His Possession (OLITZ /Scandal - short stories) - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The city outside Olivia's window was hushed, cloaked in fresh snow. Midnight pressed against the glass in a velvet silence, but inside—inside, the air pulsed with heat and something hungrier than want. Olivia stood in the glow of the city lights, arms folded loosely, wrapped in silk and tension, until she heard the door click open behind her.
Fitz's silhouette framed the doorway, broad and sure, bathed in the golden spill of hallway light. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The air shifted the second he entered. She didn't turn—but her skin prickled. She felt him: his energy, his want, the way his eyes roamed her body like a man starving.
He crossed the room in three long, deliberate strides. No hesitation. Just the soft brush of his steps over the thick rug and the rising heat that came with him. When his hands slid around her waist, she melted—back against his chest, into his gravity.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was low, threaded with longing and the weight of everything unsaid.
"Not without you," she murmured, her voice a breath against the hush.
He kissed her temple, slow and reverent, his lips warm against her skin. "Did you miss me, Liv?"
She turned in his arms, palms against his chest, fingers splayed over the slow, steady thump of his heart. "Every damn minute," she whispered, her voice trembling with honesty. "You haunt me, Fitz. Even when I try not to let you."
His mouth curved against her jaw. "Tell me."
Her lashes swept up. "Your hands on me. Your mouth everywhere. The way you look at me... like I'm the only thing you want."
And then he kissed her—deep, deliberate, his tongue parting her lips with aching ease. He tasted like memory and need, the kiss unfurling from slow burn to wildfire in seconds. Olivia moaned into it, fingers already at his shirt, pushing fabric aside to feel heat and skin and the shift of muscle beneath her touch.
She wanted him—now, fully, wildly. Her hands moved with purpose, undoing his belt, popping the button, dragging the zipper down with a delicious hiss. When she slipped her hand inside, he groaned, hips jerking reflexively.
He was hard and hot in her palm, and she stroked him slowly, loving how he responded, how his grip on her arms tightened, how his kiss deepened, rhythm syncing with her touch.
Clothes became an afterthought. Buttons fumbled. Fabrics hit the floor. Their mouths barely parted as they undressed each other in a flurry of kisses and gasps. Fitz scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing, lowering her onto the bed with reverence, his body covering hers, anchoring her.
She arched into him, nails scraping along his back, legs parting instinctively to cradle his hips. Her fingers slid down to grab his ass, pulling him tighter to the ache between her thighs.
Fitz groaned, his mouth claiming her breasts. He kissed, licked, sucked until her nipples stood hard against his tongue and her body writhed beneath him.
"Fitz—" she gasped, threading her fingers through his hair as he trailed fire up her neck with his mouth, his breath ragged at her ear.
He paused only long enough to look down at her, brushing a stray curl from her face. "You are everything," he said, voice thick with wonder.
Her lips curved, wicked and soft. "Then worship me."
He did.
He kissed down her body, leaving a path of heat over her skin. Each kiss was a promise, each flick of his tongue a prayer. He sucked her fingers one by one, watched her squirm when he dipped lower, across her stomach, her thighs, her hip bones—teasing, tasting, driving her mad.
Then, he knelt between her legs, gaze locked to hers. "Open for me," he whispered, his voice like a spell.
She did—hips rising, legs spreading, offering everything. Her body moved with instinctive hunger, her breath coming fast as he slid a finger inside her. Then another. Then his mouth—hot, relentless, perfect.
Olivia cried out, clutching the sheets, her thighs trembling. His tongue circled her clit, his fingers thrusting just right—and when the orgasm hit, it stole her breath, her control, everything but his name on her lips.
But Fitz wasn't done. He rose to his knees, gripping her hips, and slid into her with one slow, consuming thrust. They both gasped—Olivia at the stretch and heat of him, Fitz at the way her body pulled him deeper, clenching around him.
He moved, slow and deep at first, savoring the way she clung to him. Sweat slicked their skin, desire driving them harder. She met his every thrust, hips rising, body arching, nails raking down his back.
"I need you, Liv," he groaned, his forehead pressed to hers. "All of you."
She wrapped her arms around him. "Take it," she breathed. "It's already yours."
The tension spiraled, tighter and tighter, until it broke—her body shaking beneath him, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her with a shuddering groan.
He collapsed over her, face buried in her neck, heart racing against hers.
They lay tangled, bodies humming, skin sticky with heat and love and everything in between. Outside, the snow fell. Inside, nothing existed but the afterglow.
Eventually, Olivia slipped from the bed, every move slow, sensual. She padded toward the bathroom, hips swaying, then paused in the doorway and looked back with a smile that could set the world on fire.
"I'm taking a shower," she purred. "You coming?"
Fitz sat up, eyes dark and hungry again. "Hell yes, I'm coming."
And as he followed, she knew sleep wasn't happening any time soon.