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Donna has never cared much about size. She’s always had a great instinct for men, at least inside the bedroom, and so that has never mattered much.
If anything, she’d usually preferred men who weren’t that big - she’d found guys who had too much to be confident of regarding their looks or their size weren’t typically as worthy of praise on their technique. And, to Donna, technique is everything .
Harvey had been a pleasant surprise, a welcome exception to her rule. He had talked such a big game, half of her thought he just couldn’t be making that up, while the other half thought there was no way he was that good.
Well, there was. Not that she’d ever tell him.
It had been one of the best nights of her life because he may talk the talk but he absolutely had the skills to back it up. By the time he was done working her up with his fingers and his tongue, she’d been practically willing to forego the rest from how sated she already was, but he kissed his way up her body, took his time languidly on her neck and her breasts until she was writhing beneath him again.
She’d reached for his briefs and pushed them down and then she’d needed a moment.
He was big .
Not big enough to be painful, but big enough that for a second there she thought he wouldn’t fit entirely.
He had smirked when he caught her staring, clearly aware of the effect he was having - probably used to it. But he had also probably picked up on her slight hesitance, because he’d leaned down again and kissed her, wet and thorough as he heard her moan and shift. His fingers had found her clit again, lazily brushing up and down, driving her to the brink again before he’d pulled away to put a condom on. And then he was sinking into her, slowly, gently, giving her time to adjust to him.
It took her a moment - a very uncharacteristically sweet moment during which he’d leaned down again and stroked her hair and laid soft kisses over her face as she breathed.
And then he’d started moving at her encouragement and, yeah, skilled was a huge understatement.
She had never forgotten that night, many of its details burning as brightly in her mind’s eye as if it had just happened, but time has a way of blurring things. Over the years her memories of The Other Time became mostly centered less around the sex itself and more around Harvey, what his touch had felt like on her skin, how deeply he had looked into her eyes like he was trying to see through her, how lovingly his fingers had run through strands of her hair.
When she thought back to it, be it just for the recollection or for more private reasons, she didn’t think about his circling hips, his flickering tongue or, yes, his size.
And so she forgot a little.
And then when he appeared at her door on a weird Thursday night with forever on his lips, it was like her heart exploded. Every move, ever touch was supercharged, sending electric sparks down her whole body. By the time they made it to her bed she was half out of her mind with desire and so soaking wet she barely noticed his size as he slid inside. Neither lasted long and nothing had ever felt as wonderful as that.
Afterwards, once they had both recovered, she sat up on the bed and took the time to actually admire him, his toned chest and slightly chiseled abs, his strong arms and legs, the trail of hair running down from his navel and, finally, his shaft. She felt weirdly obscene leering over him all sprawled out on her bed, looking like her bespoken snack. He just smirked up at her, let her touch and tease until he was half hard again and she could take him in hand, glide the pad of her thumb over a protruding vein, circle her fingers around the head, caress him from base to tip and just enjoy it.
Really, Donna has never cared much about size, and Harvey’s greatest traits in bed are his resourcefulness, his care and attention, his command of his own body and hers, much more than his size. But she is madly in love with him and she will never have sex with anyone else again, and so she can admit to herself (and maybe to him, if he behaves) that she just loves how big he is.
She loves that the size and girth are just right enough to make it so that there is not an inch of her that is not touching him when he buries himself to the hilt inside of her. She loves that he knows what to do with it, how to hit hard and deep when that’s what they want, and how to glide smoothly in and out of her when they want it slow. She loves that he knows how to take her from behind without hurting her and that he knows how to make her come without using his dick at all.
He’s still the arrogant bastard he has always been and he still likes to wow her and have her begging, but their shared knowledge that this is it - they are it - makes it so that there’s no pressure to impress, for either of them. Just being joined together offers them a sense of completeness that they had never felt before, one that goes well beyond his size and how perfectly it fits against her body.
So, yeah, she loves his dick. She loves the size and the shape, she loves giving it a cheeky squeeze when they’re in a semi-public place, she loves the feel of it against her lips and tongue and the way it slides between her folds.
But what she loves most about it is that it’s a part of him, and that it’s a part of him loving her in all the ways she’d been waiting to be loved by him for fifteen years.