She sits at her desk in their office after Jay and Mike leave. There are so many thoughts running through her mind. Does she run on the GOP ticket? Does she reach out to the DNC? Does she remain the Independent she's always been? Does Henry actually believe she had an affair? With Conrad? Did Isabelle leak it? Why would she? How does she go back upstairs to her husband? Her husband, who apparently doesn't know her or trust her. She feels the tears coming but refuses to give in to them.
She can't believe he would even think something like that of her. He had said it was a bad time for them. That he would understand; he thinks she actually had an affair. And he would understand? She wouldn't. If he cheated back then, while she was forward deployed halfway around the world, she wouldn't have understood. She wouldn't have been okay with it, and she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, they wouldn't be where they are today. She's been so focused on the press, the fallout, the campaign... it never dawned on her that Henry would believe she was unfaithful. How could he? How could he really? Where is all the trust they've built? Is it one-sided? Did it ever exist?
She wipes away the one tear that escaped. She wants to be pissed at his accusation- at his distrust. But, in truth, she can see where he would have thought what he thought. They weren't communicating very well back then. She was so wrapped up in her career, in the job she wanted. The job she loved. The job she left for him. And suddenly, the rage happens. It's swift, it's fierce. She did leave everything for him. Everything. She quit her job, the job she had fought so hard even to be considered for. The job she worked her ass off to prove herself at. She left it all for him, for them, and he thinks she had an affair? He would actually accuse her of having an affair and say he would understand. Asshole.
She sets her jaw and looks around the room, searching for a way to expel her anger, her frustration, and her sadness. No, fuck that. She marches upstairs and opens the door to their bedroom.
"I can't believe you would even suggest that." She starts fast and angry.
Henry looks up at her from their bed. His eyes are red and puffy. His face is pale. She stops in her tracks. This isn't him reading an article and needing reassurance. This is exactly what she feared. He believes the article. He does doubt her.
He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off.
"You really don't trust me. You've just been married to me all this time, thinking what? That I'm a liar and cheater?" She's furious and offended. She feels her cheeks burn, and her heart races.
"That's not..." He doesn't know how to explain it. He's so exhausted from everything. The campaign. It's barely even started, and it's already so hard. "I never would have... I mean... it's not just..." He doesn't know what he wants to say. He feels lost. She's the love of his life. She's his soulmate. And all he can picture is another man's hands on her. Another man's lips on her. He doesn't want to, but he can't help it. And Isabelle didn't help. She lied to him about all the rumors. If someone were to know if Elizabeth had an affair with someone, it would be her best friend. If someone were to cover for her, it would be her best friend. Wouldn't it? He can't think straight.
Elizabeth stands, staring at him, her arms crossed. He doesn't know how to articulate what he's thinking. He doesn't even know himself.
"So, how long have you thought I fucked my way to the top?" She spits.
He's shocked at her words. She rarely curses. The WASP in her doesn't allow for it. She only says it when she's beyond angry. He can see how her chest heaves with the effort to keep her composure.
"That's not what I said." He says quietly, looking away.
"No, but it's what you implied. When you accuse me of sleeping with my boss, who is now the President of the United States and would have the ability to make my career happen, then yes, it's exactly what you're saying." She's furious. He's hurt her. He's accused her. And he knows, at this moment, the article is absolutely untrue. This is not how Elizabeth acts when she's guilty of something. No, here now, she is righteous. He shakes his head, unable to form a sentence.
"Why would you even say that to me?" She's quieter now. Hurt. "After everything we've been through, all these years, you would think that I would..."
"Elizabeth, I didn't mean to accuse you. I really didn't. It's just I read that article... and I... I had to ask."
She doesn't say anything. She stares at him. She feels so much pain and disappointment, but there's also a huge amount of confusion.
"You had to ask. But you already knew the answer."
