Meet Virginia

"He can't seriously think this is okay." Olivia Pope stared at the television hanging above the dingy bar, her eyes narrow slits. Her back ached - the wooden, saddle style barstool wasn't ver comfortable. She was out of place in the small bar. Her straightened hair, gold Prada suit, black-silk blouse, and tall, skinny black heels stood out from the worn jeans, dirty shirts, and knee-high Wellingtons of most of the inhabitants. But she had wanted to get away. Washington was too much, sometimes, and going out without someone noticing her was an impossibility. At least here, in Cambridge, no one recognised her. She wasn't Olivia Pope. She wasn't the fixer or the gladiator of DC. She was just a woman. An obviously well-to-do woman, but a woman nonetheless.

"Not a fan of the president?" The deep, rumbly voice came from the man beside her. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she took in his appearance. He wasn't from here, either. Sure he had made a better effort than she had to fit in, but he still stood out. His jeans were new, clean and barely worn, and she had seen that same black and red flannel on a runway in New York late last year. He, like her, nursed a glass of the top-shelf whisky. They were outsiders, only she didn't see a point in hiding it.

"I presume you are?" she answered his question with one of her own, her wine-coloured lips pressing against her glass as she sipped slowly on the burning amber liquid. Placing the glass on the stained bar, she twisted her head to look at the man beside her, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. He wore a black ball cap pulled low over his forehead and kept his head bent. Like her, he didn't want anyone to know who he was.

"I think the guy's doing an okay job," he shrugged, tossing his head back just long enough to finish his whisky in one shot before slamming the glass back on the bar and signalling for another.

"I suppose you would," she sneered, curling her hand around her glass and keeping her attention on the television. She had heard rumours of the president's support for this bill. Rumours that she hadn't liked. Being in her position, she could have easily waltzed over to Capitol Hill and bargained (or, if she wanted to be technical about it, blackmailed) key senators into voting against the bill. But she wanted to give the president the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to believe that the rumours she was hearing were just rumours. And so she had gotten the hell out of DC for the night. Away from command. Away from power. Otherwise, she would be too tempted to use it.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" He was offended. She didn't care. Swirling her glass in her hand, ice cubes clinking, she spoke:

"You're a wealthy white man. What would you know about the implications of President Grant's policies?" She brought the glass to her lips, trying to keep the smirk from her face at the flabbergasted shake of his head. In part, their conversation was somewhat amusing to her. Both arguing over a man neither had met. Not that she hadn't had her fair amount of chances to meet President Fitzgerald Grant III. He had wanted her to work for his team. Had sent her former mentor, Cyrus Beene, knocking on her door plenty of times. Her soul; however, was not for sale.

"Either you're very observant," he brought his glass to his lips as she lowered hers, "or a stalker."

"Believe me," her gaze returned to the television screen as Abby Wheelan (her friend was long overdue for a phone call - Olivia wasn't buying that the redhead was supportive of this new legislation) was in the ending stages of the press conference, "I don't do my own stalking."

He laughed at her joke. Though, in truth, it wasn't much of a joke at all. She had a law degree. In fact, she happened to be an extremely successful lawyer. The things she did could be considered stalking. Or rather, the things she had had done. Some of the things she'd done were borderline illegal. When she had first come to Washington, she'd been wide-eyed and hopeful - completely and utterly convinced that she would be the one to make a difference without losing her way. But even she had learned that keeping your hands clean in the nation's capital was impossible.

"What's so wrong with this bill?" He sat his now empty glass on the counter and gestured for the bartender once more. The old, grimy man raised a brow at his patron, but was quick to fill his glass when he was slipped a bit of green. Olivia chuckled at that. Whoever this man was, he had the money talks attitude of Washington down pat.

"You mean what could possibly go wrong with eachers concealing weapons during class?" She tossed her head back, repeating the man's motions from earlier and downing her drink. Shaking her head and pursing her lips, swallowing hard, she coughed. Her eyes burned, a tear trickling down the side of her cheek. The liquid was downright foul. Still, she didn't refuse the bartender's offer of a refill.

"The spike in mass shootings can potentially be curtailed if more citizens are comfortable and can carry a weapon. There is the potential for less casualties."

