Disclaimer: I don't own anything that belongs to Scandal. It's all Shonda's.
A/N: This AU story is inspired by an old album cover I came across recently with Larry Graham of Graham Central Station in a white suit. Check out the "Your Love" track. Couldn't get the idea out of my head so here it is. Didn't know about FF until two years ago. Go figure. Haven't done any creative writing in 100 years. Forgot how hard it is. Hats off to all the authors. Been a big consumer of the wonderful content on this site, now I want to contribute - just this once. Don't hate me. It gets better. Always Olitz.
Cast of Characters
Olivia Pope – An entertainment attorney who is in an abusive relationship with her client-boyfriend R&B superstar Damien Lord. She often wonders how she got to this place in her life.
Damien Lord – The latest and most popular male R&B singer in the world. His story is truly one of rags to riches. Damien has a reputation for being difficult to work with and no one in the industry likes him, but he generates a lot of revenue for The Beene Entertainment Group.
Cyrus Beene – President and CEO of The Beene Entertainment Group. His entertainment businesses span various media outlets and he has signed the top talent across entertainment genres. After 40 years in the business, Cyrus is ready to retire, but only after the ink is dry on the contract for the hottest R&B singer in the world. The signed contract is his parting gift to his successor, Fitzgerald Grant.
Fitzgerald Grant –Senior Vice President of The Beene Entertainment Group. Fitz was handpicked to succeed Cyrus Beene as President and CEO when Cyrus retires in three months. Fitz is a handsome, Ivy League-educated, no-nonsense kind of man who has a passion for the business but not the talent side. He's everything Cyrus Beene isn't, and that's why Fitz is the perfect choice to lead The Beene Entertainment Group into the future.
Act I. The Penthouse
With a joint in one hand and a tumbler of Hine 250 single barrel cognac in the other, Damien Lord reclines on the luxurious eight-foot-long, white chenille Guy Chaddock sofa in his penthouse on the 55th floor of the Parkway Building, Legs out-stretched across the massive Ralph Lauren glass cocktail table, Damien takes a long toke on his joint and holds the burning smoke in his lungs before exhaling.
Olivia Pope, Damien's attorney and girlfriend, sits at the other end of the overly priced sofa, far away from Damien, trying to prepare the strategy for their final contract negotiations with Cyrus Beene, president and CEO of The Beene Entertainment Group. While Cyrus Beene might present as a fuddy-duddy, he is old school and cunning. Olivia needs to be ready.
As usual, Damien isn't interested in business. Getting high and spending money are his only interests lately. He no longer enjoys belting out tunes in the deep bass voice that won him many contests as a kid in Beaumont, Texas and several Grammy awards since making it to the big time. Now, the music is only a means to an end. Texas, he thinks to himself with sadness, seems so long ago. How did I get here he wonders?
Damien drags deeply on his joint, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as he can to access the escape he seeks desperately. Exhaling, he takes another long swig of the cognac, relishing in the burning sensation the liquid causes when mingled with the weed on his tongue. He looks around the luxurious penthouse and shakes his head, not believing how far he has come since the backwoods of Texas. At times, he can't believe he's made it this far. Sometimes, hell, most of the time Damien thinks he's just a fraud and will be found out sooner or later. Wondering when the jig was going to be up, he sucks hard on the joint again until the tip burns bright red.
Damien still feels like that scrawny kid from Beaumont who ran around without shoes until he won his first singing contest at 12 years old in the dirty, smoke-filled juke joint on Baynton Street. Damien got a job at the Cheque Please Juke Joint cleaning after the owner found him out back one night digging through garbage cans for food. Once Butchie, the club owner, realized Damien could sing better than the acts he was paying top dollar, Damien was promoted promptly from cleaning floors and toilets to singing every night to the drunken patrons.
Damien's daddy kicked him out of their home (if you can call the shotgun-style house a home) at the age of 10 when one day Daddy Lord declared suddenly he was no longer going to feed a useless, tongue-tied, ignorant, good-for-nothing who was never going to amount to anything. Damien had to go.
Always a shy child because of his speech impediment, Damien clung to his mother for love and support because he never got it from his father. That's why on this fateful day he looked to his mother, his savior, to rescue him as his daddy dragged him out of the house crying and kicking. Through the tears and his twisted tongue, Damien begged his mother to save him.
