His Possession (OLITZ /Scandal - short stories) - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Olivia – Her Apartment, 7:31 a.m.
The robe still smells like him.
It's not even one of his—just silk and ivory, hers—but somehow it clings to the memory of him: warm skin, whispered breath, fingertips tracing stars on her spine.
She sips lukewarm tea she doesn't want, standing barefoot in the kitchen as sunlight slices across the marble. Everything's too bright. Too normal. As if the world didn't tilt last night.
Olivia closes her eyes.
She can still feel his hands on her hips, the scrape of his stubble on her throat, the weight of his gaze like an oath he wasn't allowed to make.
"You feel like home, Liv."
She should be angry. Should be ashamed. Should be anything but this tight ache in her chest that says she'd do it again.
Her phone lights up again.
Fitz Calling.
She doesn't pick up.
Not because she doesn't want to hear his voice—but because she already knows what he'll say. And worse: what he won't.
Because they don't say I love you in the light.
Not in real life.
Not in this life.
She finally answers on the fourth ring.
"Hi," she breathes. Just that.
"Hey." His voice is low, almost reverent. "I didn't think you'd answer."
"I almost didn't." A beat. "I'm not sure I should have."
A silence settles between them. But it's not empty. It'sthick—with things they've said in touches, not words. With last night's fire still smoldering beneath their skins.
"I know this isn't fair," he says. "I know I don't come without complications. But when I'm with you, Liv—when it's just us—I remember who I wanted to be before all of this."
She leans her forehead against the cool fridge.
Eyes closed.
Heart open and bleeding.
"I don't want to just be your escape, Fitz."
"You're not."
"I don't want to be the moment you run to when the world gets too loud."
"You're the reason I can stand it at all."
Her breath stutters. The words should soothe. Instead, they cut.
"I wish it were simpler."
"So do I," he says, almost a whisper. "Every damn day."
She doesn't answer. Just listens to him breathe.
After a moment, his voice shifts. Softer. Vulnerable in a way only she ever sees.
"I can't stop thinking about last night. The way you looked at me. Like I was a man again. Not the title. Not the scandal. Just...me."
"I saw you," she says quietly.
He exhales, shaky. "You always do."
Silence.
"Come back," he says finally. "Not to the office. Not for work. Just..e back to me."
Her heart shatters cleanly. Beautifully.
"I can't," she says. "Because if I do, I won't leave."
He doesn't beg. He never does. And that's worse. Because he understands.
"I'll be here," he says. "Whenever you're ready."
The line goes dead.
She presses the phone to her chest. Stays there. Still. Wrecked. Wanting.
Because even in her silence, even in her solitude—
She's already his.
"I hate this," Fitz says suddenly, voice thick. "Pretending. Hiding. Talking to you like you're just staff when I want to ask if you've eaten, if you've slept, if you're—"
She cuts him off with a look. A softening. A surrender.
"Don't."
"Liv..."
"I know."
They're both standing now, the distance between them all but erased. He reaches for a folder, brushes her fingers instead. Neither pulls away.
"I see you in these halls and it kills me," he murmurs, eyes fixed on her mouth.
She exhales, barely a whisper. "And still you keep asking me to stay."
"I don't know who I am without you," he says, raw now. "These nights—when it's quiet—when it's just us? They keep me going."
She steps in, just slightly, but it's enough. Her breath grazes his jaw. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll believe you."
And then it happens.
He cups her face like she might vanish. She grips his lapels like she might shatter. The kiss is restrained for only a moment. Then it deepens, mouths parting, hands roaming, years of restraint unraveling in seconds.
She pulls him closer, backing them into the shadows by the fireplace. His fingers find the zipper at her back. Her nails slide under his shirt, dragging down his spine.
This isn't power. Or politics. Or escape.
It's needed.
It's everything they've held back made real.
"Fitz," she gasps against his mouth.
He breathes her name like an oath.
Their rhythm is slow at first—almost reverent—but it builds. Desperation blooming between kisses, a shared ache finally unbound.
Every movement, every sigh, is a declaration: I see you. I need you. I don't care what it costs.
The East Room sparkled under the chandeliers, all marble and majesty. Flashbulbs burst like fireworks. Laughter echoed against the high ceilings—tight, political, rehearsed.
Olivia stood beside the press secretary, posture perfect, dress sharp as a scalpel. Her smile was for the cameras. Her attention was not.
He walked in from the opposite side of the room—navy suit, crisp white shirt, the red tie she had tugged off just twelve hours ago now knotted with surgical precision.
President Fitzgerald Grant. Leader of the free world.
Her undoing.
Their eyes collided for one suspended second too long. He blinked first, but not before the muscle in his jaw twitched.
She hated that she noticed.
The speech began—something about foreign policy and bipartisan unity—but her blood was loud in her ears. She kept her expression neutral, arms folded in front of her, hands clutched tighter than they should be.
He didn't look her way again.
Not directly.
But when she moved to adjust a mic stand for the press secretary, his head tilted. Subtle. A flicker of something in his eyes.
Hunger?
Habit?
Hell.
He smiled at a senator's joke. She laughed at something someone whispered in her ear. A waltz of misdirection, two professionals pretending the only thing between them was a working relationship and the weight of the world.
And yet—
When she passed by him on her way to the back of the room, the heat of him reached out like a live wire. She didn't touch him. Of course not.
But the scent of his cologne—amber, citrus, woodsmoke, and sin—hit her in the chest like a memory.
He didn't move. Just said, under his breath:
"You left your earrings."
She didn't pause. Just answered, low and sharp, her lips not even moving.
"Keep them."
His breath caught, barely audible.
