This story is heavily inspired by several tweets (I'm so sorry-I can't remember whose they were. If you tweeted this, please let me know and I'll give you credit) about Kerry's Harper's Bazaar dress, the black one with the pearl beads, and how "Fitz wouldn't let her out of his sight for more than three seconds." I took that and kinda just ran with this story! Lots of dirty talk, lots of smut, hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :) xx


His eyes have been fixed on his watch all evening—6:30 turned into 6:41, which turned into 6:53, which then turned into 6:58. Olivia is usually punctual so when 7:00 rolls by– thirty minutes past when she said she would meet him–Fitz naturally becomes worried.

In this new stage of their lives, he's trying to be less controlling. He's trying to give her more freedom, which has been earned over the past four years since she left the White House, but still, he finds it difficult sometimes. But not because he wants or feels the need to control her, but because he genuinely misses her. Sure, they've lived together for the past three years, but somehow the proximity they have to one another these days makes him crave her even more if that's at all possible.

So, when it's forty-five minutes past when she should have arrived at this party–one that he didn't even want to go to, mind–he pulls out his phone and sends her a text.

You're still coming, right?

It's not one that he or his institute is hosting, for once, so the incentive to go to a social event with Washington elites at the Renwick Gallery alone is at an absolute zero. But Olivia had told him days ago that she did genuinely want to go to this particular event–something about repaying a favor for a former aide of hers.

Walking in now.

Sorry, got stuck on a call with Bordine. You know how that fucker likes to talk.

Getting a drink at the bar first.

You want anything?

She's sending him texts in such a quick succession that he's not sure how her fingers can type so fast because he's still crafting a response to her first by the time she sends him the fourth. While he manages to type back "my usual, please" as quickly as he can, he still imagines that she's impatiently tapping her foot and rolling her eyes, waiting for his response like she so often does.

It's playful, and he knows deep down that she is grateful for his pace. That he makes her slow down sometimes and enjoy things. She goes too fast, and they are finally at a point in their lives that they don't have to do that. They can go slow and enjoy each other and that is more than enough.

He's anxious to see her because he misses her–a kiss good-bye before work was not nearly enough to satisfy him through the entire day. He wants to hold her hand and hear about her office drama and tell her how pretty she looks. Of course, he hasn't even seen her yet this evening, but she looks spectacular with anything or nothing on, so it's a safe bet.

And all of the sudden, he questions why he's standing here, alone across the gallery room under the expansive exhibit of colorful netting affixed to the ceiling, and not venturing to the bar to greet her there instead. When he makes it about halfway, he stops dead in his tracks. It's the first glance he's gotten of her, and it immediately takes his breath away.

The way the bar is situated in the corner of the room has her standing off to the side of it as she waits with her body slightly turned away from the bartender and directly toward Fitz, her back against the wall.

His eyes drink her in as he starts to peruse her features, her body, her gown, trying to soak in every drop of her beauty. Her hair is silky and straight tonight, cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes seem to be sparkling, highlighted by the golden shimmer on her lids. Her jewelry is simple but elegant, silvery strands at her ears and around her neck.

She's good at dressing for an event, subconsciously choosing perfect ensembles that are tasteful but eye-catching, elegant but not tired, beautiful but not overly gaudy.

Her dress must be new because it's not one that he recognizes. The first thing he clocks is how reserved it looks. Since venturing into this new status in the world, post-Chief of Staff, she's been indulging in exploring more risqué and provocative frocks because she can and because it makes her feel good and because she loves making Fitz weak, especially in public.

So, he's a little surprised to see the modest top, hiding her décolletage, supported by inch-wide straps at the shoulders. From afar, they look braided or twisted, but he can't be certain. It's a black gown, which he loves. She looks so powerful, regal almost, in black, and the way the textured fabric clings to her hips should be illegal.

Just when his eyes return from their journey down her body, they rise and meet hers which are staring directly at him. Her lips turn up in a sly smile as she watches him study her body. Fitz is just far enough away from her still that he can't hear her, but he watches as she mouths a small "hi" before turning around to the bartender.

