AN: Hello beautiful people! A little note before you read this story- it's 100% shameless, filthy, explicit smut. You've been warned ;)

"Careful there, Miss Pope…"

She registers two things at once: big, warm hands on her waist and a deep, husky voice in her ear. She also vaguely registers the thumping of the music, the swirl of the crowd, the slight sway to her movements as she attempts to stay upright on the dance floor. But the hands and the voice–those are the only things she cares about at the moment.

Fundraiser dinners for the Institute have never been her particularly favorite events. Usually, they are boring, full of small talk and schmoozing donors and regaling deep-pocketed aristocrats with tales of power and prestige and everything she's good at. She always wears a fancy dress, holds his hand so that everyone in the room is aware that they are still, in fact, together, and plays her role well.

Except, tonight's dinner has been different. The atmosphere was strictly professional through dinner, but as soon as the elegant ballroom music was replaced with Top 40s and pop hits and the booze started to flow steadily, the crowd began loosening their ties and their inhibitions simultaneously. Thus, leading her here, on her fourth–or was it fifth? –glass of wine, rocking back and forth to the beat of the music on the outskirts of the dance floor.

Dancing is not exactly her cup of tea–at least it hasn't been for years–but for some reason, the energy of the room is making her feel warm and happy and completely enamored with just watching the partygoers enjoying themselves. That was, until she felt those hands around her waist.

Without waiting for her response, he settles her on her feet and crowds up against her back. His hands roam along the silky-smooth fabric of her dress. She'd picked a knee-length, satin black dress that hugged her hips tightly. The thin straps and low swooping back, paired with the slit at her right thigh, are a lethal combination that she knew would drive Fitz crazy. His voice is dark and so fucking sexy that she almost moans as she feels his breath against her neck again.

"You doing okay?" He asks and while it is sincere, there's a hint of a tease in his tone.

"I am fine, mister. Are youuu okay?" Her wine sloshes along the sides of her glass as her feet get a little jumbled trying to turn around in his arms. When she sees his smile, she knows she's been caught. "What?"

"You are drunk, ma'am," he smiles warmly, laughing at her immediate look of incredulity.

"A lady never gets drunk, Mr. President," she chuckles into the lapel of his suit.

"Well, I'm not sure about a lady, but you certainly are…" He laughs and hugs her body closer to his.

This new normal is everything to him. Sure, fundraisers aren't his favorite thing either, but getting to take her as his date, getting to hold her on the dance floor in front of everyone, and getting to take her home after…those things are.

"I'm not drunk, Fitz. I'm just…tipsy," she states as she attempts to fix her face in the most serious, not-drunk expression she can muster.

Ducking down, he plants a kiss right on her lips, mindful of her fiery red lipstick, and he smiles at her futile attempt to keep him there. "Okay Miss Tipsy, you wanna dance?"

Olivia spins around to look at the state of the crowd on the dance floor. It is quite lively, and now that he's back here with her, there's no place she would rather be. Wordlessly, she grabs his hand, sets her wine glass down on a nearby table, and pulls him toward the thick throng of people where bodies are thumping against each other, and hips are moving with more gusto than Fitz would ever admit he's comfortable with.

But then, he watches her. They are in the midst of roughly a hundred other inebriated people, so it's not as though eyes are only on them, but the way her hips start moving to the music makes him flush hot–it's gorgeous and so sexy and fuck he doesn't think he's ever seen Olivia Pope dance. At least not like this.

Her hips sway back and forth, swinging her ass in a circle as she bends her knees slightly. Her hands are everywhere, caressing down her thighs before trailing up to her neck where she holds and feels her pulse point as she throws her head back between her shoulder blades.

And in the next breath, he clocks her mouth, moving along with the song, and for some reason, that surprises him even more than her dancing. A pop song is playing–one that Fitz could not tell the name of but recognizes enough to know it's a popular song by an artist like Beyoncé or Rihanna or someone like that. It's an upbeat pop song with curse words and sexual undertones, and Olivia knows every word.