"Mama, mama. Help me please," Damien cried as he grabbed the door frame, trying to hold on to the only existence he had ever known.
"Mama, mama. Help me please," Daddy Lord mocked him, laughing hysterically. His daddy mocked people all the time, especially the wealthy men in town he did odd jobs for sometimes.
His mother never looked up as his father threw him out onto the muddy front yard, barefoot and scared. She sat silently at the rickety table in the dank kitchen with her head bowed as a lone tear rolled down her face. She learned long ago not to intervene when Daddy Lord was meting out his brand of discipline. After all, she has scars all over her body to remind her. This horrific night was the last time Mae Lord ever saw her son.
Damien was tired of being afraid. He just wanted to forget everything, so he took another drag on the joint. No amount of weed and liquor, however, could erase his childhood memories.
Unlike his handlers (lawyers, accountants, PR people), including his beautiful attorney-girlfriend, Damien doesn't have any formal education. But what he doesn't have in book smarts he makes up for with his god-given talent, so he tells himself. Trying to shake from his head the thoughts of not being good enough and of being a fraud, Damien downs the last of the brown liquor, tosses the tumbler onto the glass table, and looks over at Olivia who is busily scribbling something on her notepad. She doesn't notice Damien glaring at her.
That bitch is always writin' something, he says to himself. She thinks she's better than me 'cause she came from a good family, went to a bunch of fuckin' Ivy League schools, and speaks three or four languages nobody can even fuckin' understand. What the fuck is an Ivy League school any way he mumbles to himself? His insecurities start to get the best of him again as the weed and liquor dance around in his brain.
He pours another tumbler of cognac.
"Olivia!" Damien slurs, startling her from deep concentration on Damien's latest change requests to his contract with The Beene Entertainment Group. Olivia looks up from her notepad.
"Yes, Damien?" she asks, tilting her head and looking at him quizzically.
"Yes, Damien?" he mocks her as the smoke from the dwindling joint forms a cloud around his head, giving him the appearance of a space alien.
Here we go again,Olivia thinks, as she looks over at him.
"Olivia, come on over here and give daddy some sugah," he beckons with his right hand that holds the tumbler of cognac. The expensive brown liquid splashes onto the white sofa, but Damien doesn't seem to notice or care. Olivia cringes as the brown liquid seeps into the cushions.
"Damien, we have to finalize the terms of this contract and be ready to meet with Cyrus Beene in an hour" she says, looking down at her watch.
"I said get over here and give daddy some lovin'."
Actually, Olivia says to herself, you said "come on over here and give daddy some sugah." Olivia learned the hard way never to mock Damien out loud. Her internal monologues were her private form of entertainment that helped her to maintain what was left of her sanity. Olivia places the notepad and the folder holding the revised contract onto the glass table and slowly slides over to Damien.
"Yes, Damien?" she asks, looking up into Damien's bloodshot eyes.
"You think you better than me, don't you?" Insecure.
"Don't start now, Damien. We have to meet Cyrus. This is your biggest contract yet."
"Bitch, you don't tell me what to do. Fuck, Cyrus!"
"I'm not -" she began, but those were the last words out her mouth before Damien back-handed her, sending her flying across the room, tripping over the glass cocktail table before landing hard onto the plush white carpet.
"Damien, please. Don't do this, not now," Olivia pleaded.
"Get on yo' knees," he snarled as he stands from the sofa. Unzipping his pants and releasing his typically soft member, he walks over to Olivia. She knew the drill well, so Olivia lifted herself onto her knees and looked up at Damien with shadowed contempt.
"Didn't I say give daddy some lovin'?"
While Damien usually tried to conceal his stuttering, it was always more pronounced when he was high, which made him sound like a silly child in that moment. Damien let his pants and boxers drop to the floor, stepped out of them, and kicked them aside.
"Get over here and open your fuckin' mouth!"
Olivia crawled over to Damien, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth. Damien grabbed Olivia by her throat with his left hand while holding his still soft member in his right hand. He forced himself past her lips and into her mouth. Olivia closed her lips around Damien and began to do what she has done so many times. Damien thrust his pathetic flesh deeply into her mouth, almost causing her to gag.
"You better make me come, bitch. And, you better not think about bitin' me!"
Olivia kept her eyes closed and floated away to her private paradise, the place no one could touch, as she sucked and sucked and sucked. Damien pumped relentlessly, grabbing the back of Olivia's head, holding her in place while she took him to ecstasy.