Simultaneously as she turns, she sweeps her hair over her right shoulder, and instantly he's gob smacked. He originally thought that this dress was conservative, but from this angle, it turns out that it's downright sinful.

Her entire back is practically on view–he can see her lean, toned muscles, the sensuous glowing skin, the birthmark on her mid-back that he loves to run his tongue over when he's worshiping her body. The V-shape of the dress is accentuated as it dips lower and lower down her body, being held together by swooping, pearl-beaded threads.

They're silvery and expensive-looking as they glisten in the museum's lighting, refracting and dancing off her skin, drawing his–and undoubtedly every other person's–eyes to her frame. The dip in the back of her dress is low, finally coming to a point directly between the dimples at the base of her spine. He can't see those dimples, of course, because they're hidden behind the fabric, but as he slinks up behind her and places his hands on her waist, he knows how his thumbs normally dip into those spaces when she doesn't have clothes on.

He knows her body. Even after being married to a woman for over 15 years, he's never known someone's body as well, as intimately, as he knows Olivia Pope's. So, when his hands rest low on her waist, he doesn't have to guess because he knows what's under her dress.

"Hi, Miss Pope…"


She had been waiting, craving, for a chance to wear this dress. It's weird how after living independently for forty years, she finds herself itching for opportunities to pick out clothing, designed for someone else's pleasure. Sure, she wants to feel comfortable and sexy in whatever she chooses, but at the same time, if she can make him speechless and helpless and willing to drag her home and fuck her silly…that's always an added bonus.

Being late tonight truly wasn't her intention, but as she arrived, she started considering how the anticipation of her entrance might make it all that much better. Now, with his firm grip around her waist, the solid heat of his body against hers, and his deep, sensual voice in her ear, she knows she was right.

Her hands grab both of their drinks–his scotch and her Bordeaux–before she turns around and passes him the lowball glass. He looks incredible this evening—tailored tux, salt-and-pepper scruff that he's grown out dusting his face, gray-flecked curls that she runs her fingers through when she cups the back of his neck. And as she leans in closer to peck his cheek, he even smells incredible.

It's crazy that even after all of these years, she still feels desperate like this for him.

"Hi, Mr. President," she coos into his ear, delivering another kiss to his cheek as she pulls back. "You clean up nicely…"

He groans because it's been but 30-seconds and she's already torturing him. "I should say the same thing about you, my dear."

"Well, by all means, go ahead, sir," she teases, stepping a few paces away from him and twirling slightly to the side to let him get a view from all directions. Her eyes catch his as her free hand glides up the side of her thigh, seductively trailing over her hip and behind.

"Damn, you are…a dream," he murmurs wistfully as he tugs her back in close. His palm cradles her cheek, and like that, his lips are on hers, whispering sweet, delicate kisses, one after another. "The most…beautiful…sexyravishing woman…I've ever seen…"

When his hand starts venturing away from her waist and considerably closer to her ass, she retreats, resting her forehead on his chest, moaning, and chuckling at her own horniness.

"Mmm, I missed you today, baby," she confesses through her giggles.

He hums. "I missed you too…not that that's a surprise…I miss you every day."

"Are we the worst? I think we are the worst."

Fitz laughs heartily. "If we are the worst, I don't want to be the best…whatever that means in this context. God, you look so good… Can we get out of here already?"

Pulling away from him and shaking her head, Olivia chuckles and grabs his hand before intertwining their fingers together and dragging him away to another corner of the room. As they walk, she starts to recount the series of incredibly unfortunate events that landed her on the phone with one of the most notoriously sleazy politicians in town, Jonathan Bordine.

"And you wanna know what that motherfucker had the audacity to say to me?" She flips her head around to find him listening intently, though his eyes were undoubtedly fixed on her lower back and ass if she had to guess.

"Yeah? What?"

"He goes, 'Campaign finance laws have been behind for years and no one gives a shit. So, what if I got a little loan from overseas?' Like are you serious? This man is getting Russian money, Fitz. Russian. And he's acting like no one cares, when the whole reason he's coming to me is because everyone fucking cares! It's just…crazy. He's so out of touch. It's ridiculous."