She disappeared behind the curtain, face carved from stone.
He watched her go.
Then turned back to the cameras, smiling as if nothing in the world was unraveling beneath his skin.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft, definitive thud—like the world had exhaled, and now there was only him.
Only them.
Olivia's breath caught as Fitzgerald's eyes darkened, raking over her like he could devour her on the spot. The air between them pulsed with want, swollen with everything they hadn't said.
"You're playing with fire, Liv," he rasped, voice frayed at the edges, fingers brushing the hem of her blouse like a threat—or a promise.
She stepped into him, the silk of her dress whispering over her thighs. "Then let it burn."
His gaze flared. Dangerous. Desperate. He touched her—just her arm, just her shoulder—but it felt like she was being set ablaze.
"You don't know what this is," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back. "What we are—what it could ruin."
Her chin lifted in defiance, her lips parting inches from his. "I don't care if the world ends."
And that was all it took.
He crushed his mouth to hers, no hesitation this time—just hunger and heat, brutal and breathtaking. She melted into him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him impossibly close, like she could crawl inside him and stay there.
"God, Liv," he groaned against her lips, kissing her like he needed her to breathe. "Every time I see you, I lose my mind."
"Then don't fight it," she whispered, voice shaky with want, hands already at the buttons of his shirt, dragging them apart with a fierce impatience. "Take me. Keep me."
His mouth found her neck, hot and open, worshipping every inch he uncovered. He pressed her back against the door, lifting her in one fluid motion, her legs wrapping around his waist like they were made for it.
"I've wanted you since the moment you walked into that room," he growled, teeth grazing her collarbone. "You looked at me like you knew—and I haven't been able to breathe since."
"Then stop holding back," she gasped, nails raking down his chest. "I'm right here. I'm yours."
He kissed her like a man starved, lips crashing over hers with raw urgency, hips grinding against hers as his hands explored—her thighs, her waist, her breasts, each touch reverent and ruthless.
"Say it again," he demanded, voice gravel and heat. "Say you want me."
"I want you," she breathed, arching into him, needing more.
He pulled back, eyes locked on hers, primal and unrelenting. "Say it like it's the only truth you have."
Her fingers fisted in his hair. "I want you. I want everything. Every forbidden inch. Every sin."
He growled, deep and possessive, and then he was kissing her again, slower now—more lethal. His hands roamed under her dress, finding silk and heat and need. She was already trembling.
They didn't make it to the bed.
They didn't need to.
His back hit the door with a thud as she pulled him in, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, her name a prayer on his tongue.
"So good, Liv," he gasped, hands everywhere—her waist, her thighs, the soft curve of her breast beneath silk.
"More, Fitz... right there..." Her voice was a whisper, then a cry, as his mouth found her pulse. "Oh—God—don't stop."
The world outside vanished. There was only breath and skin and need, the sharp sting of want unraveling into something desperate and beautiful. He worshipped her right there—against the door, against reason, against every rule they'd ever tried to follow.
Moans mingled with murmured names, breaths stolen between kisses so deep they felt like confessions.
"You feel like heaven," he groaned, lips brushing her ear as he rocked into her, slow and devastating. "Every inch of you... I'll never get enough."
"Say it again," she begged, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. "Tell me I'm yours."
"You are," he growled, the words catching in his throat as pleasure built. "You always have been, Liv. Always will be."
And then—release. A gasp. A shudder. His name fell from her lips like a benediction.
When the storm passed, Olivia was still wrapped around him, legs tight around his hips, her cheek resting against his shoulder, their hearts racing in tandem. Her name still trembled from his lips like a vow.
He pressed his forehead to hers, voice low, raw. "You undo me."
She smiled faintly, lips brushing his. "Then let me keep doing it."
He carried her to the couch, cradling her as though she might break, though she'd just proven how fiercely she burned. They lay there in the hush before dawn, their bodies entangled in a language only they understood.
Her blouse clung to her, damp and half-buttoned, warmed by the path his hands had taken. His shirt hung open, his tie discarded somewhere in the shadows, the steady rise and fall of his chest brushing against her fingertips.
Olivia sat up slowly, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, her hands steady but tender. She fixed his buttons with care, each one a small act of intimacy.
He watched her with soft eyes, memorizing her in that moment—wild and vulnerable, composed and disheveled, completely his.
She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, and he brushed a stray curl from her cheek, his touch reverent, as if letting go would cost him more than he could say.
Neither said the words.
They didn't need to.
The ache in their silence said it all.
This was borrowed time—fragile, precious, and slipping through their fingers like smoke.
Beyond the window, the sky was paling, blue and silver streaks chasing the night from the city.
She glanced toward the door, regret flickering in her eyes. "I should go," she whispered, her voice laced with longing, thick with the ache of goodbye.
He nodded, but didn't speak. His hand dropped from her cheek like it didn't want to obey.
She rose, gathering herself—the armor of Olivia Pope sliding into place in slow, practiced layers. But her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt, and her lips still wore the ghost of his kiss.
At the threshold, she paused. One hand on the door. She looked back.
Their eyes met—bright with everything they couldn't say in daylight.
"You're not the only one this keeps alive, you know."
Her voice cracked just slightly. A confession. A lifeline.
And then she was gone—her heels echoing down the marble hallway, fading with every step, like the last notes of a love song that still hadn't finished playing.
Fitz stood in the soft morning light, lips tingling with her kiss, the scent of her still clinging to him like a second skin.
He buttoned his shirt with slow, deliberate movements. Adjusted his watch. Composed his face into the one the world expected.
But beneath it all, she lingered—her fire in his blood, her name etched into his bones.
And the echo of someday followed him into the morning.