"Yeh, Olivia. Ooh, baby. Just like that. You sure know how yo' daddy like it" he stuttered.
Damien lifted his left leg and placed his foot on Olivia's thigh, angling farther into her mouth while his balls slapped against her chin.
"Lick my balls, Olivia. Lick 'em right now!"
Olivia released him from her mouth, angled her head to catch his balls and began to slowly lick his hairy sac, just the way he likes it. Olivia sucked his balls and stroked Damien with her right hand as he stood over her, head thrown back; writhing in the pleasure Olivia's mouth was giving him.
It was Thursday and Marta had just finished folding the laundry. On her way to the linen closet to put away the towels, Marta walked towards the living room. As she entered the living room, she was horrified by what she saw. Marta gasped out loud in shock, dropping the towels to the floor. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The beautiful and kind Miss Pope was on her knees giving oral sex to her idiot boss-boyfriend.
"Get the fuck outta here unless you want to get on your knees too," Damien snarled.
Marta ran from the room sobbing and screaming something in Spanish. Damien threw his head back laughing maniacally. Once again Olivia was humiliated, caught on her knees in a $3000 white Dolce & Gabbana suit, licking Damien's balls and sucking him dry. Damien accomplished his goal.
Leaning back with bended knees, Damien continued pumping into Olivia's mouth while screaming over and over, "You ain't better than me. I'm Damien Lord!"
Olivia sucked and sucked his small member.
"That's right, baby. Right there. Oh my god. Right there. Just like that. You feel so fuckin' good. Don't stop. Don't stop. Please don't stop," he moaned.
Damien's body stiffened as he exploded in Olivia's mouth. Holding her head flush to him, he jerked and twitched as he rode out his orgasm.
"And you better swallow."
Damien slid his flaccid member from Olivia's mouth and pushed her back onto the floor. As she lay on the soft, white carpet, she felt blood running from under her left eye and onto her white suit jacket. She rolled onto her side, away from the sound of Damien laughing hysterically. Oddly, her only thought at the moment was she didn't want to be late for their appointment with Cyrus Beene. Work and her reputation were all she had left. And crying, well that was a luxury she no longer afforded herself. She was cold and dead inside.
"Baby, you got the best fuckin' lips ever," Damien stuttered. "Did they teach you that shit in one of those Ivy League schools? Damn, I think I'm gonna keep you foreva."
"Now get on up and clean yourself up," Damien yelled while pulling up his pants. "We don't want to be late for Cyrus, right?" he smirked as he staggered back to the cocktail table, picked up the decanter of cognac, and poured himself another drink. Taking a big gulp, Damien shook his head as the liquid glided across his tongue and down his throat on the path to his gut. He looked into the glass and shook his head thinking,I don't even like this shit.
Act II. The Restaurant
After much pleading and cajoling, Cyrus finally convinced an unwilling Fitz to sit in on the final negotiations for Damien Lord's contract renewal. Fitz was reluctant to attend the meeting because he prefers to distance himself from the talent and focus solely on growing the business. Entertainers can be such prima donnas he thought. He also detests Damien Lord. Although Damien is one of The Beene Entertainment Group's highest grossing talents, Fitz thinks Damien is an asshole. Damien has several DUIs, paternity suits, and is known to spend more time in the clubs than in the studio recording new music. But, he has a huge following of loyal fans that flock to his concerts wherever he performs. Yes, Damien is an asshole and Fitz would rather be anywhere except in a meeting with him and his attorney who Fitz is sure is an asshole as well. Fitz would rather be playing racquet ball at the club with his best friend Leo.
However, Fitz acquiesced to Cyrus' request since this was the last big deal Cyrus wanted to close before retiring in three months. Over the last year, Cyrus has been finalizing his succession plans by introducing Fitz to all of their top talent, letting everyone know Fitz will be the new guy in charge. Fortunately or unfortunately, Damien Lord was definitely one of their top talents and he was the last big client Fitz needed to meet. As Fitz understood the meeting's purpose, he was to be introduced to Damien as the new contact and Cyrus would close the deal. All the elite talent had direct access to Cyrus and that wouldn't change once Fitz is leading the company. Hopefully, the meeting won't last more than an hour Fitz thought, because he definitely does not want to socialize with Damien Lord.
