A/N: I got a prompt recently from a reader who referenced the times that Olivia mentions they decided to stop sleeping together after Fitz was inaugurated, and asked me what I thought that conversation was like. Immediately I was intrigued, and inspired to explore that! The first part of "In These Moments" is chapter 25.


"We said we would stop when you were president…" – OP, 2x08


Sacramento, CA

One month after the general election…


The bottle of wine sitting next to the television in her room is mocking her.

Open me.

Sip my velvety smoothness.

But she can't drink it.

She absolutely cannot have even one sip, because if she does—

If she does, she won't be able to say what she needs to say to him. She won't be able to put her guard back up, to harden herself and tell him that they have to stop.

Wine makes her…soft.

It exposes the soft, vulnerable parts of her, those parts that she works so hard to keep hidden away.

Actually, maybe, it's just wine around him.

Maybe he makes her soft.

It doesn't matter anymore, because she's not drinking the wine, and she won't be with him tonight.

Tonight.

It makes her feel sick, that he thinks they're going to be able to spend time together tonight. They're in Sacramento, in the house that's served as his gubernatorial home; a week of stationary time, no travel, just transition planning, and some calm before the newest storm.

Right now, he's saying goodbye to his wife and children.

Mellie's taking the kids to Santa Barbara, for some fresh air before the transition.

For the kids.

In reality, they're taking their last opportunity for a break from each other.

And she's here.

She's here, in his home, under the guise of transition planning; because her real home is across the country, and how could they possibly let their trusted advisor stay in a hotel when there's an entire wing of guest rooms in their home?

Jesus.

It has to be tonight.

It's not going to be easy, or quiet, and it has to be tonight, while they have some semblance of privacy.

It threatens to overwhelm her, suddenly, and she slides a hand over her mouth, swallowing it all down.

The soft rap on her door makes her jump, and there's no time to pull herself together before he comes into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hi," he grins, lighting up when he sees her, the way he always does.

"Hi," she says softly, "Did you see everyone off?"

"Mmm-hmm," he nods, sliding his arms around her waist before she can stop him, "They're excited to be at the beach."

"Good," she manages, trying not to be swept up in his warmth, his smell.

She can't look at him…and he notices instantly.

He's quiet for a moment, studying her, and then his brows furrow.

"What?" he murmurs, trying to slip a finger under her chin.

Summoning every ounce of resolve she has inside herself, she gently pushes his arms away.

It feels wrong.

It feels like the worst decision she's ever made, like she's going against every instinct she has. Trying to ignore the look on his face, she turns and walks away from him, over to the other side of the room. She takes a deep breath and turns to face him, feeling nauseous now that it's actually happening.

"Livvie?"

Did it have to be 'Livvie'?

At first, he looks confused and a little concerned; but she knows the second he starts to understand, the second he starts to fear. She can't get the words out for long moments, but the look on her face gives everything away, she knows.

It's not what's on her face, it's what isn't.

She's steeling herself, tucking her emotions away, using every tool in her arsenal to be impassive.

"We have to stop," she says quietly, feeling her heart palpitate when she actually speaks the words.

He stares at her like he doesn't understand, lips parting. "What?"

"Fitz, we have to stop," she says gently, finding that the words don't come any easier a second time.

Now, he looks like his entire world is ending, and she wants to cry.

"You don't mean that," he murmurs, shaking his head, "Don't say that."

"We've had our time—"

"—Liv—"

"—you're elected now, you're moving to Washington—"

"—you're coming with me—"

"—we're lucky to have kept this a secret this long, we need to be realistic—"

"—so being realistic means we just ignore—"

"—but I want you to know, that I don't regret this—"

"—what are you doing—"

"Please—"

She takes two steps backward when he tries to come closer, and he halts abruptly, looking like someone's poured ice water over him.

"Please," she says again, softly, closing her eyes like she's in pain, "Stay over there. And listen."

He takes a deep breath and opens his palms, hands relaxed at this sides, staring at her pleadingly.

"Don't do this," he murmurs, "Don't—"

"Stop being so idealistic!" she snaps, playing the part she's rehearsed for days, "I'm not letting you throw your presidency away over—"

"—oh you're not letting me," he interrupts, eyes widening, "I didn't realize you were the keeper of my integrity. Why are you doing this?"