As she spins around yet another time, her hips undulating to the rhythm of the bass, she notices him staring at her slack jawed. The corners of her mouth raise, and she smiles teasingly at him before throwing her arms around his neck and continuing the circling of her hips, this time purposefully grinding into his.

Fitz takes the opportunity to draw closer to her, bringing his mouth down against her ear. "You little minx… I never knew you could dance…"

She moans and it catches Fitz off-guard because he's the one that's becoming painfully hard and she's the one that moans for some reason. "Well, don't be so surprised. You've seen me do this on more than one occasion…" As she says it, she takes his hands and deliberately settles them low on her hips as she rocks once forward and backward. "Just without clothes on…" She adds, whispering softly against his neck.

While he thought it would be fun to dance with her, he forgets how horny she gets when she drinks like this, and it suddenly is not fun, it's torturous. With a quick glance to ensure no one is watching, he lets one hand slip down to her ass and deliver a firm squeeze and light spank before murmuring, "C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go home…"

Escalades are their preferred vehicle of choice, however there's something about the traditional limousine on fancy gala nights that makes them both nostalgic and sentimental. Getting dressed up, letting him open the limo door, cuddling together on one of the bench seats in the back, opening the mini fridge and retrieving whatever the driver has stocked for them–it's fun and a special reprieve from their typical day to day all-black SUVs.

Once he finally steers her out of the party to their private exit, the limo is quickly located, and then he's ushering her into the back seat before crawling in behind her.

"Fuck, that was fun," Liv laughs as she wiggles further down the bench and relaxes her head back against the headrest. "Why aren't all of the Institute events like that?"

"Because I don't think our reputation could survive it…" He retorts playfully, eyeing her dress askew on her thighs and tipsy smile. "Two more minutes, and I would have taken you right there on that dance floor, Livvie."

He's not sober by any means and his blatant confession makes her realize that he might be at a similar level of drunkenness as her.

"...and I would have let you." Her gaze turns hazy, looking as though she might jump him in the next minute.

They are lucky that they have trusted people around them. That Mike, their driver, is discreet and never bothers them unless expressly asked to. So, when Fitz gains his attention and learns that they will be stuck in at least an hours-worth of traffic on the route home, he dutifully tells Fitz to let him know if they need anything and rolls up the sound-proof dividing panel between the driver's seat and the rest of the vehicle.

Then, they are alone.

"Come here, you," Fitz beckons, leaning back into the adjacent bench seat where he's sitting and spreading his legs to get comfortable. His smile is easy, relaxed, and full of arousal.

"Why?" Liv asks even as her legs start to carry her toward him. It's a little awkward to shuffle around in this limo, but she's limber enough to make it work. When she gets to him, he doesn't have to tell her what to do. Her heels are toed off and her dress is hiked up around the tops of her thighs. Then, those thighs straddle his hips, and she's finally settled on his lap where she's wanted to be all evening.

"You are so beautiful and so fucking sexy, I can hardly control myself right now," he coos as he peers up at her, skimming the sides of her bare thighs with rough palms.

"Well, let the record show that I am not stopping you one bit," she whispers, her forehead coming to rest against his.

Fitz growls deep in his chest, and his eyes roam her body–her braless breasts straining against the fabric of her dress, her teeth chewing at her bottom lip, the little peek of thong he gets, made visible by the dress's slit now cutting up to her hip bone.

Her hips rock over his, and he might be imagining things, but he's pretty sure there is already dampness against the zipper of his dress pants. He squeezes her hips just hard enough–a warning for her to cool it because as much as he likes to tease her and as much as he might want to, they cannot fuck in the back of this limo. However, from the look on her face, that's definitely what she's wanting to do.

"You wanna know something I've always wanted to do?" She murmurs, hot and husky against his ear, and it's like he can read her mind.

"Olivia…" He warns.

"You don't even know what I'm going to sayyy."

"I think that I do…"

"Well, if you're so smart, then what was I going to say, mister?" She sasses.