"Because more guns will clearly lead to a drop in these incidences. If only Ronald Reagan had been surrounded by people with guns when he was shot. Oh wait…" she rolled her eyes, gulping the liquid in her glass, eyes burning. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she coughed roughly, body shaking. Swallowing, she tried not to focus on the feeling of the liquid threatening to spew out of her mouth. Shoving her glass away, she brought a hand to her forehead, swiping at the small beads of sweat that had formed. Fuck whisky.

"Deep breaths," the man gestured for the bartender, "Can you get my friend here some water?"

"I don't believe we're friends, Mr…" Still, she took the water from the bartender, sipping gingerly at the cool liquid.

"Is it because of our disagreement?" He tactfully ignored her attempt at gathering his name. She shrugged her shoulders - that was fine by her. She wasn't too keen on giving her name, either. Anonymity was best in this situation; desired even.

"Disagreement? You still haven't given a decent response for your support."

"Something has to be done. We can't keep twiddling our fingers and hoping it will go away. We've tried making stricter gun laws - it doesn't stop the violence. Someone always finds a way. Now it's up to us to make sure that potential victims can protect themselves."

"And more guns is the answer to that? This legislation is dangerous for everyone, but especially for people of colour." She pushed her water from her, signalling for the bartender and ordering something a bit stronger.

"How is it dangerous?"

She thanked the bartender, sipping at the Jack and Coke he had made her - in a small, backwoods bar, there wasn't much of a selection. Carefully, she pondered her response. His words had held no underlying challenge to them - he was genuinely curious of her stance.

"How many times have you seen on the news that a trained authority figure has shot an innocent man or woman of colour? All because their pre-conceived notion, whether of conscious racist intent or not, is that people of colour are, generally, 'up to no good'. How long do you think it will be before a teacher makes the same error in judgement?" She took a long, hearty sip of her drink. Her heart beat fiercely - as it did every time she presented her case. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She did love the intrigue and thought of political debate.

"That…I hadn't thought about that," he whispered. He sounded almost ashamed, lowering his head and retreating even further under the ball cap he wore, bringing his glass to his lips and pausing. Shaking his head, he put the glass back on the bar without taking a sip, "What would you propose be done? Something has to happen."

"Just because something has to happen doesn't mean that new legislation has to be rushed without weighing every option." The mad rush to fix a broken system in the aftermath of every incident was something that Olivia had consistently, and loudly, been advising against. No one seemed to take the time to just think. "Maybe the president should start at why this is happening and work from there."

"That doesn't stop anything at present," he pointed out.

"No, but neither does giving teachers weapons. Instead, now another variable has been added that has the potential to escalate the situation."

"You should work in Congress."

She chuckled at that. If he only knew. Still, she couldn't help countering: "So should you."

"Is that so?"

"You give as well as you get."

"You still haven't told me what you would suggest." He swirled the small amount of liquid that was left in his glass, watching his ice cubes clink against one another.

"Is this some desperate attempt at seducing me?" she knew the answer - he was friendly, good-looking, and enjoyed talking, but he had made no noticeable pass at her. Still, as she had observed, he was good-looking and she was incognito, making the most of not being Olivia Pope for the night. Who knew? She might get lucky. "Or are you attempting to get all my good ideas and sell them to the highest bidder?"

"Maybe I'm attempting to understand your different ideas," he smirked. "Or I'm just trying to keep you talking."

"It isn't hard to keep me talking." She batted her lashes, giggling. The political conversation was done for today. She had come here for a break and a break she was going to get. Tomorrow, she had all the time in the world to be pissed at President Grant. Tonight was for her.

"It is hard to keep you on track, though." His low chuckle emanated from the depths of his chest and she found a warm blush creeping across her face. She had mentioned that he was good-looking and she was only human. It had been a minute since she had scratched her itch. There was a lot to handle in Washington - there was never a shortage of senators and congressmen/women who needed some dirty secret covered. And since Edison, she hadn't dated anyone. Hadn't even slept with anyone.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right topic yet," her voice was low, seductive as she wrapped her lips around the straw in her drink, sipping slowly.

"Here I thought you were enjoying proving me wrong."

She pulled her straw from her mouth, pinching it between her fingers and swirling the ice and remaining liquid around the glass. Their conversation had been enjoyable. Even on different ends of the argument, he had been accepting of her opinions. It had almost felt like he was filing away what she had said for future use. Almost. But she was burned-out on politics. Tonight was an escape.

"You did make it rather easy," she smirked, "But politics hits a little too close to my regular life. So change of topic?"