"Have you even thought about the ramifications? For you? For me?"

"Jesus, Liv, of course I have, but—"

He's bewildered now, trying to deal with the blow he's been dealt.

"You're throwing all of this in my face like you've already decided," he croaks, staring at her helplessly, "Can't we talk about it?"

"You're married," she says, with finality, "And you're going to be the president, and we can't keep doing this."

That silences him for a few seconds, and she takes the time to try to swallow against the lump in her throat.

"I don't—" he starts, and pauses to take a breath, "I don't know how to—we need—"

"I don't need you."

He closes his eyes as if she's slapped him, slowly crossing his arms.

"Maybe you don't," he rasps, vulnerable, "But I—"

"You don't need me," she interrupts, squeezing her eyes shut, "This is just—"

"—oh, what is it?" he shoots back, daring her, "Please, tell me."

She falters for half a second, breath catching. "This was just…stress relief."

"Stress relief?" he mocks, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Sure, Liv."

"Campaigning is…stressful," she manages, still steeling herself, "It's—we just, needed that. We needed it, then, but, that's over now, and, we—I don't need you anymore."

"Oh, okay," he shrugs, wiping his nose, "I get it. We've just been fucking, right? Yeah. And you're moving on."

The pain in her eyes isn't well hidden anymore, but she nods, and when she does he's had enough. In two steps, he's in her space, grasping her arms to keep her from running away.

She gasps, pressing her palms against his chest when he's suddenly so close. "Fitz."

"Don't you dare say that," he whispers fiercely, staring into her eyes, "If you don't want to do this anymore, you say that and I'll respect it, this is your call. It's always been your call. But, don't you dare speak for me, and don't you dare minimize this. That's not what this is, and you know that."

She stares back at him, breaths coming quickly through parted lips.

"You know how I feel about you," he continues, voice breaking in the middle of his sentence, "I don't say it because you don't want to hear it, but you know. So, don't stand there and tell me I've been fucking you as part of some unspoken campaign strategy, because you know I haven't been. If that's what this is to you, that's fine. But don't speak for me."

It takes her a moment to get her breath back, but as soon as she does she breaks their eye contact, and it takes everything in her to take a step back from him. He lets her go, and steps back too, looking at her carefully. Her entire body is rebelling against everything she's doing, but she swallows and tries to breath, crossing her arms over her chest. She takes a few breaths, and prepares to lie, the thing she hates most in the world.

She looks up at him, steadying herself.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Watching his heart break is the worst moment of her entire life.

She watches it shatter in his eyes, and it's worse than anything she'd imagined.

He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at the carpet. His eyes are red when he looks up again, and she's never seen him so raw, so crushed, so hurt. But he collects himself quickly, eyes softening as he takes her in one more time, looking at her the way he does only when they're alone.

"Okay," he says softly, nodding a little.

And then he's gone.

He's gone.

The space he leaves in the room makes her breathless, and she slides down the wall behind her, collapsing.


When the sun sets, she's still on the floor.

There's nothing to get off the floor, for.

Why would she get up? It's done.

They haven't talked about working…she assumes they'll try to work together, still.

If they can.

But, this part, is done.

Oh god…

She's not prepared for the emptiness.

She hadn't realized how much space he's filled, until he's gone; she hasn't let herself feel it. She's shocked by how fast she starts to miss him; how she immediately starts to ache, and panic, at the thought of never being in his arms again.

Tears burn her eyes, and she scolds herself for getting emotional, quickly trying to wipe them away.

You can't get emotional over an affair.

You had an affair.

Except it doesn't feel like an affair, and it never has. It's felt like finding something—someone—she hadn't even known was missing from her life. Something inside her is just…connected to him, and that part of her feels like it's dying.

She's not prepared for this, and why does it feel so different from any other breakup she's gone through? It feels like she can't breathe anymore, in a way that has nothing to do with the panic attack she's trying not to have. She pats her chest, swallowing, trying to quell the overwhelming feeling that she's alone, now.

He's one person, this is crazy.

Everyone in her life is still in her life, she's not alone.

Except, she can't stop picturing his face.

He'd just looked completely devastated, and if she's hurt him half as badly as she's hurting right now—she can't take the thought.

Because he's good.