"I know you didn't have sex with Conrad. But... I can't stop seeing it. Seeing the two of you... together." She studies him. She understands that. When Daisy had told her about his NSA handler, she had lost her mind. It took her thirty seconds to go from trusting him implicitly to picturing his face buried in between another woman's legs. But the difference is, she didn't believe the accusation, not really... but she did need to hear the denial from him. And maybe he needed the same.
"Okay." She says quietly. She doesn't move.
He sighs heavily. He didn't want to get into this right now. He feels so exhausted. "Okay?"
She nods, "Yeah. I never had an affair with anyone. Nothing happened. Not once. Nothing."
He nods, "I'm sorry."
"I am, too." She doesn't wait for a response. She walks to their closet and closes the door.
He drops his head into his hands. He didn't want to upset her. He's so sorry. He doesn't understand why this article is getting to him. He's not insecure. Not with Elizabeth. He can't shake the vision, though. He sees Conrad's hand all over his wife, but worse than that, Conrad meeting her emotional needs—the ones he had neglected after deployment. He had ignored the real reason she wanted so desperately to take the station chief job. They both ignored all the things she had seen on the ground in Baghdad. Instead of stating the reason he didn't want her to go back, he threatened to leave her.
The closet door opens, and she comes out. His jaw drops. She's wearing a short black lace robe. It's the one that is so thin he can see through it. She kneels before him, "I'm yours." She whispers, looking into his eyes. "Yours." She takes his hand and puts it on her face. "Your wife."
Something comes over him. It's new. It's possessive and raw. He needs her, all of her, now. He leans down and captures her mouth in his. His kiss is intense and rough. His tongue slips in, and she moans. He stands, pulling her up with him.
"Get on the bed." His transition into his dominant role is quicker than she's ever seen it—quicker than he's ever experienced it. She climbs onto the bed, kneeling, waiting. "Lay down." He says. His voice is firm. She obeys. "Safeword is red." He whispers in her ear. She nods. He kisses her lips. It's tender and gentle, in complete opposition to the tone of the rest of the interaction. He pulls away, looking down into her eyes. Her trust in him is on full display.
"Don't move." He commands, and she doesn't. He disappears into their closet.
She lies on the bed, her body buzzing, waiting for him. He's never been like this with her on his own terms. This is usually something she has to ask for. But tonight, this is him. She smiles, feeling her skin heat at the thought of his next move.
He walks back into the bedroom with their trunk. He makes a show of it. Unlocking it slowly- painfully slow. She bites her lip as she watches. Her stomach knots- the good kind. She feels herself getting wet.
He looks down at her, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. He's not going to tell her what's going to happen, "Assume the position." He says.
Her limbs find themselves in the four corners of their bed. Her eyes are wide and dark with lust. He ties her arms and legs to the bed, spread wide. She's exposed, and she feels her face flush.
"Color?" He asks.
"Green." She breathes. He smiles. He makes a show of swiping his arm across his bedside table, clearing it of his stack of books. Her eyes widen as his alarm clock hits the floor with a thud. He reaches into the trunk and takes out some things they haven't used in a while. He sets his tools up, allowing her to watch.
He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't need to know if she's okay. He can see how much she's enjoying this, and it makes him even harder. He can't stand the thought of Conrad touching her, so he's going to erase that image from his mind. This is something they have together. This is their game, fueled by their complete trust. And she's given herself completely to him.
He doesn't look at her as he prepares himself. He doesn't have to. He knows exactly how wet and ready she is. But this isn't about her. Not tonight. Tonight, it's about them—both of them—a confirmation of everything they share between them.
He stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at her. He's stripped down, too. His cock is swollen, and it twitches as his eyes roam her naked, spread form. He picks up the nipple clamps, and she sucks in a breath. He makes a show of dangling them in front of her, allowing the metal to chime out as they hit each other. She shivers.
"I'm going to use these. And you're not going to make a sound. Do you understand?" He looks down at her, and she nods. He unties the belt of her robe, and it falls open, exposing her breasts and pussy. He runs his hands over her stomach and up her sides. She closes her eyes.