Fitz chuckles and rolls his eyes. "And you wonder why I'm distancing myself from the party these days…"

"Ha! I'm lucky Abby is on this with me though. The election stuff goes right over Quinn's head. God love her, but it's exhausting to explain the inner workings of the FEC on an hourly basis." She laughs and shakes her head, trying to rid her brain of the drama.

"I'm sorry, babe," Fitz sympathizes, smiling at her and crowding up toward her again, a particular expression evident on his face. She doesn't pick up on it.

"It's fine. Anyway, have you seen Cora already?"

Her eyes start scanning the crowd, looking for her former aide through mingling socialites, Congresspeople, wait staff, and the like. Cora had been her go-to staffer during her days at the White House and picked up a lot of the mundane administerial work like speech writing and file organizing that she couldn't do when she was off… well, she doesn't like to discuss those days anymore. She has a lot of regrets, but one thing she will never regret was depending on Cora.

So, when she got an invitation to a benefit gala supporting the organization the woman founded to support women-led political campaigns, Olivia couldn't say no.

"I think I saw her when I first walked in but haven't since then," Fitz says, his hands trying to slide low on her waist again.

"Okay. I'm gonna go find her and say hi. See you in a bit?" She's already leaning in to give him a parting kiss when he stops her.

"Uh– I can come with you, yeah? I thought maybe–" He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to survey her body again.

And she knows him well enough to know what he's doing. Liv shifts her stance, leaning her weight on one leg and popping a hand on her hip. "You thought…?"

"Well, it's just that I don't want you to be alone, of course," he grins teasingly at her, knowing he's been made.

"Is that right? You're worried that I'll be lonely?" She teases back.

"Yes ma'am. And out of the utmost chivalry, I cannot stand to see that…"

"So…" Liv pushes up against his body, whispering directly in his ear now. "It's not so you can make sure no one else tries to lay a finger on this dress? On me?"

Shivering slightly at the tone of her voice, he clears his throat. "Hmm. Nope, just don't want your hand to get cold without me."

"Really? It's not so you can parade me around the room, showing every man and woman in this ballroom who you get to take home tonight? Making them jealous that none of them get to touch me? That they won't ever get to touch me? That only you do?"

Her teeth nip his earlobe, and he hisses in response.

"You gonna take me home tonight, Fitz? Strip this dress off of me? Take me from behind like I know you pictured as soon as you saw me? Because if not, then maybe I should go find someone who will…"

Her teasing finally gets to him, and his playful attitude has withered away. "I would watch it if I were you… I would hate for your ass to be too sore tomorrow. Then again, maybe it would remind everyone who does get to touch you since it's apparently up for debate…"

"Mmm, don't threaten me with a good time," Olivia retorts, kissing him squarely on the mouth before tugging him into the crowd.

She and Fitz start meandering through the gala together, hand in hand, halting every few paces to greet and chat with whatever person has the gall to stop them. She hates this—the small talk, the forced smiles, the ass-kissing—but Fitz makes it better. His thumb rubs the back of her hand, he smiles at her while he watches her talk, he compliments her every chance he can get, and when they inevitably turn away from each guest, he gets in her ear and whispers something filthy and naughty.

"Gonna rip this dress off of you…"

"You think he knows how pretty you look on your knees? How gorgeous you look, touching yourself while you suck on my cock?"

"I saw the way she looked at you… I bet she would die for a chance between your thighs, huh? Taking turns with me with our tongues in your cunt? I wonder who would make you come first…"

"Can't decide how I want you tonight… Bent over the bed? On your knees?"

She fucking loves it.


He would march around this art museum with her for an eternity if he had to. There's something about watching her in her element that is simply electric. He loves how much of a powerhouse she is, how there's not a single person at this event that wouldn't kill for the chance just to talk to her.

It makes him hot thinking about how respected, venerated, worshiped his woman is. Then, he looks down at her from her stance slightly in front of him, and he has got to cool himself down because every time they leave a conversation, he whispers something in her ear, and it gets him riled up once again.