He's a good man, he's not some piece of shit politician cheating on his wife every chance he gets. He's been faithful, and she knows that because she's looked in the closets herself; she's looked him in the eye and dared him to lie to her, and he hasn't.

He's just…not in love with the person he married anymore, and he happens to also have had aspirations to be the President of the United States. He's kind, and generous, and tender-hearted, and—

She chokes on tears again, looking around the room desperately, like it's holding onto the answer.

—he's genuine, warm, brilliant, so fucking sexy—

And he loves her.

She has to turn and cover her mouth with both hands, curling into a ball as she leans against the wall, pressing her cheek to its cool surface.

He loves her.

He's as helpless in this as she is, and she knows that.

She's not ready.

She's not ready to let go of him, to put their time together in a box and lock it away; if she doesn't do it soon, she's afraid she never will.

But is 'soon'...now?

Does is have to be now? Does it have to be tonight?

Does it? Because she's not ready.

She's on her feet and at the door to her room before she can second guess it.

Her heart starts to pound as she rests a shaky hand against the surface, swallowing hard, and she pauses with her hand on the handle. She stares at the wooden surface, breathing hard through her nose, closing her eyes against the flush of heat that sweeps through her entire body.

Don't.

Don't.

She's seized with a wave of frustration and she bounces on the spot, rattling the handle a little, growling softly in the back of her throat.

Just leave.

Leave, if you can't handle it.

Pack up your shit, and get out of this house.

The grip she has on the handle is painful, its ornate edges digging into her palm.

You did this to yourself.

Fuck it.


She opens her door into a silent hallway.

Swallowing audibly, she takes a few steps, closing the door to her room behind her. There's no one else in the house tonight, except for some security and other staff, and it's almost eerie as she turns to the left and starts to walk.

She realizes simultaneously that she has no idea where he's gone, and that she's not wearing shoes.

It's a big house; three stories and two separate wings, two kitchens and three different dining rooms. She's vaguely familiar with the layout, and she's on the second floor where the cluster of guest rooms are. She starts to walk toward the opposite end, where she knows he has a study, thinking maybe he's gone in there.

But then…if she were him, she'd want to be as far away from her as physically possible, so maybe not.

Liv goes to check anyway, quietly padding across the curved staircase in her bare feet. His study is tucked into the back corner, and she approaches carefully, peeking around the corner. But when she steps into the doorway the study is dark, tall bookcases and corners of desk furniture cast in shadow by the hallway light.

Walking back out to the main staircase, she considers the third floor.

It must be where the master bedroom is, though she's never been up there. Slowly, she takes the first few stairs, deciding, and then a little more quickly. When she gets to the top it's even darker, and her heart leaps when she sees the glow of lights coming from the right side of the house. She heads in that direction, able to see as she gets closer that the light is coming from a small living room.

Cautiously, she pushes the door open a little more and takes a step inside, looking around. There's a comfortable looking sofa set centered around a television, and there are double doors open on either side of the room. One set leads into a bedroom, where she can see a king-sized four poster bed, and the other side looks to be another small kitchen, although she can only see the edge of a countertop and the side of some cabinets.

She jumps at the gentle sound of glasses knocking together, and a moment later he's coming out of the kitchen holding an empty whisky tumbler.

Fitz jumps too, and stops in his tracks, clearly not expecting to find her in his bedroom. He freezes, lips parting as his brain tries to catch up. He's still wearing his khaki pants, but he's just in a white tee shirt now instead of his pullover.

She stares at him for a second, breathing shallowly through parted lips, and then she's quickly crossing the room. He has two seconds to set the glass down, and then she's in his arms.

"Oh," he breathes, shocked, wrapping his arms around her, "Hi."

"Hi," she manages through tears, face buried in his neck.

For a few seconds his body is shocked too, but then he relaxes and the hug turns into an embrace; his hands splay open, and she feels the warmth of his palms on her back as they slide to cradle her closer. One slides up to cover the back of her neck, encouraging her to nuzzle in, to let him hold her.

"Hi," he sighs again, relief in his voice as they sway on the spot.

She hums and fists the back of his tee shirt, pulling in deep breaths of his scent, letting his warmth seep through her clothes. He rocks them back and forth, and her heart slows only to start racing again as she slowly realizes that she really is in his arms again.

"What happened?" he murmurs, pressing the words against her ear.

