His Possession (OLITZ /Scandal - short stories) - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Tonight, Fitz steps through the door and stops cold.
His breath catches in his throat. Olivia stands at the stove, her back to him, wearing nothing but a frilly white apron with a red bow tied at the small of her back—and impossibly high stilettos that make her legs look endless. Her curls tumble down her spine, wild and soft, like she didn't bother to tame them just for him.
She turns slowly, and the sight of her hits him like a punch to the chest. Her eyes are dark, glinting with mischief—but there's something else there too. Something deeper. Raw.
She smiles, but there's a tremble in it. "Welcome home, baby," she says, voice soft and shy. "I've missed you."
Fitz swallows hard. It's not just lust that rises in him. It's love. Ache. Gratitude. The overwhelming urge to wrap her up and never let go.
"I missed you too, beautiful," he says, his voice thick, catching around the edges. He takes a slow step forward, but something in her eyes—fragile and open—makes him pause.
Trying to ease the tension, he tilts his head and smiles. "What's cooking?" he teases, though his mouth is too dry for playfulness to fully land.
She laughs lightly, breath hitching. "Me," she says, trying to keep it light—but her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I was hoping... maybe we could have us again tonight."
He's in front of her before she can blink, arms folding around her, holding her tight. He presses his face into the crook of her neck and breathes her in, grounding himself in her scent, her warmth, her presence.
"What's all this, Liv?" he murmurs, voice trembling.
She clings to him, fingers weaving into his curls. "This is me... trying," she whispers. "Trying to find our way back. I miss us, Fitz. I miss you. I miss the way we used to stop everything just to be near each other."
He pulls back just enough to see her face. "You still have all of me," he says gently. "Even on the days I forget how to show it."
Tears slip down her cheeks. "It's not just you. I let everything get so loud... work, pressure, expectations. I forgot how quiet and full love could be. I forgot how we used to feel."
He brushes a tear away with his thumb, kissing the trail it leaves behind. "We're not lost, Liv. We're right here. You and me. We just need to remember how to hold each other again."
She leans forward, their foreheads touching. "Then hold me," she whispers. "Touch me like I still belong to you. Love me like we're starting over."
His lips meet hers—gentle, lingering, more like a promise than a kiss. "You never stopped belonging to me," he murmurs. "And I never stopped being yours."
She exhales shakily, then kisses him again, deeper this time—more searching, more need. His hands slide over her waist, the soft fabric of the apron bunched beneath his palms.
He lifts her onto the counter, her legs parting instinctively to pull him close. "God, Liv," he breathes against her mouth, "you're so beautiful. I swear, I could spend forever memorizing you."
She shivers at his words, her arms winding around his shoulders. "Then take your time," she whispers. "Make me feel like I'm yours again."
His hands move with reverence, sliding beneath the apron, caressing her skin like she's something sacred. "You never stopped being mine," he says. "But tonight—I'm going to make sure you never forget it again."
She looks up at him, wide-eyed and open. "I don't want fast or easy. I want us. I want to feel it again. All of it."
"You will," he promises, kissing her tenderly. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."
He unties the apron slowly, letting it fall away, revealing the woman he's loved through everything. Her vulnerability, her beauty, her strength—they undo him. He touches her like he's rediscovering her, like every curve is a memory and a miracle.
"I missed this," she whispers, voice breaking. "I missed you."
He holds her close, forehead pressed to hers. "You're my heart, Liv. My home. You always have been."
And when he loves her, it's with everything he's been carrying—longing, sorrow, devotion. Their bodies move together slowly, tenderly, like a conversation in touches. Each kiss is a vow. Each breath is a bridge. And when she cries out his name, it isn't just pleasure—it's the sound of coming home.
Afterward, they stay wrapped in each other, skin against skin, hearts beating slow and steady.
Olivia nestles close, her voice barely a whisper. "Promise me we won't let the world pull us apart again."
He kisses the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "I promise, baby. From now on, it's us first. Always."
She smiles against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his heart. "Always."
In the quiet, wrapped in warmth and love, they begin again—not from the beginning, but from right where they are. Together.