Fitz and Cyrus sat in the plush, red leather booth at the famous Preggio Restaurant waiting for their client to arrive. Preggio is the place where big deals are discussed and closed. It is not unusual to see celebrities, politicians, and surrogates in the upscale restaurant throughout the day.
Fitz was dressed impeccably in a navy blue, pin-striped Brooks Brother suit; tailored to perfection. He sported a crisp white shirt, gold collar bar, and a red, silk Ferragamo tie. The gold cufflinks are a family heirloom, given to him by his late father. The gold Rolex is a gift from Cyrus after Fitz accepted the job as President and CEO of the company. He was the picture of class and confidence. He was effortlessly cool. But that cool was wearing thin since the two idiots have not arrived yet. He detested tardiness.
"Late as usual," Cyrus muttered, looking down at the ice melting slowly in his vodka on the rocks.
Leaning back with his long legs crossed, Fitz lets out a heavy sigh and continues scrolling through the messages on his phone. He begins tapping a message to Leo to reschedule their racquet ball match when he hears Cyrus declare, "finally," after spotting Damien and his attorney walking toward their table.
Olivia was dressed immaculately in a tailored white Versace pant suit. A silk, ivory-colored, V-neck camisole peeked through the buttoned jacket that stopped just below her small waist. Opera length gold chains around her neck swing side to side as she power walks through the dining room in her five-inch Jimmy Choo's. The gold stud earrings her mother gave her on her 16th birthday grace her ears. She has worn the earrings every day since that fateful day. She is the picture of simple elegance.
As she and Damien walk toward Cyrus, she glances quickly at her gold Cartier watch. Great, 45 minutes late. I hate being late.
Cyrus stood to greet the two while Fitz continued reading his messages, clearly not interested in being cordial to Damien and his attorney who are 45 minutes late.
"Damien, good to see you as usual," Cyrus droll, extending his hand to an obviously inebriated Damien.
"Yeah, yeah old man," Damien slurs. Ignoring Cyrus' out-stretched hand, Damien pushes past him and settles into the booth. Social etiquette.
"Olivia, it's good to see you as well. You're looking fabulous as usual," Cyrus says in French.
"Good to see you too, Cyrus," responding in French.
Damien rolls his eyes. He hates this shit she's pulling. Always trying to show how fuckin' smart she is because she speaks a couple fuckin' languages. I'll show her how smart she is when we get back to the fuckin' hotel. Insecurity.
"Who the fuck are you?" Damien growls, now eyeing Fitz suspiciously.
Fitz ignores Damien and continues to scroll through his messages. I don't have time for this shit, Fitz thinks.
"Cyrus, who is this motherfucka ignoring me? Don't he know who I am?"
Cyrus raises his eyebrows, giving Olivia a questioning look, wondering if Damien was going to be a problem. Of course Damien was going to be a problem. Damien is always a problem. Cyrus scampers quickly over to the table before things can escalate between Damien and Fitz.
"Oh, Damien. I was just about to introduce you to Fitzgerald Grant. He will succeed – uhm, replace me in three months when I retire. Bright. Really bright. You two are going to get along so well," rushing his words before Damien can argue.
Great, another smart motherfucker I got to deal with, Damien thinks.
"I need a drink."
"Of course. Of course." Cyrus chimes and flags over a handsome young waiter.
Cyrus resumes his seat next to Fitz and Olivia slides into the booth next to Damien and across from Fitz. Fitz puts his phone inside his jacket pocket, looks at his watch, and finally looks up at Damien as if he just realized someone else has joined the table.
"Mr. Lord," Fitz says flatly, piercing blue eyes staring Damien squarely in the eyes, not bothering to extend his hand.
"Fuck you!" Damien growls.
"Of course." Fitz deadpans.
Fitz turns his attention to Damien's attorney and is struck by the saddest eyes he's ever seen. Extending his left hand to Olivia, Fitz says in French, "Hello, I'm Fitzgerald Grant. I am so pleased to finally meet you, Miss Pope."
"I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Pope," Damien mocks.
Keeping her hands folded on top of her Louis Vuitton portfolio set atop the smooth mahogany table, Olivia responds in French, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Grant." She then turns her attention quickly to Cyrus.
I guess she's as much of an asshole as her boss, Fitz thought when Olivia didn't shake his hand.
Keenly aware of Damien's watchful eyes, especially when in the presence of powerful and confident men, Olivia chose to ignore Fitz' social gesture. She did not want to give Damien any more ammunition to use against her when they returned home.