She makes a soft noise, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "I'm not ready."

"Livvie," he rasps, turning to press his lips against her temple.

"I didn't want to do it that way," she manages, "I couldn't think of another way."

"I know," he whispers, holding onto her tightly, "I should've done it. I'm selfish."

"No," she sniffles, pulling back to cradle his face, "You're not. You're not—"

She stops talking and kisses him, finally, whimpering in relief. He deepens it, opening his mouth more, sucking on her top lip.

It's been three weeks this time, since the last time they've been able to be alone together. They've gone longer, but with the transition looming over them, it's been unbearable.

"I don't want to stop, but we have to stop," she breathes, words spilling out in a rush, "You know we have to stop, I know you don't think—"

"—I can't think anything, when I'm with you," he groans between kisses, palming her hips.

"We have to stop when you're inaugurated," she whispers, moaning helplessly as he loops his thumbs into her pants, pushing them down past her butt, "When you're president. We won't be able to—"

"Not president yet," he rasps into her mouth, grasping the strips of lace on either side of her hips, pulling experimentally.

"Don't," she warns, grabbing his chin, panting into his mouth, "I only have so many pairs packed."

He pulls again, and her breath catches as the thin fabric slides against her clit.

"You'll buy new ones," he murmurs, nipping her lip.

"Just, don't, I like these," she whimpers, arching up into his body, palming his neck, "Fitz."

He sobers, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against hers, trying to focus on what he knows she's asking of him. He swallows and cradles her face, kisses her gently, soft presses that make her sigh.

"You know why we have to," she whispers, running her hands over his forearms.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and watches her blink away tears, not able to imagine a world where he's not allowed to be with her, ever.

"I know…okay," he whispers, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, "When I'm president."

She gazes back for a moment, and then she frantically moves in to kiss him, losing her breath as she pulls at his clothes. She starts to pull him toward the bedroom, completely forgetting that she's half-undressed already.

"You're not president yet," she whimpers breathlessly, letting him catch her as she trips on her own pants, kicking them away, "Not tonight."

His arms keep her close, steadying her. "Just president-elect. Easy."

He picks her up and carries her the last few feet, sits on the bed and pulls her to straddle his lap, watching her with furrowed brows between kisses, slowing their pace a little.

"Easy," he soothes, gently massaging the back of her neck, "I'm here."

"Don't," she whispers, gasping through a sob that catches in her chest before she can stop it, "Don't do that."

"Why?" he murmurs, wrapping her in close, daring her to talk to him.

She takes a breath and pulls back, staring at him with glassy eyes and lips that are rosy from his kisses.

"You know why," she whispers, swallowing.

Because you're not mine.

Because you won't always be here.

Because I need to survive this.

"I can't not do it," Fitz pleads softly, rubbing her back, "I—I—"

He doesn't say it, he never does, even though the words are right there on the tip of his tongue.

But she knows.

She gently runs her fingertips over his cheek, chest heaving gently as he stares back at her with an intensity that's hard to cope with. With a soft noise that she can't control, she cradles his jaw and tips her head, sinking into a kiss. One of his hands slides low on her back, across the top of her ass, and scoops her more snugly into his lap. He sighs into her mouth and gives her his tongue, flexing his hips as they rock together instinctually. The world starts to fade away, the way it always does when he's touching her, and she melts with relief.

She languidly sucks on his bottom lip as they kiss, sliding her fingers into his hair, pressing herself as close to him as she can. The arousal that's always right beneath the surface when he's around, starts to pool in her belly when he cups her hips with both hands, pressing her down into his lap as he rocks. She whimpers and lets go of his lip with a noisy smack, moaning softly against his mouth, slipping her hands under his shirt and over his back.

"Want you," he rasps, closing his fists into her shirt when she breathes over his ear.

Climbing up onto her knees a little, she rubs her mouth over the shell of his ear, teasing him with a warm breath. She hadn't discovered how sensitive his ears are until the third time they'd been together, and she's delighted in learning all the ways he'll come apart for her ever since. He shivers and pulls away under the guise of taking his shirt off, but as soon as it's gone she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls the lobe between her teeth. He growls softly, starts to shift his hips around, and she traces the edge of his ear with the tip of her tongue. She can feel him getting hard for her, and it makes her wet; the flush of heat that comes next is so strong it makes her dizzy, and she moans against his skin.

