Tainted Love

AN: Readers have asked me why I write so many stories about affairs. My short and sweet response: I grew up with who I did, I grew up how I did, and I grew up with Lana Del Rey's Born To Die album on repeat. Enjoy!

Blake's fingers dug into the skin of her arm hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled her away into a hallway. After the door had clicked shut, they were blanketed in a thick quiet. Out here, away from the soft thrumming of string instruments and the low laughter of diplomats and their staff, he could feel his head buzzing from the flutes of champagne.

"I don't appreciate what you've done tonight," he hissed as his hand fell away from her arm.

Elizabeth arched one perfectly manicured brow as she smoothed down the skirt of her gown with her palms. "I don't know what you're referring to," she said with a smirk.

"Elizabeth." He watched her eyes visibly darken after her name left his lips. "You've marked me," Blake accused.

He was sure of it.

"As," she asked as if she didn't already know.

Risking being in close vicinity, Blake took a step toward her. "You've labeled me as completely and without a doubt unavailable," he told her. "Everyone that I've hit on tonight has shied away from my advances." He was close enough now that her perfume hit his nose. He was all too familiar with the notes of Jo Malone's Wild Bluebell, but, after hours spent schmoozing foreign officials while wearing an evening gown made from a thick fabric, she also smelled of sweat and sweet red wine. "You can't do this," he said.

The game she was playing tonight just wasn't fair to either of them. She knew much better than him how Henry felt. "If you two don't stop, I'll walk away," he'd said. And they both knew that Henry walking away from their marriage wasn't an option for her career. So, although he was doing his best at trying to move on, she was still grasping onto anything of him that she was able to hold on to.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered as she ducked her head, leaving him to stare at her scalp. "I was jealous. I know I'm not allowed to be anymore, but I am." Her cheeks were red when she met his eyes. "Marc, Patrick's speechwriter, asked me about you earlier today. You should talk with him," she said. "I also spotted that attractive blonde near the bar before you pulled me out here. I think you and Marie would hit it off. That is if I haven't already ruined the thought of blondes for you."

"Don't be silly, you dye your hair."

Elizabeth gave a sad smile.

"Do you hate me," she asked as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Blake eyed her. "I could never hate you, Elizabeth." Using one finger, he tilted her chin up. "It's quite the opposite actually." He looked both ways down the hall, making sure they were alone before he dipped his head down and kissed her.

"I…"

Blake's face settled into the side of her neck as he held her close to his chest. Her body was warm. Often, the cogs of D.C. turned to drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes to relieve their stress, but his addiction was Elizabeth McCord. His eyes slipped closed while he breathed in the smell of sweat, persimmon, and sweet red wine.

"You're right," he told her.

Tonight, this was work. He shouldn't be trying to play the field when he was meant to be by her side, supporting her. He also hadn't considered how she may feel seeing him moving on with someone he'd just met while she was stuck in a marriage that had turned cold. Though the state of her and Henry's relationship had been brought on by her own moral transgressions, it still had to be painful.

"I've missed you," she whispered into his chest.

And, like her position as Secretary of State, returning home each night to Henry who, while in private, kept her at an arm's length distance had to be lonely.

"Please," she begged. "Stay with me tonight?" Elizabeth's palms slid up his chest until her hands found the lapels of his suit jacket. "Henry will never know."

She needed someone to hold her tight.

Blake kissed the soft skin behind her ear before he pulled away. As he stared down into her eyes, he couldn't forget that his willingness to participate was also what had landed them in this mess.

"Okay," he said, agreeing to come crawling into her bed. It was too easy to say yes to her. But while the other cogs of D.C. turned to drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes to relieve their stress, she was his addiction. Jo Malone's Wild Bluebell pumped throughout his veins. "Just tonight."

They'd been traveling abroad for over two weeks now and, knowing how she felt about being away from her kids, he did see it necessary to provide more comfort than he did while they were in Washington. After all, she was his job.

"And maybe tomorrow," she asked.

"We'll see," he answered honestly.

Taking her hand, Blake led her down the hall to a bench, so they could sit together. A few more minutes away from the soft thrumming of string instruments and the low laughter of diplomats and their staff wouldn't hurt.

Elizabeth leaned into him. "I have an idea." Her breath was hot on his skin. "Why wait until we're back at the hotel when I can make you feel good right here," she said into his ear. She cupped him through his pants.

"Elizabeth," Blake muttered as he redirected her hand from his groin to his knee.

By nature, Elizabeth had always been very tactile, but she held onto this notion that her needs would only be taken care of if she came through first. He assumed it stemmed from a toxic relationship with a past boyfriend or maybe even the trauma she'd experienced from the death of her parents.

"I said that I would stay with you tonight," he told her. "So unless a civil war breaks out across Belgium or one of us comes down with food poisoning from the fish at dinner, I'll stay with you."

"You'd stay with me even if I were sick."

Blake's lips curved up at the corners.

Yes, there'd been a night of keeping her well hydrated after the stomach bug that had been working its way through the senior staff had finally hit her. There'd also been nights while overseas when he'd held her through panic attacks. Then, he'd offered reassurance about the fears she couldn't yet verbalize. They had days of stolen looks, shared smiles, and discrete hand holding during drives over to the White House. But there were also days of tears, arguments, and hurtful words spoken out of anger that could never be taken back.

"Promise you'll stay?"

"I promise." He opened his arms to her. "Let me hold you for a minute before we go back inside."