Olivia knew all of Damien's insecurities, after all, that's how she met him. Being around smart and strong men intimidated him. Damien hates himself for always feeling like the frightened and abused little boy from Beaumont, so he keeps Olivia Pope around to run interference for him. She has brains and is eloquent. She is everything he isn't, and he hates her for it.
"Let's get this shit over with," Damien barks.
"Yes, let's," Olivia says smoothly while opening the portfolio to retrieve copies of the revised contract. Olivia gracefully hands everyone a copy of the contract. Damien tosses his aside, landing it in the bread basket. He slips on his Beats headphones, leans back, closes his eyes, and begins bobbing his head to whatever was on his playlist at the moment. Fitz placed his copy neatly to the right of his sweating drink and leaned back against the smooth leather, wondering when this circus was going to be over. After all, there were only a few minor changes Damien demanded at the last minute a couple of days ago. He wanted to include stupid shit like having Twizzlers in his dressing rooms while on tour. Fucking Twizzlers, Fitz thinks to himself, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.
Stealing a glance at the woman seated across from him while she and Cyrus discuss the contract, Fitz realized she is indeed a beautiful woman, but an incredibly sad woman apparently. While he didn't know if Olivia's relationship with Damien was anything more than professional, Fitz didn't stare too long because he didn't want to chance antagonizing Damien any more than he already had. After all, Damien is a significant asset to The Beene Entertainment Group. Fitz wondered, however, why such an obviously smart, talented, and beautiful woman was wasting her time with the likes of Damien Lord.
Fitz glanced at Olivia again, this time long enough to notice the faint bruise under her left eye. While the make-up did a good job concealing most of the damage done to her beautiful face, Fitz could tell the bruise was recent. None of my damn business he thought, shaking his head again in bewilderment.
Finally, the updated terms of the contract are agreed to by all of the parties. Olivia, Cyrus, and Damien seal the deal with their signatures.
"Damien …" Cyrus starts. "I'm glad you are going to continue to be part of the Beene family. I think this is cause for celebration, don't you?" This was truly a cause for celebration. Cyrus Beene, the old sly fox, has once again signed the top R&B artist for the next five years.
Fitz stood from the table as Damien started high-fiving Cyrus.
"Please excuse me. I need to make a call," Fitz said, reaching inside his jacket to retrieve his phone. Neither Cyrus nor Damien acknowledged Fitz, so Fitz took this as his opportunity to whisper to Olivia, in French, to meet him at the bar. Fitz wasn't sure if Olivia heard him because she sat stone-faced, looking straight ahead, staring at nothing in particular, while Damien and Cyrus continued to bask in their renewed relationship. Olivia learned a long time ago since being with Damien how to take mental respites without anyone being the wiser.
"Champagne for everyone!" Cyrus shouts gleefully; clapping his hairy, wrinkled hands.
"That's what I'm talking about," Damien said slowly, trying to control his stuttering.
"Champagne sounds good, Cy. Make sure it's Preggio's best," Olivia said while rising from her seat.
"Where are you going?" Damien asked nervously. He can't carry on a conversation with Cyrus for long without her.
With a practiced, plastered smile, Olivia says, "To powder my nose. Save some champagne for me," she said as she walked away.
Olivia needed to get away from that monster named Damien. She felt like she was suffocating from the stench of his weed, liquor, and ignorance. She couldn't breathe. On her way to the ladies' room, Olivia passed the waiter who was bringing the champagne to their table. Good, she thought. The champagne will keep Damien occupied for awhile. Drinking champagne always made him feel like an important man, so he drank a lot of it, especially when someone else was paying.
Act III. The Light
As Olivia strolled through the dining room, she took in the scenes around her. The room was abuzz with energy and everyone really seemed to be enjoying themselves, a stark contrast to the meeting she just left. She saw ladies throwing their heads back, laughing effortlessly at something their dining partners said. She glanced at lovers sharing intimate whispers and caresses. She heard melodic music playing softly in the background, crystal glassware clinking to toast an accomplishment, and silverware scraping bone china to retrieve Chef DuSalle's mouth-watering creations.
With another quick glance around the room, Olivia decided in that moment she was done. She was done living this ridiculous life. She was done sacrificing her mental, emotional, and physical health for a person who does not have the capacity or desire to change. After all of these years, haven't I served my penance? Don't I deserve to be happy?
