Key to Donna, part 3

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to Aaron Sorkin and WB. I merely play with them when I succumb to whimsy. Feedback is a a peach from the White House mess.
J/D smut, romance.
Spoilers: series 7.

Somewhere in the distant, foggy background, the door to Donna's room bangs shut. I barely register as the heat of her kiss almost knocks me sideways. A hundred realisations slam into my chest, leaving me breathless. How much I crave this woman. How long I've needed her. How good she tastes. How stupid I am. How hard she makes me.
I reach up to cup her face, feel the slight dampness of her neck from the flush of heat between us. I think I moan softly into her mouth. Her thigh presses into me, a soft hand slides up under my shirt, the other clutches at the curls on the back of my head, pulling me into her. I don't know if I want my eyes closed to lose myself in this moment, or open to remind me that it's really happening.

She's unbuttoning my shirt, her fingertips occasionally brushing against my chest, one hand sliding tentatively down, tracing my scar, slender fingers hesitantly stroke against the zipper on my pants and as I press the weight of my body into hers, hissing at the pleasure. She cups me, squeezing my rock hard cock and for a second I forget everything on this earth.

I have to look at her. I break the kiss, literally panting. She has a sheen on her upper lip, her bottom lip is swollen and rich pink, her eyes are dark and drowsy and gaze at me with a lust I'd always hoped I'd see, but never dared imagine. "Donna..." I trail off, not even knowing what to say. The whisper of a smile appears at the corner of her mouth and she grazes a nail down my torso, then slides both arms around my waist, under my now loosely hanging shirt. "Josh." She puts on her serious tone. I think there might be a pout forming. Did my knees buckle? "I think you've kept me waiting long enough, Josh. I promise you, this is one situation where you don't need to do any lobbying, negotiating or political begging."

"I don't?" I grin, give her a flash of the dimples, then lean in for another kiss. I press the full weight of my hardness against her, between her slightly parted thighs. Her skin is so soft along her arms, her lips so tender, I wonder how I kept from ravaging her against every damn pillar in the White House for the last eight years.

She breaks off this time, touching a finger to my lips, looking up at me through her lashes. Yes, bambiesque. And exquisite.

"You don't Josh. You never had to. I'm all yours."

"Holy God, I want you!", I breathe as I move in to kiss her once again. This time she kisses me almost violently, pulling at my belt buckle, tugging the remains of my shirt off. I bend slightly to slide her skirt up over her knees, bunching it up at the waist as she fumbles with the zip. It eventually slides off and I keep her pinned against the wall, kissing her inner thigh, breathing in the scent of her arousal, trailing kisses up to her belly. Her shirt is off moments later and, still kissing, we fall onto the bed.

The sex is hot, fast, hungry and passionate. Eight years of absolute repression and denial and we practically combust on impact. Her nails dig into my back, her eyes watching me as I pump inside her. We hold each other so tight, a sudden fear of losing each other once we finally got to this moment. She wraps her long legs around me and strokes herself as I gaze at her. She whispers my name when she comes, softly, in my ear, just before feathering it with gentle licks. I come hard, and as I pull out of her she wraps her fingers round my shaft, still throbbing, and pulls it against her belly. I stroke her hair away from her eyes when she comes again, suckle her bottom lip as I tell her how beautiful she is to me, how incredible, how much I want her. I go down on her, teasing her with my tongue as she runs her fingers through my hair, feeling the muscles in her thighs tighten at her release. She pulls me up and cradles me, stroking my cock as we kiss, slowly, my hands tracing circles on her thighs. When I'm about to come, she slides down and takes me in her mouth, sucking my cock, shooting jolts of pleasure up through the core of me as I come in her mouth and she licks me off.

Later, we make love again, tasting each other on our lips, taking our time, sharing looks between us of two people who know each other inside out and yet until tonight didn't know each other at all. Around three in the morning we fall asleep, naked, limbs entagled, my arms around her waist and my face buried in her hair, the sheets a twisted mess across our bodies.

Josh Lyman. You da man. And da man is hopelessly in love.