"That you wanted to have sex. Right here. In the back of a limo."

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "You're so unimaginative. In fact, that's not exactly what I was going to say."

His eyes narrow at her skeptically. "Okay…then what is it, pretty girl?"

She leans in, pressing her breasts into his chest and getting as close to his ear as possible, tugging the hairs at the nape of his neck for good measure. "Well…I've been in a dancing mood tonight. I thought maybe…maybe I could turn on some music and see where it leads me…"

His brows furrow even deeper. "You want to dance? There's not much room in here for that, baby…"

"Trust me, I won't need much room for this," she responds, looking intentionally between his eyes and his lap.

"Oh, fuck. If you do that, I will want to fuck you, Olivia."

"Ex—act—ly." She enunciates every syllable with emphasis. "Which is why I said, 'see where it leads me'. I figured it would lead me onto your dick if that's okay."

Fitz splutters–the way alcohol loosens her tongue should be illegal. "So…I was right. I did know what you wanted…"

His eyes roam her body, peering down toward their laps where her hips are already starting to rock over his again. Leaning her chest in closer into him, she finds the lobe of his ear and nibbles.

"…and what's so wrong with that?" She's taunting him a bit, but normally he's the one trying to convince her to have sex in some semi-public place so it's only fair she does the same.

"I—um…" Fitz stops and starts a few times before acquiescing. He doesn't really have an answer. But truthfully, all the blood that should be in his brain has traveled southward so it's not exactly his fault.

"…I've always thought about this one particular song…and doing filthy fucking things to you in the back of a limo while it's playing…" She kisses along his neck, trying to arrange the auxiliary cord and her phone while she does it. "I used to think about it at night with my fingers inside myself—you know how that's not always satisfying for me—but it used to make me come every single time."

Fitz's hips buck up into hers, and she lifts and resettles herself when she feels his erection straining underneath her. He mouths at her neck, sweeping her pin-straight hair out the way. "I love hearing about how you like to touch yourself…makes me so fucking hard…"

"I know you do…it's better when it's your fingers though…"

And with her words, his hand leaves her hip and dips between them, settling his palm against her center. With the way she's rocking, she finds that she can grind her clit perfectly against the heel of his hand and the pressure is insane. For a moment, she gets lost in it and starts to chase her own orgasm before her phone unceremoniously slips out of her hand, and the resulting crash refocuses her.

"Have you heard this song before?" She asks, slipping out of his grasp and moving to place her phone in the cupholder on the other side of the car where it would stay the safest.

Lemme hear you say "Hey Ms. Carter"
Say, "Hey, Ms. Carter"

And Fitz is woefully lost. Who is Miss Carter? He hasn't heard this song before, which isn't surprising for a white, heterosexual man in his fifties, but she still rolls her eyes and smiles at him, nonetheless.

When the bass drops and vibrates through the speakers, it's almost like a flip is switched in her. She makes her way back over to Fitz slowly, taking her time, caressing her hips then her breasts, pulling the skirt of her dress up tantalizingly, leaning over to flash him a view of her cleavage. As she climbs over him again, she starts to tug on his suit jacket, needing it off to make room for what she wants to do next.

Fitz obliges her, obviously reading her cues and knowing what she wants him to do. With the jacket off, he realizes just how hot he was getting, both from his arousal and the heat of her body.

She's straddling him once again and he loves how her ass feels in his hands–how he can help her move her body over his like this. How he can feel the fabric of her thong through the thin layer of her dress. How he wants to tear it all off.

The song is up-tempo, which makes her move her hips faster than she typically would. But this isn't typical. She wants to give him a lap dance, and it's incredible that even after all of these years together, they are still finding new and exciting things to do together.

Boy this all for you, just walk my way
Just tell me how it's lookin' babe, just tell me how it's lookin' babe

This is all new, so she soldiers on into the unknown, standing up and turning around. She nudges his legs wider, making room for herself between them. Then, she sits back, her ass settling in his lap and her hands skimming down his thighs to his knees. One circle of her hips like that, and he's almost done for.