"Look at me." He says, and her eyes fly open. He pours lube on her breasts, making them shiny and slick. He kneads her flesh, massaging her, and she squirms under his touch.
"Are you ready?" He asks, his eyes dark, his expression stern. She nods, biting her lip.
She holds her breath as he places the clamp on her nipple. He starts loose, tightening it down a little at a time. Her breath comes in heavy, fast pants. He does the same on her other breast.
She closes her eyes. "Breathe." He says softly. She obeys. She inhales from her diaphragm, expands her rib cage, and exhales. She repeats it. She focuses on the sensations on her nipples, the tightening of the clamps. He plays with the chain between the two. She clenches her fists and swallows a moan, remembering his rule. She feels herself get even more aroused.
"Color?" He asks, watching her face, her chest, her hips.
"Green." She says, her voice husky. She's breathing hard, and her breasts swell as she breathes. She hasn't had clamps on her nipples for a long time, and the sensation is different, more intense than she remembered.
"Good girl." He says. "You're going to keep those on, and you're not going to make a single sound." He watches her. Her reactions to his soft touches, his gentle caresses. She's so responsive. She always has been. It's what makes him so confident when they play. She only reacts this way to him. She only comes undone this way for him. He bends down and kisses her possessively, taking her mouth with his. She wants to moan, but she can't. She doesn't. He bites her lip, and she lets out a small gasp. He pulls away, a smirk on his face. He bends down and places his mouth against her ear, his hot breath sending chills through her body. "Not. One. Sound."
She nods and looks into his eyes. His face is soft. He's checking on her. He's in this mode, and it's intense and hot, but he still wants to make sure she's okay. He wants to make sure she feels safe and loved. He wants to know she's having fun and that he's not hurting her. She gives him a soft smile, and his expression hardens after a small smirk.
He moves between her legs, and she's so turned on she can't help the whine that escapes her throat. He nips at her thigh playfully, neither of them really into hurting the other. His hands roam up her body. Her breath is coming faster now.
"So beautiful." He says. "All mine."
She nods and watches him, biting her lip. She is his. She always has been. He runs his fingers up her slit, and she gasps. He looks up at her and raises his eyebrow. She closes her eyes, embarrassed. She shouldn't have broken the rules. He chuckles. He knows how impossible it is for his wife to stay quiet. She's not shy in bed. She's loud, expressive, and vocal, and it drives him wild.
"You can't help yourself, can you?" He says, his fingers circling her clit. She shakes her head. "It's okay, my love."
She smiles. He hasn't called her that in a while. She loves it when he calls her that. It makes her feel special and cherished. She closes her eyes and enjoys his touch. She lets herself drift off in the feeling of his hands on her, inside of her, his breath on her skin. She doesn't care if he's not talking, not explaining. His hands move lightly and slowly, not even remotely trying to get her off. He is just... loving her.
She can't imagine not being with him—not being touched by him. Not feeling his heart and soul wrapped up in her. She opens her eyes and watches him. Their eyes lock, and it's almost too much. His mouth falls open, and his eyes are full of passion.
"I love you." She whispers. "I love you, Henry."
"I love you." He breathes, letting his hand speed up ever so slightly.
She feels herself approaching the edge, but then he stops. She lets out a small sound of protest, and he smiles. He crawls up her body and kisses her lips, her chin, her jaw, and her neck. "You're doing so well." He whispers.
She feels his dick against her stomach, and she's surprised that she hasn't noticed before how hard he is. She can feel him pulsing, twitching, as his cock throbs. She pulls on the ropes, wanting so badly to wrap her hand around his girth.
"You'll have a turn." He says, kissing her again. He rolls off her, and she hears him rustling through the trunk.
She feels him settle between her legs once again. She's expecting his tongue but gets the tip of her rabbit vibrator. She gasps. He rubs her lips with it, coating the silicone in her arousal. It's not on yet. He works it into her painfully slow. He doesn't need to. She's so worked up she could probably take the entire thing at once, but he does anyway. Her hips buck when he hits her g-spot. She feels him move, and she looks down.