She makes some quip at his expense to the small gathering around her, taking a step back and resting her body against his front. Her ass settles beautifully, agonizingly against his crotch, and when she wiggles her hips slightly and tips her face up to smile at him, he knows she's done it on purpose, the little minx.

Then, she's off again, trying once more to find Cora and dragging him begrudgingly behind her. Well, it was initially begrudgingly, but once he finds that he can ogle her gorgeous back and hips while she struts through the partygoers, he finds he doesn't mind one bit.

He even lets himself reach forward and squeeze her perfect rear when he senses no one watching. He loves how it makes her eye him carefully, her expression filled with lust.

So, they walk together through the party, attached at the hip, not letting her more than three strides away from him at any given time. Finally, they make it to the other end of the gallery room where Liv spots the host, mingling with a slew of female politicians Fitz recognizes as some of the youngest members of Congress. The way that they all light up for Olivia makes him weak.


"Cor!" Liv exclaims, untangling their fingers and swirling around the small group to throw her arms over Cora's shoulders, embracing her in a hug. She looks similarly magnetic tonight, just in a different style. Her three-piece suit is equally commanding and striking, framing her angular body well, and with her long brown tresses tied up in a top knot, she looks the definition of power.

"Liv! I'm so happy you could make it," Cora gushes, grabbing Liv by the elbows and leaning back to take her in.

"This is incredible. I'm so impressed with you!"

She blushes. "Oh, I had a great team working with me."

"Uh-uh," Liv scolds, shaking her head. "We don't do that, ma'am. You take credit for your work."

Cora nods in agreement and laughs. "I will, I will. Sorry. Anyway…oh! You've got to meet my wife, finally. Babe!" A short, chipper woman with locs tied up in an updo and a long velvet gown stretched over a very-obviously pregnant belly skips over in response. "This is my wife, Angela. Angela, this is Olivia Pope!"

"Oh, honey. I know who this is!" She smiles warmly at Olivia. "Man, how is that literally possible? I get what you mean, babe. You are so insanely gorgeous."

Olivia laughs, and Cora smacks her wife's shoulder playfully before whispering. "Baby, hello?"

"I'm sorry," she sighs, giggling to herself. "Baby brain…sometimes I think out loud on accident, but I always tell the truth! She's just as beautiful as you've said."

Just when Olivia goes to reassure her and accept the compliment, she feels hands at her waist again. "I couldn't agree more…" When she turns in his arms, she sees Fitz smiling at the other couple.

"He always wants to make an entrance," Liv says teasingly, rolling her eyes. "I think it's a complex you get after becoming President."

It's quick work to introduce him to Cora and Angela, and as his arm wraps around her waist, he helps keep the conversation flowing easily, asking about their careers, their family, their relationship. He has this knack for making people spill incredibly intimate details about themselves in a short amount of time. She has the quality as well, but it always shocks her how effortlessly he seems to do it.

"Well, we've been together for three years, married for two, and were going back and forth, but just decided now was as good of a time as any to have a baby. Just a few weeks left until we get to meet our little guy…" Cora offers, sliding her own arm around the waist of her wife. "What about you guys? What's next for you all?"

A rough fuck in bed, followed by another in the shower, and maybe a third round, if they have the energy, Liv thinks to herself, leaning into Fitz's side.

"You wanna tell them?" Fitz murmurs in her ear quietly before dipping down to kiss her bare shoulder.

She almost laughs because she momentarily forgot that they do actually have news to share, and it's not about their insanely explicit sex life. "Oh, it's still very hush-hush. We haven't announced it publicly yet, but…we're engaged."

Cora's jaw drops. "Wow! Congratulations, Liv. That's…that's amazing. I'm so happy for you."

She had seen her through some of the worst times of Olivia's life. She was angry and scared and lonely, but clinging to any agency she could in the form of power that she thought she had to have. If she had power–unyielding and unchecked–then maybe she wouldn't be so fucking terrified to sleep alone in her apartment. Maybe if she worked her life away, she wouldn't have to deal with the crippling fear of never being able to be with the man she loved. Maybe if she convinced the world she was happy and successful, she could start to believe it herself.

