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.”