"Why not?" He reached for the bowl of peanuts on the counter, cracking a shell and digging the nut out.

"I'm Olivia by the way." She held her hand out, dangling over the bar. There wasn't a need for a last name. They wouldn't see one each other again.

"F…Thomas." He grasped her hand, his large, calloused hand dwarfing hers. The callouses on his fingers…whatever he did, he wrote a lot.

"Thomas isn't your name." She raised a brow, challenging him as she sipped at her drink. The faux pas of his hadn't gone unnoticed. He had audibly started to introduce himself with an "f" sound.

"My middle name. I'm trying something new." If it hadn't been for his ball cap, she would have seen him wink. She nodded, accepting that answer. He could've given her a false name, and he may have, but she didn't care. It wasn't like she was going to try to find him later. None of that mattered.

"So, Thomas," she rolled his name around her mouth, playing with the syllables, "What brings you to Cambridge?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"You're deflecting," she accused, shaking her head.

"I needed a break from my job. Too many people following me around."

"Same." She could relate to the desire to escape all the people. Her line of work wasn't always clean and, for that reason, she was nearly always surrounded by security. Or Huck. The man had taken it upon himself to become her protector. Even now, she was willing to bet that he was hidden somewhere nearby, keeping a close eye on her. Hell, he had probably already done a thorough background on the man sitting beside her. Most likely, Huck even knew his name.

"Sounds like we both have some pretty cruddy jobs." He raised his glass to his lips and she watched, memorised, as he took a sip. Having suppressed her basic, primal feelings for so long, she suddenly found it hard to control them. And everything the man did was starting to become a turn-on.

"I like it. Sometimes."

"Well, I like mine sometimes, too."

"It's a lot of pressure. Having so many people look to me to make things right."

"You have no idea," he mumbled under his breath so low she barely caught it. Before she could comment; however, he began speaking once more, loudly this time, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

Choosing to ignore his first comment - he had barely whispered it and, being a man, he was probably misconstruing events to believe that everyone looked to him, she laughed at his secondary comment, "I feel like that's the alcohol talking."

"Alcohol talking, huh?" His lips curled upward and he downed the remainder of his drink, twisting in his seat so his body faced her, "Either way, I'm starving and there's a local pizza joint down the street that makes the best pepperoni pizza you'll ever eat."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, turning her head to look at him. He stood from his barstool, holding a hand in her direction.

"You know you don't want to miss out on the greasy goodness," he winked. Throwing all caution to the wind (if he really was a horrible guy, Huck would have intervened by now. He always did), she placed her hand in his and stood on somewhat wobbly legs. She hadn't drank anything stronger than wine in a long time.

Dropping his hand, she reached for the lanyard around her neck, frowning when he placed his hand over hers and shook his head. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled his leather wallet out (okay, he definitely had a high-end job), and tossed a few hundred dollars on the bar.

"My treat. I'm sure most of the drinking was because you had to suffer through my conversation," he winked and, just like that, she didn't feel so bad that this man she barely knew had paid for her drinks. Laughing, she followed him from the bar.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to drop over the horizon, painting the sky vivid shades of purple, yellow, pink, and red. The warm breeze fluttered past them, tugging at the bottom of her golden blazer. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the salty scent of the sea mixed with the smell of running cars zooming down the street and the unmistakable tell-tale smell of a coming rain storm.

He led her down the worn, concrete sidewalk. Large flowerpots dotted the way, colourful, late spring flowers blooming under the harsh light of the street lamps that had just flickered alive. A display of toys and balloons filled the window of the shop by the bar. "All the Small Things" was written in curly, blue cursive. Olivia smirked at that. A toy store beside a bar. Further down the sidewalk was a glass storefront with a large pizza covering most of the window and "Page's Pizzeria" circumnavigating the large piece.

The doorbell jangled when he opened it, using his arm and an awkward bow to wave her through. Hardwood floors shined under the harsh hanging lights and a television played loudly in the corner - announcing the latest NFL draft picks. A sign stood to the side, inviting guests to seat themselves. She waited for him to take the lead, sitting at a booth near the door. Sliding in across from him on the well-worn leather, she glanced at the menu. She wasn't going to be ordering - he was. He had the experience here and he had already talked up their pizza well-enough. Running a hand through her hair, she wondered just when she had become so comfortable with someone making decisions for her. She was Olivia Pope. The fixer. She made decisions for others. And maybe, just maybe, she was tired of making decisions all the time.