It of course didn't work, and her downfall was messy and tragic, but Cora had been there through it all, offering her unwavering support. And now to tell her that it had been worth it—that after all of it, she had found the missing piece that she was craving for all of those years. It feels like closure in an odd way.

She thanks Cora for her kindness and smiles up at Fitz who is watching their exchange with warm, sincere eyes.

"You got yourself a good one, there, Mr. President," Cora adds, her eyes descending down Liv's body as she smiles.

Fitz nods. "I know, right? I got incredibly lucky."

"Truly lucky…I know how…" Cora flushes, looking directly at Liv now and swallowing thickly as her cheeks redden. "...strong and captivating and attentive she can be…"

The tone shifts immediately, and Liv's breath gets caught in her throat. She…there's no way Cora remembers that night…they had both been so drunk, and it was a one-time thing, and it doesn't matter now because they are both committed to other people but…

"I know you're stressed, Liv… I can help…" More bourbon, more talking. "Please, I just need…" Kissing, god, the kissing. The desk cleared, panties tossed aside. Liv's back against the varnished mahogany. Legs spread, thighs over shoulders.

Fingers. Tongue. More fingers. More tongue.

Cora's hair between her fingers. Cora's head between her thighs. Cora's tongue in her…

"Cor, one of the donors was asking where you were," a frazzled staffer with thick, dark eyeliner and a short bob interrupts, swiftly but mercifully cutting off Liv's train of thought. "I told them I would go find you… It's Edith, and you know how she gets. Will you…?"

"Yeah, of course… Sorry you all, it was great to see you," Cora offers, rushing to leave the conversation that had quickly turned in an odd direction. "Excuse me."

And with a tug to her wife's hand, they make their way across the gallery, leaving Liv and an unnerved Fitz alone.


"What the fuck just happened?" Fitz whispers under his breath. "Everything was fine, and then the next second, it literally looked like she was about to jump you…"

It had been obvious. He has a pretty good read on people, and from the moment they walked up, he saw how the tall brunette had eyed his fiancée. But truthfully, he had thought it rather innocent—if he's honest, most of the attendees at the party had looked at her in the same way—until the end of the conversation and the notable way Olivia's breathing changed at her words.

Something had happened.

"Um…"

He can tell she's nervous, and he doesn't want that. The controlling nature of him is dormant below the surface, and while he's definitely okay with being a little possessive, of wanting to claim her as his still, he doesn't need her to be anxious about telling him the truth. He doesn't need her to be scared that he will do something brash.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad, just confused," he reassures her, and he watches as she visibly settles.

The room is too loud, and though she's not ashamed of what happened, she doesn't necessarily want others to overhear this conversation, so she clutches his hand and leads him out of the main gallery room and down the stairs. They turn the corner and find themselves in a smaller exhibition room with gorgeous sculptures of trees with trellising flowers in purple and pink.

Her voice seems loud in the quiet, empty space when she speaks. "Well… so, during—um," she doesn't know how to phrase it. "When I was Chief of Staff…"

Fitz draws in a sharp breath, preparing himself. "Okay…"

"You know Cora worked for me…"

"Yes…"

"Well, for a while, she was…She was like my only friend. The only one who didn't know what I was really doing behind the scenes, but she knew I was struggling somehow. We would stay in my office super late at night. We would get drunk sometimes. She was the only one who I wanted to talk to because she was the only one who didn't know how much I had changed. How lost I had become…"

"Okay…" He says, a bit skeptical. "So, what happened?"

"I'm getting there," she snaps, but then she pauses, leaning back against the wall. "We slept together. Once. We were both super drunk, I was so lonely, and she was offering, so I accepted. I shouldn't have for so many reasons, being her boss prevailing at the top of that list. But, I mean, it was hot. Never happened again though, and then a month later I left, so…"

She looks over at him, unease heavy in her stomach, but when she sees his expression, she almost wants to laugh. He has the most shit-eating grin on his face.