He's between her legs, holding the vibrator, watching her face. He presses the button, and the buzzing begins. He smiles, "Let me hear you." He says, and he fucks her with it.
Her eyes close, and her head rolls back. She moans. She doesn't try to contain her sounds. "Henry." She whines. She wants more. She needs more. "Please."
"Tell me what you want." He says, placing a kiss on her thigh.
"I want your mouth. Please." She says, her voice high-pitched and needy. He smiles but doesn't move to give her what she wants. He watches her react to him closely. He's enjoying her squirm. Her face is contorted. Her breaths are heavy. She's a vision. He's sure she is what God looks like.
"Oh, god." She says. "I'm so close."
He pulls the toy out, and she cries out. He shuts it off and tosses it to the floor.
"Are you serious right now?" She whines.
"Oh, you want to cum?" He asks with humor in his voice.
"Yes." She says, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably. She's loving how long this is taking, as much as he is. It's more time to be in the moment. This moment with him. She's so happy. She feels so connected to him. She feels so strongly for him right now. She's so in love.
He leans down, "You will, I promise."
She groans. She wants him so badly. He is the only one who can drive her this crazy, and she's loving every minute of it. Her body is on fire. Her heart is pounding. She doesn't even have to look to know she's soaked. She can feel her arousal dripping onto the bed. She's so sensitive. Her nerve endings are raw.
"Henry, please, baby." She begs. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls on the ropes and lifts her hips, seeking contact. "I need you."
"Tell me," he says, placing a grounding hand on her pelvis. He leans in, his hot breath hitting her lips, his mouth millimeters from hers. "Tell me what you need."
"Please, make me cum." She moans, pulling against the restraints once again. She loves this, the lack of movement. Her inability to do anything but feel. She loves feeling all the sensations. She feels him. She feels everything.
"You're doing so good, love." He says, bending down and kissing her deeply. He teases her entrance with the tip of his dick, and she arches her back. "Color?"
"Green." She whispers, "Please. Henry."
"So needy." He says, teasing her clit with the head of his cock.
She lets out a frustrated grunt, "Please, just fuck me."
"Topping from the bottom, huh?" He says, smiling down at her. "We'll have to do something about that."
"Please." She whines. "Henry, please. Just give me what I need. Fuck me. Now."
"Oh, and what is it you need again?" He has a specific answer in mind. He knows what she's asking for. He knows what she needs. He's just having fun. He wants her to beg for it.
"You. Henry, I need you." She begs, her desperation growing by the second. "Just you. Inside me. Your cock. I need you. Please, baby, just fuck me."
He's had enough. He pushes himself into her, and they both let out a deep moan. He loves being inside of her. He can't explain it. He can't describe it. They fit together perfectly. He moves slowly, making sure she feels every inch of him. She cries out. Her head is thrown back, and her back is arched. Her mouth is open, and her breath is coming out in short pants. He fucks her deeply, slowly. The pleasure is almost too much.
"Tell me, I'm the only one. Tell me." He growls.
"You're the only one, Henry."
He doesn't stop. His movements are getting rougher and more intense. He can feel her tighten around him, and he knows she's close. He bites softly on her earlobe and then whispers, "I'm the only one who makes you feel like this. The only one who can make you feel this good."
"Yes." She moans. She can't think of anything else to say. All she can focus on is how amazing he feels inside of her.
"Who makes you feel this way?"
"You."
"No one else?"
"Never." She breathes the truth. No one has ever made her feel the way he does. She knows that he feels the same. That she's the only one who can bring him to his knees like this. That he's never loved anyone the way he loves her. He feels her walls clench around him, and he groans. She's so tight, and so warm, and so wet. He figures he's tortured her enough now that every moan out of her sounds like a desperate whine. It's driving him wild. His orgasm is building, and he knows he won't last much longer.
"Do you want to cum?"