"What can I get ya'll to drink?" Their waitress had a nice, southern charm to her. She was a teen, if Olivia had to guess. Her bright green eyes danced merrily and her striking red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The jeans and shirt with the restaurant's logo hinted at this being a more casual diner and, Olivia realised, made her yearn to live a small town life.

"Coke, please," Olivia ordered.

"Make that two."

The girl nodded, bounding away to retrieve their drinks. Olivia glanced at the man across from her. He still hadn't removed his ball cap. "Do you wear that thing everywhere?"

"Huh?" He tilted his head before reaching up to grasp his cap, "Oh! I forgot I had it on."

Pulling the black cap from his head, he sat it beside him on the bench. Olivia drank in the sight of him, feeling a twinge that she knew him. Try as she might, though, she couldn't connect the dots between any face or name she had stored away and the one before her. Maybe it was his devilishly handsome smile, his full, thick brown curls, or the way his blue eyes twinkled as he looked at her. He made her feel comfortable. That was it.

"Here ya go." The waitress returned, placing their drinks before them and handing them straws. Pulling a pad from her pocket, she poised her pen above the paper as she asked, "What can I get ya'll?"

"A large, pepperoni pizza with extra garlic butter." He gathered their menus, handing them to the girl and thanking her before she scurried off. Interlacing his fingers, he placed them on the table. She took a sip of her coke, her mouth suddenly dry and he watched with intensity in his blue eyes.

"Where are you from?" He prompted, sipping at his own cola.

"DC."

"How unlucky am I that I've never met you before?" His eyes danced with amusement and he leaned just a bit closer.

"You live in DC?"

"Live and work."

She shrugged. His knowledge of politics coupled with his admission that he lived and worked in DC meant that he was probably active in the game, too. It was an unfortunate fact that they had never crossed paths. Though she also wondered if that wasn't such a bad thing, after all. They had different ideologies and, had they met in DC, she probably wouldn't have taken the time to speak with him aside from figuring out how to crush his every agenda. Clearly the people he worked for weren't the same as the ones who regularly employed her.

"Kids?" He inquired. She snorted at the question. Her, a mother? That wasn't likely to ever happen. First, she'd have to find the right guy and, from the way her love life went, she was nowhere close to finding the right guy.

Shaking her head, "You?"

"Three."

Her gaze fell to his hands, noticing for the first time the small, circular patch of untanned skin on his ring finger. Taking a deep breath, she raised a brow and looked pointedly at the finger. Raising his hand, he chuckled as he observed them.

"Three month's post-divorce. I married because I thought I was in love and wanted kids, a house, everything that came with it. My ex-wife married because she wanted the house, the money, the name, and everything that came with it."

"She sounds shallow."

"She is."

Olivia nodded, pulling back and picking up her glass as the waitress appeared by the table, sliding their pizza in between them. After offering to bring refills, she disappeared, leaving the two of them to each other once more. He was quick to dig into the pizza, placing slices on both their plates. Taking her plate from him, a smile slid across her face when she took her first bite. Warm, melted cheese, thick spicy pepperoni, and tangy, with just the right amount of proportions pizza sauce exploded in her mouth. She didn't even mind the extra greasy flavour that only seemed to enhance the experience. He had been right - this was good pizza. Closing her eyes, she savoured the euphoria her tastebuds were going through.

Cracking an eye open a moment later, she grinned to see that his reaction had been the same as hers. A pleased expression still plastered his face and he was chewing slowly, grease running down the tips of his fingers. Unlike her, he had forgone the fork and decided to eat pizza the undecidedly American way. Opening his eyes, he winked at her, and laid his pizza on his plate. Reaching for a napkin, he swiped at the grease on his hand before taking a sip of his drink.

"Is this good or what?" His tone held a bit of a challenge to it, almost as if he were daring her to say otherwise. The Olivia in her wanted to take his challenge, to say it was only okay, but she had already decided that here, tonight, she wasn't that Olivia. DC Olivia would stay locked away.

"Phenomenal," she agreed, moving her fork to her plate and ready to dig in further. "How did you know about this place?"

"One of the men who work for me is from here." So he had employees. Interesting.

"You have your own company?" She reached for her soda, taking a long sip of the cool, bubbly liquid.