"What?!" She exclaims.

"Nothing! I'm kind of surprised how honest you just were. It's sexy when you tell me the truth…" He growls, towering over her against the wall. She looks up at him in disbelief. "What? Did you think I would be mad?"

"No…we weren't really together during that time. You knew I was sleeping with other people. You knew then just as well as now that it didn't ever mean anything. But I don't know. It's still weird to tell you…"

"Why is it weird, Livvie? You told me that you're bi years ago. I'm not shocked to hear you slept with a woman."

Her eyes narrow at him. "Okay…who are you, and what have you done to Fitzgerald Grant?"

His head tips back, and his laugh echoes around the spacious room. "What do you mean, Livvie?"

"You were being Mr. Territorial less than fifteen minutes ago, and that man seems to have disappeared. Is this what the kids call 'growth', Mr. President?" She teases.

"Oh, I know you're mine. I can remind you right here if you would like, but I'm pretty sure I've already laid my claim. We made it pretty obvious in there…plus I liked getting to tell someone you're gonna be my wife…turns out we just happened to get to tell someone who's had their fingers in your pussy so…win-win honestly."

She gasps at his vulgarity. "So, what? You're really not jealous that you just shook the hand of someone I've fucked?"

"It seems like you want me to be jealous, Miss Pope…" His eyes are sparkling with delight as he leans down to kiss her shoulder. "Do you want me to be jealous? You want me to remind you who you belong to?"

His lips continue their work, kissing and sucking along her collarbones, her shoulders, her neck. He sweeps her hair off her left shoulder so that his path is unobstructed, and when he gets to her pulse point and sucks, she moans.

"Tell me…did she make you feel good?" He whispers huskily against her ear, his hands caressing as much of her body as he can—her ass, thighs, the little patches of skin between the pearl strings on her back. "I mean, I had been between your legs for what? Over eight years at that point? Did she know how to pleasure you like I do?"

Simultaneously as he nips her earlobe, he steps his right leg between hers. Her dress is tight, but the fabric has just enough give for his thigh to nestle in—the heat of her core already warming his quad as she tries to grind herself against it.

"Huh? Did she know, Livvie?" He taunts as he slides his hands to her ass and helps her move her hips in circles.

"No. Of course, she didn't know."

"Why is that, baby?"

"Because she's not you."

"Damn right…" He swats her ass and follows it with a firm squeeze, grasping with both hands and kneading just on the verge of painfully hard. It makes her cry out in a quick, resounding moan. "Shhh–pretty girl… We don't want your fuck buddy hearing us, do we? We don't want her getting flashbacks of that night. Fuck—that makes me crazy, thinking about her hearing you…"

"Just for you, now," Liv pants against his neck.

"That's right…Goddammit, you're making me so hard…" He groans as he rocks forward into her so she can feel his erection against her hip. "It's turning me on, thinking about you with her. Thinking about her spreading you out, eating you out, finger-fucking you…all the while you're helpless, thinking about how much better it would have been if it were me. Right? Her fingers were inside of you, and you couldn't help but think about how much thicker mine are…"

Liv nods desperately, grinding her hips faster, frustrated by her inability to get too much friction against her core through this ridiculous dress.

"Then what? She went down on you? Her tongue was probably all over you, but you couldn't stop picturing how mine knows every…single…spot…you like the best. You probably tried to close your eyes and picture it was me, huh? Did you come? Picturing it was me and not her?"

Her teeth draw her bottom lip in and bite down as she tosses her head back in pleasure. She looks wanton, distraught in bliss, and he has half a mind to think she looks on the precipice of an orgasm. Her hips continue moving on their own accord, which prompts him to leave his grip on her ass and relocate his hands on her breasts.

His thumbs tease her nipples through the thick fabric of her dress, and he realizes instantly that he needs to up the ante if he wants her to come because she looks almost frustrated by how close to orgasming she is, but unable to climax on her own. She's always needed him—his touch, his words, his everything.