"Yes." She gasps, and her hips meet his thrust for thrust. He takes his hand and moves it to her breast, playing with the chain connecting the two clamps. Her breathing picks up. He pulls the chain slightly, and she cries out.
"Please, baby. God!" She whines, her head thrashing from side to side.
He's not ready to end this yet, so he slows his pace, "Are you ready?" He asks.
She groans, her frustration evident. "Yes." She says through her teeth, and he kisses her. Softly and slowly. Carefully, he releases the clamps, and his kiss swallows her cry. He's not done yet, though. He starts fucking her harder. And his thumb reaches between them to her clit. She's not going to last. She's too worked up. But she breathes deep, waiting for his word. He doesn't give it to her yet. He's lost in the feeling of her and the thought of her touching Conrad, and the anger is coming back.
"You're mine."
God, yes." She moans, and his hand moves quickly over her, his hips snapping against hers. Her walls clench around him, and the feeling is too much.
"Cum for baby." He breathes, and she does. She cries out his name. His name. He is the only person she lets bring her here. Only his name falls from her lips in the throws of pleasure. She comes apart under him, her body arching, her muscles contracting, and her heart racing. He watches her come undone. He continues his rhythm, and her body shakes. She's overstimulated. She's still coming down, but he doesn't stop. Not until he loses it, too. His release is intense, and his movements stop. He stills inside of her, feeling her tighten and spasm around him. He moans, and he holds her as they both come down from their high.
"I love you. Only you." She breathes in his ear once his head falls in the crook of her neck. His hands are still running over her body, soothing her. He's soft and warm, and she can't believe how much she loves him.
"I love you." He whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She can hear the emotion in his voice. There is remorse and sincerity in his words.
"Shhhh. It's okay." His accusation has already been forgotten and forgiven. She knows what happened. He was jealous. He was angry. He was hurt.
"It's not." He says, kissing her shoulder. "I trust you."
"I know." She breathes, kissing his forehead. He doesn't move off her. He stays inside of her, holding her, listening to her breath. She doesn't ask him to move or untie her. They just lay together for a moment in this circle of absolute trust they have built. She feels the tears on her neck.
"Henry?" She questions. And he says nothing. He only reaches up to her right wrist, unclasping the rope and freeing her arm. She immediately runs her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He unties the other and then both of her ankles. He rubs her shoulders and wrists, checking for damage and massaging any pain away.
"Are you okay?" She asks him. He's being quiet. She can tell he's upset, but she's not sure why.
"This is going to be really hard, isn't it?" He asks. He knew her running for the most powerful office in the world would come with challenges, but foolishly, he had thought those would mostly be political challenges. It took one article for him to lose his mind completely. He had thought before that jealousy was a small emotion. One that was manageable and controllable, but after today, he knew better. He had seen it coming, but he had tried to ignore it. Or maybe he's been jealous of her friendship with Conrad Dalton for a lot longer than he thought.
"Yes, but we can handle it." She says, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her statement is not a reassurance. It's her asking him to get it together. She needs him to stand beside her and trust her. She can't have him lashing out at her like this.
"I'm sorry." He says again. "I shouldn't have accused you of that."
"It's okay, we're okay." She wraps her arms around him, hugging him to her tightly. She knows he's going through a lot right now. They both are. A Presidential campaign is going to be a lot to handle. And honestly, both of them are bad at separating Elizabeth from her office. Hell, that almost destroyed them with Dmitri. They have to find a way to put it all in a box. The only thing she wants from her job is a good night's sleep.
"For the record, there has never been anyone else." She whispers. "No one."
"I believe you." He says.
She kisses him. She smiles, and her eyes are soft and full of love. She kisses his shoulder, his arm, and his chest. Her soft affection fills him with warmth, and he sighs. Henry loves her. He loves her, and he's so grateful that she's his.
"I love you, you know." She says, looking up at him.
"I know. I love you, too." He pulls her in for a hug, and she laughs. He knows she loves him. Of course, she does. It's so obvious to everyone that they are completely devoted to one another. And only each other, rumors be damned.