"You could say that." Something about his response seemed off, like he was hiding the truth. Still, she let it slide. He didn't want to tell her what he did and she wasn't going to force him. It wasn't important.

Silently, they finished their meal. Both turned the waitress down when she appeared to offer dessert, patting their stomachs and claiming they had had enough. Truth be told, Olivia was more than ready for dessert, just not that kind. She allowed him to pay once more and followed him back onto the now dark streets. Crickets could be heard in the distance and mosquitos buzzed around the lit street lamps. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, but it was still warm enough to prompt Olivia to remove her golden jacket, slinging it over her arm and revealing the silky black, sleeveless blouse underneath.

"It's a beautiful town. Peaceful," she commented, walking a bit closer to him than was necessary.

"I wouldn't mind living here."

"Maybe someday."

"Someday," he agreed, casually strolling to a stop beside a black SUV. She stopped beside him, her breath hitching in her throat. Was he going to offer to continue their night elsewhere or was this goodbye?

"I've had fun tonight, Olivia."

"Me too," she dropped her voice, edging closer and placing her hand on his chest. A sultry look crossed her eyes and a coy smile played at her lips. She didn't want there to be any doubt about her desire for the evening.

"Thank God," he chuckled, gripping her hip and bringing his other hand to her hair, massaging her scalp as she tilted her head back, anticipating his kiss. "I was hoping I hadn't misread the situation."

His lips crushed against hers, her sigh melting into his mouth at the taste of whisky and pizza that invaded her senses. His lips were shockingly soft and his tongue…the things that man was capable of doing with his tongue. And they were only kissing. Pulling away, she placed a hand on his chest and attempted to catch her breath - she didn't want to be the girl whose knees buckled from a simple kiss. A steamy, hot, better-than-she's-ever-had-before kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

"Do you have a place nearby?" She took the plunge, guiding them in the direction she wanted to go.

"There's a bed and breakfast down the street," he offered, tilting his head to the right. She nodded - that would do. With a fire building in her stomach, she grasped his hand and allowed him to lead her down the block. The bed and breakfast was an old, pre-Civil War home. Large, white columns gleamed in the beginning starlight. Olivia followed him through a black, wrought-iron gate and up a winding sidewalk. Blooming flowers of purple, pink, yellow, and white lined the pathway. He held the glass door open for her, letting her slide past him before entering.

Heels clicking against the shiny, hardwood floors, Olivia followed him to the marble reception desk. She barely listened as he made arrangements with the old man behind the counter. Her eyes drifted to the eggshell white walls and the oil paintings that covered them. Engrossed in a painting of a young girl, she barely registered his hand on her lower back, leading her up a large staircase and to the left.

At the top of the landing, he guided her to the left. Down the long, gleaming hall, they stopped at the door at the very end. He produced a silver key, sliding it into the lock of the dark, oaken door. She grinned at there - there was something undeniably quaint about a keyed lock versus a keycard. Tossing the door open, he allowed her to enter before following behind, removing the key and shutting the door. Her eyes scanned the room. It was beautiful and elegant in that turn of the century way.

A single, oaken dresser stood by the wall, at the midpoint of the room. Across the room, a queen-sized bed was nestled against that wall. A white, floral comforter covered the bed and a lacy bed skirt hung to the floor. Pillows were piled at the head of the bed, resting against the intricately carved headboard. The walls were the same eggshell white of the lobby. Harsh, bright light shone from the two, iron lamps hanging on the wall. A flowery perfume smell lingered in the air.

Overall, it was perfect. Twisting around, she placed her bag on top of the dresser and kicked out of her heels. Suddenly, she found herself considerably shorter than him. Tossing her blazer beside her bag, she turned to him with a hungry glint to her eyes. It really had been too long. Much too long.

He lounged against the door, arms crossed over his body, and watched her. Her eyes shone like a child being presented with a brand new toy and a smile graced her lips. He exhaled sharply when she raised her arms, her blouse lifting just enough to show the smooth, toned skin of her abdomen. Adjusting himself, he pushed away from the wall and slowly made his way to the middle of the room.

"I'm not usually this kind of girl," she stated, raising her arms to wrap around his neck. He chuckled, his hands brushing up the length of her sides, barely brushing against her breasts. Even that minuscule amount of contact was enough to leave her panting, wanting more.

"I'm not usually this kind of guy."

