential of what he could do.
“Big shot lawyer,” she taunts, because she didn’t get to where she was by being passive and letting men take control. “Are you all talk, or are you going to do something with your mouth besides smirk at me all night?”
Harvey’s smile only widens slightly, all teeth, and this time the shiver that travels instinctively down her spine isn’t purely from arousal. My, grandma, what big teeth you have! “And what, pray tell, should I be doing with my mouth?”
She swallows, but raises her chin defiantly. “Nearly naked woman tied to your bed here. If you can’t figure out, maybe you should just kiss my ass and let me go.” The crispness of her accent reveals the tension in her voice, and she inwardly curses.
“Technically, you’re not tied to my bed,” he replied, absently undoing his cufflinks and unbuttoning his shirt. Bloody lawyer and his technicalities. She notices that his hair is still perfectly styled, and makes it a personal goal to see it–and him–completely ruffled by the end of the night.
“So then I should just go.” She retorts, twisting her wrists, but doesn’t move. Bloody lawyer and his technicalities and smugness and the power that practically exudes from his very pores and her own feminine curiosity about the man under the three piece suits, and ohmiGOD!
“You really need to work on your attention span,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting from where his positioned between her legs. “Live in the moment.” He nipped her clit lightly with his teeth before soothing it with long, dragging licks of his tongue, the friction of it galvanizing her hips to his mouth, wanting to feel the press of his nose, the rasp of his cheeks on her thighs.
“Now that you’re finally doing something to keep it, maybe I will,” she replied breathlessly, just to watch his eyes narrow at the blatant challenge.
Her insubordination earned her another graze of his teeth against her clit, followed by a teasing swipe. “Hmm. In that case, since I’m finally doing something with my mouth, you can do something with yours as well.” His hands maneuvered under her ass, lifting her pussy closer to his mouth as he breathed out lightly. “Beg, Lauren. Make it dirty. Ask for it the way I know you want it.”
She gritted her teeth over her pleas, trying her hardest not to give in so easily. His tongue flicked out, quick, demanding little licks, taunting with the promise of what was just beyond her reach. “Please . . . make me come. I want my pussy, hard against your face. I want to see my come on your mouth, your cheeks, know that you’ve rubbed your face all in it. I want your tongue fucking me.”And she let out a cry as he did just that, working into her, teasing her inside and out, his fingers tight, bruising, yanking her forward to shove her against his face.
He stopped the second he felt her hands lightly caressing his hair. “Put your hands back, or I stop.” He warned, ignoring her anguished cry.
It was the ultimate yielding of power and control, to keep her hands where he wanted by choice and force of will. She locked her eyes with his, as she slowly, sinuously raised her arms back over her head.
His eyes gleamed in silent approval. Pulling her hips off the end of the bed, he returned to his penetration of her, the wild licking of her clit and labia in a way that seemed to have no rhyme or reason but was bringing her to a sure, spiraling release.She screamed long, her hips arching off of the bed, the world flashing with spots and colors.
When she finally returned to earth, Harvey was waiting patiently, his chin resting on her stomach. She couldn’t help the rush of feminine smugness and power when she noticed that his hair was definitely mussed, his face and chin still gleaming faintly.
“Welcome back,” he murmured. “Again.”
Her eyes narrowed, because even in the lovely halo of orgasmic afterglow, she couldn’t help bristling at the arrogant smugness in his voice (no matter that she was feeling the exact same thing not moments ago). She looped her bound hands around his neck and tugged insistently until he crawled prowled (Harvey Specter did not crawl, a part of her mind thinks) up her body enough for her to cover his mouth with her own. This time it was her tongue that comes out to play, licking, teasing, taunting and tasting, interspersed with little nips. He allowed it for a moment before he took control back, because it wasn’t in him to yield even this little bit for very long.
Lauren had her own ideas and opinions about that, however. Wrapping her long legs around his hips and bracing her hands on his shoulders, she uses her muscles and the element of surprise to roll them over. When they stop, she immediately sat up, her legs spread wide and bracketing his hard stomach as his cock nudges at her ass.
Harvey’s brows raised in question and amusement as she runs her nails lightly down his chest–having undone her restraints while he had been devouring her mouth–and he relaxes beneath her, but still brackets her hips in his large hands.
“Reasserting yourself as a woman on top?” He questioned lazily.
She merely smiles, taking his hands off of her hips and deliberately placing them above his head. “Keep them there, or I stop.”
He returns her smirk, crossing his hands behind his head and watching her move down his body. Turnabout is fair play, after all.