"Fucking hell… my god, Liv," Fitz almost pants against the back of her neck, eyes ogling the gorgeous expanse of skin that is exposed through the open back of her dress.

She turns her head to the side, kissing his jaw and making her voice as sultry and teasing as she can. "Yeah? You like that?"

His hands grip her waist, and he's so strong that he encourages her hips in another swoop on his own accord. "You are so fucking sexy…"

Olivia loves how much he curses when he's drunk and turned on. It spurs her on, encourages her to do more so that she can hear him. So that she can hear his groans and swear words and praise. He's hard between her thighs, against her ass, and that fuels her even more.

High like treble, pumping on them mids
Ya man ain't never seen a booty like this

She's not sure where it comes from–where her confidence in dancing has come from tonight. But the song spurs her on, and she stoops her body over, her hands grasping at his ankles while she arches her back and makes little bouncing movements directly over his crotch. Then, she's up again, pressing her back to his chest as firmly as she can.

His hands roam her belly, her thighs, her breasts…anywhere he can reach.

"You are something else…" He teases quietly into her ear as his fingers tease her nipples through her dress.

"Ungh–yes, Fitz…please…"

Her begging pushes him even closer to the edge, and he needs to kiss her instantly. She flips her body around to straddle him once again and crashes their lips together in a passionate, urgent rush. Her mouth coaxes his open, and their tongues automatically begin to dance together.

Yoncé all on his mouth like liquor
Like, like liquor, like, like, like liquor

It feels like as soon as the kiss starts, it ends, and she's slipping away from him. His eyes are closed so he has to open them to see where she's gone, but when he does, he's shocked at the sight: Olivia on her knees in between his spread thighs, fingers already swiftly working on his belt, button, and zipper.

"You'll like this part…" She murmurs while she watches her own hands work, dipping into his boxers and wrapping her fingers around his hard cock.

He groans. He's not exactly sure what she means by 'this part', but if it's a handjob, then yeah, he will definitely like it; he always likes it when she touches him, anyway she wants.

"This is the part I always imagined…" She adds, her eyes pointedly flashing between the speaker and his.

Driver roll up the partition please
Driver roll up the partition please
I don't need you seeing 'Yonce on her knees

As she strokes him, she smiles teasingly, leans in closer, and starts to sing along, and if he was surprised that she knew all the words to the song before, at the gala, he's shocked to see her mouthing every word to this song. It's filthy…

Now my mascara running, red lipstick smudged
Oh he so horny, yeah he want to fuck

Then, she ducks her head even closer to him, skimming her own red-lipstick-covered lips along the side of his cock, whispering the words right against his length. The feeling of her smooth lips brushing up and down his dick mixed with the words themselves has Fitz panting, his fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her off of him so that he doesn't come embarrassingly quick.

Nothing could have prepared him for the next words she says along with the song, eyes fixed heatedly on his, a smirk on her lips as she says it.

He Monica Lewinski'd all on my gown

There's something about them being them–he's a former president, she was his mistress, they did, in fact, fuck in the Oval Office–that makes that line all the more naughty. His jaw drops at the lyric, and she chuckles in response, having been waiting for that exact moment…when he would realize why this was her fantasy.

She gives him one more teasing stroke to prepare him, and then her mouth is on him, sucking him with the pressure he likes, swirling her tongue around his tip, bobbing her head, and trying to get as much of him in her mouth as possible. He hits the back of her throat, and she makes a noise he's never heard before–like she's trying to not gag–and it's so fucking hot that he wants to hear it again.

His fingers guide her as his dirty mouth shares some of the debauchery, praising her, whispering pleased profanities, all delivered with a side of possessiveness and dominance that she loves.

"Fuck, Livvie… that's it… good fucking girl—shit—yeess. My pretty girl, on her knees just for me… choking on my dick. Wish everyone could see you like this—fuck—they'd know you're mine…all mine."