And she knew he meant that. His blue eyes held just the smallest hint of guilt - as if he couldn't believe he was about to have a one-nightstand. She almost couldn't believe it, either. Something told her he wasn't the kind of man to indulge in physical contact without more. He wasn't used to screwing and leaving. She had sensed that throughout their evening together. It had been more special than most of her dates with Edison. A hell of a lot more special than the one date Jake had conned her into. That man...she shuddered at the thought, pushing him far from her mind. Huck had taken care of him. That's all she needed to think about.

"We'll be each other's first," she smirked, her hands creeping up the nape of his neck to bury themselves in his thick curls. He chuckled, bending his head and placing his lips against hers. She sighed into the kiss, groaning as he slid his hands down her back, gripping her ass. Squealing as he lifted her off her feet, she gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the soft material of his shirt. Walking with a purpose, he carried her to the mattress behind them, gently laying her on the soft bed.

"You don't waste any time," she grinned, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. Slowly undoing each button, she slid her arms out of the shirt and tossed it to the floor. Next, she unbuttoned the golden trousers she wore, unzipping them and, with his help, kicking them off her long legs. Standing from the bed, he made quick work of his own clothing, tossing them in a heap on the floor with hers.

She stretched her arms above her head, pushing her breasts out as she did so, her eyes hooded with desire at the thick outline she could clearly make out through his boxers. He certainly wasn't small. Giving a coy smile and a come hither look, she reached behind her back, undoing the tiny metal clasp that held the thin scrap of black lace in place on her chest. Tossing the offended article to the floor, a jolt of pleasure made its way down her body, pooling between her legs, as he slowly licked his lips at the sight of her breasts. He edged toward the bed, the soft mattress dipping beneath his weight as he placed his knee on the bed, swinging his other leg around until he was straddling her, his body hovering just above hers. Resting his weight on his arms, he brought his lips to hers, meeting her for a searing kiss.

Breathless, the two pulled away. Her mouth fell open as he planted steamy, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and to her breast. Her hands gripped the bedcover, twisting the fabric, when his mouth closed around her nipple, sucking and pulling on her sensitive flesh. He took his time, showing both breasts plenty of attention. By the time he pulled away, she was writhing with want. Rubbing her legs together in an attempt to release some of the tension building, she gasped when she felt feather-like kisses brushed across her abdomen, down past her belly button, to her hip, and, finally, right above her dripping centre.

As wet as she was, she could put out a wildfire. She swore he had been close to giving her an orgasm just from the attention he showed her still tingling breasts. Allowing her legs to fall open, she sighed when he settled on the mattress between them. She held her breath with each kiss he placed on her thighs, anticipating the moment she would finally feel his mouth where she wanted it most.

Stars exploded behind her tightly closed eyelids at the first feel of his tongue running up and down her slick folds, taking special care to stop and flick her already hardened nub with each pass. The man was a pro with his mouth. As one hand lay flat against her abdomen, holding her body down, the other found its way between her legs and soon, his restraint was the only thing keeping her from coming off the bed at the feel of his mouth and fingers combined. Wet noises filled the room as his fingers, already coated in her heady arousal, worked in tandem with his mouth. In. Out. In. Out.

"Thomas," she breathed heavily, hands still twisting the covers and back arching off the bed, "I'm..."

Her words fell silent, mouth hanging slightly agape, as the most intense orgasm she had ever felt ripped through her body. He remained between her legs, lapping up every last drop as her body shook with the after waves. Pulling away, he gave her a wink as he brought his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers. Despite her recent orgasm, she could already feel a twinge in the pits of her stomach at his actions.

Using her elbows to push herself into a sitting position, she swung around until she was on her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. Hooking her fingers in the waistbands of his Calvin Kleins, she pulled at the grey fabric, giggling when his rock hard dick flopped out of the material, almost hitting her in the face. Leaning back, resting her bottom against the heels of her feet, she watched him kick out of his boxers. Reaching a hand forward, she wrapped her tiny hand around his dick, pumping slowly. His head fell back, eyes half-closed, as he watched her work her magic with her hand. As he thought he couldn't take much more, she removed her hand, dark eyes seeking out his.