She gasps when he stands up and brings her with him, abruptly turning around to lay her on the bed, climbing into her arms. He slides his hands under her shirt, across her tummy, and she giggles, shivering. Crossing her arms, she starts to pull her shirt off and he presses a palm against her back to help her sit up. She lays back down in her bra and watches his eyes darken, reaching up to pull on his belt, sliding it open between them as he settles on top of her. Her belly contracts when he breathes across her neck, nuzzling softly, and she wraps her legs around his hips to pull him in so they can keep rocking together.

"Fitz…yes," she sighs, threading her fingers into his hair as he sucks, and bites, and breathes across her skin.

There's something about the way he buries himself in her that's erotic; the way he moans while he trails kisses down her neck, the completely lust-stricken look on his face when he nuzzles between her breasts, breathing her in. It steals her breath and makes her writhe underneath him, and she pushes on his shoulders until he rolls over.

She climbs over him and presses her tongue into his mouth, trying to breathe as his hands immediately take advantage of all the access. He lightly trails his fingertips across her back, over her sides to make her shiver, and then grabs her ass in both hands and grinds their hips together. He's hard between them, and she's overwhelmed with how badly she wants him in her mouth.

She's offered once before, months ago, but he'd pulled her away before she'd even started, groaning that he wouldn't last through it. Before she'd been able to say that she hadn't wanted him to last through it, he'd been pressing inside of her and—nothing else exists when he's inside of her.

They've been together enough times—he's lasted long enough to make her beg, enough times—for her to suspect it's something else that's stopped him.

Now, she sits up and circles her hips on him, watching his eyes squeeze shut, feeling him bruise her thighs with his fingers. She slides back and finishes opening his khakis, finding him through his boxers and rubbing with her palm, watching his face flush in pleasure. She tugs on his pants, and Fitz helps her pull them off, tossing them off the bed and reaching for her. Instead of straddling him, she leans down and kisses a trail across his belly, finding him with her palm again. When she gets to the waistband of his boxers, slipping her fingers under the edge, he shifts like he's going to flip them over; she stops him with her body, crawling up to cover him.

"Liv—"

"Shh-shhh," she soothes, kissing him with quick, soft presses, "Let me. Just tell me when to stop, if you don't want to come—"

"—you don't have to," he rasps, swallowing thickly, hands restlessly rubbing back and forth across her thighs.

She pulls away and smooths his hair, waiting for him to look at her, searching his eyes when they blink open and lock with hers.

"I want to," she murmurs, holding his gaze, "Is that okay?"

She can see it in his eyes, the moment he relaxes and gives in to what he obviously wants.

"Yeah," he sighs, closing his eyes as she starts to kiss his neck, "Yeah, I—okay, yeah…fuck."

Smiling against his chest, she kisses a trail down his torso, stopping at both of his nipples, nuzzling his ribcage. His breath catches when she circles his belly button, and she strokes up and down the sides of his chest before she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and off. She kisses his thighs a few times, and then levels with his penis, gently stroking his hips to give him plenty of advance warning before she wraps her hand around him. He's flushed and pink, thick and full in her hand, and he starts to groan softly as she strokes him slowly.

It strikes her, suddenly, that she doesn't know what he likes.

She hasn't done this for him yet, which is exciting, and strange, given that they're—given how many times they've been together…

Does he like a slow start, with a little teasing?

Or should she just go for it?

Liv leans in closer, deciding on something in between, and gently brushes her lips up his shaft, testing. He sighs and reaches for her, sliding one hand into her hair, resting his other hand on her forearm. She hums and cradles the head of his cock on her tongue, rubbing, listening to his breath. He's breathing hard, and she glances up to see him watching her, flipping her hair out of the way to make sure he can see.

She moans softly and takes him into her mouth, and the noise he makes is somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He tastes clean, a little salty, and she sighs as she slowly moves up and down a few times, settling in. She pulls off and brushes her lips over him again, up and down, and then takes him back in. This time, she sighs and picks up a rhythm, listening to the way it makes him moan. His breath stutters, and he makes the most desperate sounds for a few minutes, a whole different shade of arousal.

"Livvie…fuck…oh, fuck…"

Nailed it.