She speeds up her movements, moving over him briskly, enticing moan after moan from him as she sucks and slurps. He's so hard and thick against her tongue, and it's so hot, and she loves hearing him talk to her while she pleasures him that she can't help but touch herself—her free hand not on his cock finds her cunt, wet and slippery. She's so wet in fact that as soon as she slides her panties to the side, she sinks a finger into herself.

Fitz throws his head back when he sees her start moving her hips, fucking herself, and he already needs more of her. "Oh, good girl, fucking your fingers like that… Baby—I'm not gonna… Fuck, c'mere…"

She obviously doesn't realize how close he is or else she wouldn't be sucking him like this. She wouldn't be humming around his cock. She wouldn't be kissing down his length. She wouldn't be sucking his balls into her mouth. She doesn't realize, so he pulls her away instead, and guides her back into his lap.

Handprints and footprints on my glass
Handprints and good grips all on my ass

The words are accentuated with a firm slap to her ass, which is now bare as her dress has finally risen all the way up around her waist. Her panties are still askew from where she had pushed them to the side and it would be so easy to let her just sit down on his cock, but he needs this first.

It's kind of awkward in the limousine as there isn't as much room as he normally would have for this, but there's a bench on the opposite side of the car, and he has just enough space and leverage to scoot forward, taking her with him. His arm wraps around her back, picking her up and laying her abruptly but gently down on the adjacent seat.

It happens so quickly—one moment she's straddling him, the next she's on her back with her legs over his shoulders, and he's on his knees, his lips on her cunt, his tongue inside of her. He has half a mind to tell her to hush—the music is loud, but she's definitely louder, and while the song mentions the chauffeur eavesdropping, he doesn't necessarily want that.

He's hers. No one else gets to hear how she sounds when she comes on his tongue.

It's fantasy really. He knows that Mike can't hear them through the cab partition, but it doesn't lessen how hot the idea makes him.

Her orgasm is fast, much faster than normal because she's so turned on that the foreplay of her own fingers coupled with giving him head is more than enough, and by the time his fingers come into play alongside his tongue, her fate is sealed.

As she comes down, he crawls over her body to kiss her again, falling into a series of long, wet kisses, letting her taste herself on his lips. He's trying to keep kissing her, but all of the sudden, she's not really kissing him back anymore. Her lips are starting to move in foreign ways, and he realizes simultaneously that he doesn't understand what the song is saying.

It's French. She's speaking French.

He has no idea what the song is saying, but he thinks he can hear the word "sex" a few times, so he guesses the connotation. It doesn't matter though because her whispering in flawless French against his mouth as she grinds her damp center against the bare skin of his cock is so wildly erotic.

He had every intention of letting her ride him, but he just can't wait. She's on her back on the bench and he's on top of her, and he needs to be inside of her. But in the next breath, he realizes she hasn't given up on her plan.

Her hands push him back onto his original seat, and she immediately straddles him again. Her fingers reach down and grasp his cock firmly, rubbing the tip a few times along her folds, getting him slippery with her wetness before she settles him against her entrance and sinks down.

The stretch. The heat. Their tongues brushing together. His hands on her ass. Her cunt around his cock. It's intense and wonderful and so fucking hot.

The song has changed now to whatever song she had queued next—another pornographic pop or R&B song, he assumes, but he doesn't care. It's not important—nothing is important when she's like this, bouncing on top of him, panting into his mouth, pulsing on his dick.

"Fuck, Fitz…ungh…" She moans, tossing her head back and using her grip on his shoulders for leverage.

And Fitz watches her—watches the way her body rolls and grinds against him. The way she alternates between long, full strokes and quick, short bounces.

The way she kneels up to take only the head of his cock. The way she settles firmly against his hips, taking his full length so deep inside of her.

The way she raises up again so quickly that he accidentally slips out of her. The way her hand quickly reaches down, guiding him back inside.

