Fitz had walked into Royal House in New Orleans, or at least that's where he was transported after the rush of creole spices hit his nostrils. Jill Scott's sultry voice filling the small space of their Georgetown apartment. He made his way toward the kitchen, expecting to find her there, sipping a glass of DuBellay while stirring a pot of her famous gumbo. But he found only a simmering pot and the faint linger of her perfume masked by the Cajun spices.

"Babe, did you pick up the shrimp?"

Fitz looked up to find her in the doorway of their kitchen, her brown eyes sparkling. Her hair slightly messy, like when she'd leave him in bed, and shorter than she used to keep it. He let his eyes slowly travel past her lips- free of lipstick but undoubtedly softened by the vanilla-mint balm she used. Her dusty pink lips highlighted by her loose fitting sleeveless top in the same color. She wore those distressed jeans he loved, for reasons he hadn't actually told her but somehow she knew. The mocha skin of her knee peeking out, begging to be caressed. Her feet were bare, a rarity, which made it innately sexier to him.

"Fitz?"

He forced his eyes back to hers, that slow, sexy smirk appearing on her face. Oh, he was going to fuck her tonight. Yes, he was.

"Yes, Livvie. I put them in the fridge."

She closed the short distance between them, rising on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

Fitz grabbed both globes of her ass and pulled her flush against him; kneading his hands in the soft flesh while he nibbled her neck. He took his time tasting the thin skin until he finally feasted on her lips. Yep, vanilla mint.

"Stephen and Abby will be here soon, babe. You know we don't have time," she half-panted against his neck.

Despite her half-hearted argument, Fitz continued to take his time; letting her continue to suck his bottom lip-goddamn she could bring him to his knees- before he finally relented.

"Dessert will be private," he said as he slapped her ass and walked out of the kitchen. He didn't need to look back, he already knew the look left on her face by heart.

Fitz always felt her enter a room long before his eyes found hers. Theirs was a visceral pull from the beginning and over the years he'd sharpened his instinct down to her mood. He knew when she turned whether her eyes would be full of rage, full of playfulness, or like tonight, full of desire. He'd used every ounce of restraint he possessed. Ignoring her stare from the kitchen, ignoring her sexy bare foot trailing up his leg during dinner, ignoring the way Stephen and Abby pretended to ignore the sexual tension until finally finding the most polite exit strategy they could, leaving them alone for the first time since he promised her dessert.

Her gaze swept over his body and he felt the familiar twitch only she could provoke. The admiration in her eyes still leaving him awestruck after all this time. Her tongue slowly swept over her lips, beckoning him in the most primal way. He stepped toward her just as she turned and headed toward the kitchen; but he could feel the grin on her face. She wanted to play? He could play.

He followed her to the sink, grabbing the edges, trapping her between the counter and the hard heat of his body.

"What do you want for dessert, Livvie?" his question vibrating against the spot just below her ear.

"I…I need to clean up the kitch—hsss…" He gently bit her ear lobe, immediately sucking away the pinch.

"Leave it, Livvie," he spun her around, lifting her on the counter. His hands roamed up her back, his thumb circling around her small frame to her breast, his other making its way to her neck. He ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, silently asking for entry. Her lips parted and he was met with her soft moan; the sound a surefire jolt to his dick. He tasted her- the spice from their meal, the tart cherry from her DuBellay, the sweet essence belonging to only her. His thumb, sill massaging her breast moved to her nipple, squeezing gently, then harder, then harder still.

"F-f-itzz" she sung in a hushed whisper.

He caressed his way down to the button of her jeans, his hand meeting her warmed stomach when she stopped him. Taking his hand, she jumped from the counter, backing her way out of the kitchen, the arch of her brow a silent question. Yes. To the ends of the earth, yes he would follow her.

He assumed she was leading them to the bedroom, but she stopped in front of his worn brown leather chair.

"Sit."

He fought his threatening grin. He was accustomed to her calling the shots, but not here; not with their love-making. This was new.

She sat her phone in the speaker and moments later a familiar beat filled the space. He couldn't fight his grin any longer; recalling the many times he watched from their bed, her hips swaying in the bathroom mirror to this very rhythm, oblivious that she was showing him just how drunk in love she was.

Fitz was pulled out of his recall with the first stroke of her hands on her breasts. Slowly, she moved down the sides of her stomach, swaying her hips with the tempo. He managed to lift his eyes from the sight to find hers closed. Her hands found the hem of her top and she swiftly pulled it over her head. Her eyes briefly met his before she closed them once more, turning her body, giving him prime view. He could sense she was out of her element, with him, like this. She rolled her hips, made her ass shake; his hands were twitching with need, but even more, he had to see her face.

"Turn around, Livvie," his lust laden voice even deeper than usual.

With her back still to him, she meets his eyes over her shoulder. He recognizes the instant she sees the fire in his and it gives her what she needs to face him, undulating her hips to finally remove her jeans. Fucking Christ, she's stunning. He sits back, the pain of his arousal almost too much to contain.

She's touching herself, there, where his mouth is begging to be, lapping every drop of her arousal.

And she is; aroused.

He knows her body better than his own. Her beaded nipples. Her parted lips. Her quickened breaths. It would take him less than minute to make her come, and he can't go any longer without touching her. She's moved closer to his chair, the sway of her hips bolder which he uses to his advantage when in one fluid motion, he sits up, sweeps her feet off the floor and into his chair. If she's surprised, she doesn't show it.

His eyes meet hers and what he sees almost makes him come right then. There's unadulterated lust dripping from her pupils. But beneath that is a vulnerability he's certain she's only ever given to him and that still leaves him wonderstruck.

He licks her soaked panties and the whimper she releases makes his dick ache with need. He runs his finger along her seam, pulling her panties off while his tongue circles her clit. Her back arches off the chair, giving him perfect opportunity to cup her sweet ass; spreading her lips wider with his thumbs. He knows he doesn't have much longer to feast as she's grabbing his curls with one hand, fisting the leather arm with her other.

Fitz takes one long leisurely lick along each side of her lips; then lightly swirls his tongue around her clit. He takes a whispered breath before latching on her clit for the duration of the spasms now taking over her body.

Her legs have gone limp over his shoulders, her heart beats so loudly he feels it in his own chest; but he's not done. He runs his fingers through her essence before entering her wet heat. He curls his fingers and gently rubs her, sweet moans telling him he has the right spot. Her fingers gently massaging his head, her soft whispers, "Fitz, yes. Please, yes."

He quickens his tempo as her chest rises and falls, she's about to come again. An exquisite sight to behold the first time, but her second orgasm takes his fucking breath away.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Ever so softly, he flicks his tongue around her clit and she comes undone. The throaty way she says his name is tethered to his soul.

He caresses her legs as he takes them off his shoulders, lifting her from the chair and carrying her to their bed.

"Sleep, sweetheart," but she's already drifted off, sated and satisfied.

He treks to the kitchen, and pours himself a bourbon. The warm amber running through his veins, calming his heightened senses.

He quietly rinses the dishes before loading them in the machine. Wiping off the counters before turning off the lights, he saunters back to their bedroom, readying himself for bed.

When he finally tucks himself under the covers her body turns toward his; a contented sigh escaping her lips.

He was sure she was sleeping until she purrs, "Dessert was yours, but breakfast is mine."

Fin