It was never about love. From the beginning it was about her need to save him – to fix him. And he needed to be fixed. But his emotional scars are too deep. His demons began to rear their ugly heads rather quickly and, whatever they had initially, changed into something sick and twisted. But she stayed. Why did I stay so long she wonders? Olivia pushed the thoughts from her mind for now.
The sunlight streaming through the ornately designed front doors of the restaurant caught Olivia's attention and she began to follow the light. A small smile crept over her face as she walked closer and closer to the light. She imagined that a better life, a happy life existed for her beyond those doors. Heart pounding in her chest, she strolled confidently toward her future.
As she nears the exit, she's overcome with a feeling of peace. And she is really smiling now. She feels lighter. She feels free. Suddenly, a strong hand grabs her arm and pulls her into a tiny, dimly closet across from the bar teeming with the happy-hour crowd. Her heart crumbles. Damien. Olivia whipped her head around to face her monster, but instead, she came face to face with the bluest eyes. Fitz. She eyed him closely for the first time because she dare not look at him while they were at the table with Damien. He was indeed a handsome man.
"What are you doing?" she asks with indignation.
Ignoring her question, Fitz asks, "Are you leaving so soon, Miss Pope?"
With an edge to her voice, "I don't think that's any of your business, Mr. Grant," pulling back and glaring into those damn eyes.
The tiny closet required them to stand chest to chest, breathing in each other. Looking down at her, Fitz wondered why anyone would want to mar such a beautiful face. Fitz lifts his left hand and cups the side of Olivia's face. Ever so gently, he runs his thumb over the almost-camouflaged bruise under her left eye. Instinctively, Olivia leans into him. She has not felt this kind of warmth and compassion in so, so long. She closes her eyes tightly to quell the tears. Crying is not a luxury she allows herself.
"Open your eyes," Fitz demanded through clenched teeth, anger filling his chest.
No response.
"Open. Your. Eyes," Fitz repeats tenderly this time, his warm breath causing her eyelashes to flutter.
Olivia slowly opens her eyes and looks into his pleading face.
"Does he beat you?"
The silence stretches for what seemed like an eternity as sad brown eyes stare into stormy gray eyes. Finally, in the smallest and most broken voice ever, she breaks the silence.
"Oui'." And the tears begin to flow.
18 Months Later
"You should get back to work," not sounding too convincing.
"I am working," he groans, trailing wet kisses down her neck.
"Cyrus would have a heart attack if he knew what was going on in his old office."
"Then we won't tell him," he smiles into her neck. She rolls her eyes playfully. God she loves this man.
Holding her close on his lap, they sit in the huge, black leather chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that allow the sunlight to flood the room. Aware of how sensitive her breasts are now, his left hand gently caresses her right breast through her silk blouse, while his right hand rubs soft circles on her growing stomach.
Face buried into her neck and breathing in her scent, in this moment he feels happier than he has ever felt in his entire life. He was making out in the middle of the day with the woman of his dreams. And, she was giving him a son in three months.
Things were rough for them in the beginning though, because of her trust issues. More than once he wasn't sure if they would make it. And, god, he wanted to have a life with her. He wanted her to have his babies, to grow old together. While he never doubted her love for him, he watched her struggle with being in a real relationship, with opening up and sharing her feelings. Although she told him about some of her past, he knew there was so much more she kept locked away.
"Livvie, for god's sake, if you won't talk to me, then go talk to someone!" he shouted after another night of arguing. He'd suggested more than once that she talk to someone. The suggestion only caused them to fight more. Until one night she broke down in his arms, confessing she didn't know how to do this – to be in a relationship with him. She didn't know how to be loved by him.
Together they found a therapist with whom she was comfortable. Over the months, the therapist helped her to understand why she allowed certain things to happen in her life, and why she was now struggling to accept his love. He was patient. He was reassuring. He was loving. All of this was unfamiliar to her. It was scary. In time, however, she grew to trust him – to love him without inhibition.
"Fitz," Olivia moans. Eyes now closed she leans back into his chest and runs her fingers through the soft curls at the back of his neck.
"We shouldn't," her voice heavy with desire.
He continues nibbling at her neck, his own desire growing.
"But, but Lauren …"
"Is running errands."
"We can't."
"We can and we will," Mrs. Grant.
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