Humming happily, she pulls off to grin a little, and then envelops just the head of his cock, sucking harder. He digs a fist into the comforter, hissing, and she gentles again, running her hands over his hips soothingly. She takes more of him in and picks up a rhythm again, slowly, and then a little faster, enjoying the way he starts to groan over and over.

"Fuck…Livvie…fuck…okay…okay, okay, stop…"

She pushes him a little more before she slows down and sits up again, stroking him with her hand. It takes a few seconds before he opens his eyes, chest heaving, and she reaches back to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it. He reaches for her breasts automatically, trying to slow his breathing, weighing them in his palms, thumbing her nipples. Liv crawls up and lays herself on top of him, settling her forearms on either side of his head so that she can stroke his hair.

"Was that okay?" she whispers, kissing him softly.

He hums low in his chest, eyes hazy and aroused, running his hands over her languidly. "Too good."

His warm palms slide over her ass and squeeze, and she pulls her knees up to open her hips more, rocking against his belly.

"Made me wet for you," she murmurs into his mouth, "Want you."

He groans and pulls on her thong with both hands, making her jump.

"Wait! Wait, wait," she giggles, grabbing his wrists to make him stop, climbing off of him, "What did I tell you?"

"I don't remember," he grins, licking his bottom lip as he watches her stand up and fling the scrap of lace away.

She lays back down on the bed and turns around, scooting back into his arms. With her top arm, she reaches back and pulls him into a kiss, moaning softly as his hand strokes her belly, sliding up to tease her nipples.

"Fitz…"

He brushes his fingers across her low belly, and then slides them into her folds, growling in the back of his throat when he feels that she's already slick. She slides her top leg back over his, opening herself to him, finding his erection and trying to nudge it into place against her core. He rubs a few circles against her clit and then reaches to fist himself, lining himself up and pushing against her opening with a few rocks of his hips. Her breath catches, and she moans as he works the head of his cock inside of her, pressing in and out a few times before he sinks in with a soft grunt. Pulling her hand from his hair, he laces their fingers together and wraps her up, pressing their palms against her belly to pull her back.

Fitz nuzzles into her neck and she sighs, reaching into his hair again, scratching his scalp in a rhythm that matches the one their hips are starting. He palms her hip, and they rock together in rolling thrusts, staying close, completely losing time. She starts to breathe harder, moaning as the pressure builds between her thighs. His hand leaves her hip, and he slides in to rub her clit, gently surrounding it with two fingers, and then pressing directly on top. She gasps and pulls his hair, breaking out into full body shivers when he breathes against her ear, nipping at the lobe.

"Baby…"

He growls softly and continues his assault, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her neck and sucking deeply, just hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to mark her. She whimpers and writhes, throwing off their rhythm for a few seconds because it's so much.

He's always so much.

She's feeling the first few sparks of an orgasm when he stops, and pulls out.

"Baby," she whines breathlessly, rolling over onto her back, "—ohhh—"

"C'mere," he murmurs, climbing on top of her, "Wanna kiss you."

"Come back," she whispers, reaching between them to grasp him, "I nee—baby…"

He sinks back inside of her easily; she can tell he's close too because of how thick he is, and he's automatically deeper in this position. Her breath catches at the depth, and she pants as he nuzzles in to kiss her neck, giving her a minute to adjust.

"Kiss me," she sighs, cradling his face.

She wraps her legs around his hips and moans as he starts to fuck into her, sliding his tongue against hers, propped on his forearms. It's already too intense for her to breathe and kiss him at the same time, and she breaks away to moan and arch underneath him; he drags his nose against her cheek, watching her with dark eyes, unrelenting with the pressure and pace of his thrusts. She slides her palms up his back and wraps her arms around his neck, tossing her head from one side to the other, raking her fingers through his hair.

She cries out when her orgasm starts, squeezing her thighs around his hips, writhing against him with desperate moans; nails in his shoulders, sweat between their bellies, and slick, pulsing heat around him. He growls and bites into her neck, harder than he means to, closing his eyes to let the waves of her orgasm pull him into his.

It's in these moments, that they lose themselves.

Little by little, while he's loving her more completely than she's ever been loved. She gives him little pieces, and accepts his little pieces in return, so that every day they're closer to being something else; something whole.


A/N: Thank you all for reading. I would love to know what you thought!