"...And don't even get me started on how she certainly wasn't able to fuck you like you like. I'm sure she would have tried if she had had the time and the…equipment…but even if she had, she still couldn't have known, right? She wouldn't have known how you like to be bent over. How you like to be taken hard, fucked so good. How you like to be spanked and played with. How you like to ride it, how you like to take breaks just to suck on it and taste yourself, how you like to be called names and be praised for how dirty you are…"

In the next instant, he steps back and spins her around so unexpectedly that her hands have to raise quickly to catch herself against the wall. Then, he's back, pulling her hips into him and grinding himself against her like they've done so many times before. She needs more—more pressure, more filth, more pleasure—so she sobs and pleads with him.

He obliges, his right hand cupping her core through her dress so she can rock against the more deliberate and exact pressure of his fingers, his left encircling her body and grasping her breast. The way she looks pinned up against the wall, the faintest sheen of sweat against the back of her neck, the muscles of her upper back rippling as she pushes herself further into his touch—it's all so erotic that he loses control for a bit.

"She couldn't do this for you though, huh? Because she doesn't know how to please you like I do, right sweetheart? You're such a good girl for me…letting me show you off…fuck. Can't wait to get you home and remind you about all of the ways you like to be touched. Want you to come so many times, you won't even be able to remember her name…"

His eyes trail down her body and watch as her ass grinds back against his cock, the little pearls slapping against her bare back with each of her movements. He can't wait to rip this number off of her as soon as they get home.

"Won't be able to remember hers because you'll be screaming mine as I take you…just…like…this…"

She's whimpering and panting now—the tell-tale signs that she's about to come, and he's focused, kissing her neck, nipping the skin of her shoulder, ducking down to kiss along her spine, rubbing her clit purposefully in quick, tight circles.

"Fuck, Fitz–"

"Come for me, Livvie. Just for me…"

"I'm–"

Pushing against the wall and rocking once more, she finally does, crying out and coming and dropping her head against her bicep out of exhaustion. Before she's fully even come down, he twists her around again so that he can kiss her. His lips coax hers open, sharing breath and swirling tongues together languidly.

"You are so beautiful…" Fitz praises, deep in his chest.

"Mmm, I love you," Olivia affirms dreamily, kissing him back with equal fervor and tangling her fingers in his hair.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go say our goodbyes and get out of here…" But as he pulls back and clasps her hand in his, he notices the shocked expression on her face. "Yes, dear?"

"Let's just… We can just go. No one will know that we left anyway…" She's still trembling with her orgasm, her thighs shaking slightly, no doubt wet and sticky between them. "I can't—" Her voice drops down to a whisper. "I can't go out there like this…we smell like sex. You…" Her hand slides up his thigh to cup his bulge between them, rubbing with the heel of her hand and trying to entice him out of it. "...aren't quite decent enough to go out in public anyway…"

Fitz huffs a breath and steps back away from her before grinning sneakily at her. "Hmm, should have thought about that before you got me all hot and bothered, Livvie. Give me a second, and I can control myself unlike some people here. I think…" He crowds up close to her again, brushing the strands of hair sticking to her neck away. "...I want to watch you squirm, squeezing your thighs together and shaking hands with all those fucking people… We'll save the best for last of course… Can't wait to watch you smile at her while you think about what we just did…"

Liv mewls, her collarbones raising with her sharp inhale and her body flushing hot at the thought. It's embarrassing and humiliating, but so fucking hot. "Okay, okay… Come on…"

As she hauls him out of the gallery room and back up the stairs, his eyes fix once again on her slender waist and shapely ass, guiding him back to the main exhibition room upstairs. The party is still going strong, so the stairwell is empty, and he takes advantage of the moment, delivering a playful spank which causes her to turn around briskly.

"Oh, you're gonna get it as soon as we get home, mister," she teases through a smile.

"Hmm…" Fitz hums, his cheeks warming with excitement. "I hope I do, Livvie. I hope I get it real good…"


To be continued…


AN: Part two? Feel free to let me know what you thought of this little chapter! xx ;)