The way she moans and squeaks and groans–all different sounds emitting from her different movements when he hits all of her favorite spots. The way she bites her lip. The way the baby hairs around her face start to curl from sweat. He's never been with a woman who is simultaneously adorable and the sexiest thing he's ever seen–he's not sure how he got so lucky.

"That's it, baby… so good for me… you gonna come, Livvie?"

He can tell how close she is by the way her breathing picks up and her hips start working that much faster, and when she nods her head, unable to get any actual words out, he helps her. His thumb brushes against her clit, and he thrusts up into her as she grinds down, and the added pressure is exactly what she needs.

She shatters in his arms, and it's impossible not to follow her over the edge…especially when he hears her whimpering encouragement into his ears, her voice shaky from her climax.

"Please, please…need you, Fitz. Oh god…Wanna feel you… please, baby. So good, daddy… Come for me—you wanna come in me? Fill me up? Make me yours? Please, I need it. C'mon…"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck– gonna come… shit–ungh–" Now it's his turn to be inappropriately loud, and she senses it too, capturing his lips with her own as she rocks with him, moving through their orgasms in slow, languid strokes until they are boneless and sated.

As the arousal leaves her brain, the effects of the alcohol come sweeping back in and all of the sudden she's woozy and exhausted. He helps her lie back on the seat, stretching out leisurely and letting her thighs rest comfortably apart. The view of her cunt–stretched, wet, dripping with him–is amazing, and he is shameless, drinking in the sight of her with his intense gaze.

She's not new to the way he makes her feel–so hot, so sexy–that when she raises up onto her elbows and the contraction of her abdominal muscles forces another runnel of his cum to drip out of her, she basks in the heat of his praise and his resulting groan.

"You love being mine, don't you?" He asks.

"Fucking love it," Liv answers, bringing her own fingers down to her core, dipping them in, reveling in the remnants of their love.

"Say it…" He demands.

She knows what he wants to hear, and with her fingers filthy with his cum and hers, she dips them back into herself before saying, "I'm all yours. No one else, ever. Just you…"

Almost 30 minutes later, they are slightly cleaned up and semi-decent and sandwiched together in the backseat, when he can tell they are nearing their neighborhood in Alexandria. He kisses Liv's temple, rousing her from her sleepy, wine-drunk, sex-exhausted state, not quite asleep but not fully awake as she stays cuddled against his side.

"We're almost home, Livvie," he murmurs into her hair.

Liv turns and looks up at him, smiling softly. "Thanks for doing that with me… I had fun…"

She looks dreamy but despite their best efforts to clean up, she still looks a little sex-addled—mascara smudged in the corners of her eyes, lipstick half-on-half-off, hair no longer silky straight. And Fitz doesn't think she's ever looked better.

"I should be thanking you."

Her responding giggle is precious, and Fitz hugs her tightly into his chest in response. "Yeah, maybe you should…"

As they turn the corner and Mike begins entering their gated community, Olivia sits up and moves to retrieve her phone and slip on her heels once again. She pushes away from the bench and leans over the opposite side of the car where her phone is docked, but when she does, she hears Fitz stifle a groan.

"Oh fuck, Livvie…"

"Huh?" She whips her head around to see his eyes tracking low on her skirt. "What? What's wrong?"

"Um…there's some…uh–" He points to the hem of her dress at the back, likely the part that was resting under her during their final moments of passion.

Oh–

She can see it when she twists the fabric around on her skirt. The definite and obvious stain, the dried patch of white against the black satin.

Looking back up at him, she flashes him a little grin because there isn't much more they can do about it tonight. The dry cleaners–bless them–will have to sort that out in a few days. She settles back into his lap as they turn the corner onto their street.

Liv presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth, wiping the guilty expression off of his face, and chuckling at her own thoughts that pop up inside her.

"I guess you did 'Monica Lewinsky all on my gown'…"

AN: I hope you've enjoyed this little story! Let me know in the comments what you thought! Of course, the lyrics used do not belong to me, all rights to the queen B. xx