"Fuck," he hissed when she began to leave tiny, butterfly kisses along the tip of his dick. It was just enough to make him harder than he thought possible. Slowly, she eased him into her mouth, keeping her eyes on his as she did so. Fire burned behind his blue orbs and he itched to place his hands in her hair. He groaned as he hit the back of her throat, soft choking sounds coming from her before she finally pulled away, leaving his dick wet with her saliva. Over and over again she took him into her mouth, her hand scraping up his thigh to massage his ball sack.

"I'm going to -" he tried to warn her. In response, she took all of him in her mouth, as much as she could, and swallowed as he came. Hard. Long, steady streams of his hot seed slid down her throat. Pulling away from him, she licked her lips and stood on shaky feet. The sounds he had made and the way pure, unbridled passion had passed across his face had only made her desire grow. She was happy to see that he didn't need much time to recover. His rock hard member poked her stomach as he bent to give her a kiss.

Falling back on the bed, she spread her legs, giving him an inviting look. He held up one finger, asking her to wait but a moment longer as he grabbed his pants from the floor. Retrieving his wallet from his back pocket, he dug around in the leather before finding a foil package. Dropping his wallet and pants back to the floor, he ripped the package open and rolled it over his hardened length. Returning to the bed, he wasted no time in pressing his dick against her warm, velvety lips.

A hiss escaped her lips as he slowly inched forward. It had been too long and he was well-endowed. Her toes curled as he slowly buried himself in her. Kissing her lips and rubbing her arm, he gave her time to adjust to the feel of him. When she began twisting her hips and squeezing her pussy around his dick, he knew she was ready. He held nothing back as he set a bruising pace, the headboard making a tattoo against the wall.

"Fuck your dick feels good," she gasped, hands gripping at the bedsheets as he moved above her.

"You're so fucking tight," he ground out, teeth clenched as he focused on the feelings in his groin.

With a gasp, she dug her feet into the mattress, back arching and pussy clenching his dick so tight he couldn't move. He waited as she rode out her waves of pleasure before finally moving again. Gripping the headboard and burying his face in her neck, he groaned as he came, filling the condom.

Pulling from her, he discarded the condom in the trash can before falling back onto the bed beside her. Her eyes were already fluttering shut - he had given her quite the workout. Pulling her close, although neither could say why, he, too, fell into a deep slumber.

/

One week later, Olivia found herself at her desk, working on a new case. There was never a shortage of cases. Especially cases of senators sleeping with someone they shouldn't have and needing to keep it covered. Stretching, she closed the file before her. She hadn't managed to keep her mind on a case since that day. Thick brown curls and sparkling blue eyes, the body of a walking sex god...all seemed to fill her every waking daydream and every dream. Squeezing her thighs, she sighed. This seemed to be an unavoidable habit whenever her thoughts turned to Thomas...or whatever his name actually was.

"Liv!"

Olivia's head turned toward the door as Quinn entered, a smile on her face. Olivia frowned. What did she have to look so triumphant about?

"Turn on the television. You did it!"

"Did what?"

"Turn on the television!"

Signing, Olivia held the remote toward the flatscreen, hitting the power button. Some news station filled her screen. There was always some news station on at OPA. Laying the remote back on her desk, she crossed her arms and listened as the anchors began speaking:

"President Grant has unexpectedly withdrawn support for House Bill 1637. We take you live to a press conference at the White House."

The camera switched to the familiar press room of the White House. This time, unlike so many others, though, Olivia's familiar red headed friend wasn't standing behind the podium. Instead, standing behind the podium was a face that caused Olivia's breath to hitch in her throat. Suddenly, she realised with horror, she knew why his face had seemed so familiar. Her one nightstand had been with the President. Barely did she register his words:

"A friend showed me the error of jumping to conclusions. Instead of taking unnecessary steps out of fear, it would be best to reevaluate our needs and move forward from an educated platform. I encourage Congress to table this bill and begin drafting a suitable replacement."

She watched as the camera switched back to the news anchors. Biting her lip, her hand hovered over the keys on her phone. Shaking her head, she decided to take the plunge. She had spent too much time running.

"Quinn, will you send an email to Cyrus Beene? Ask him to call me."

/

"Mr. President." Cyrus Beene entered the Oval Office, a look of triumph crossing his features.

Digging his hands into the soft leather armrests of his chair, Fitz slowly turned to look at his Chief Of Staff. The press conference had gone well. He didn't anticipate that Cyrus's visit was about that. He didn't know what Cyrus's visit was about and, honestly, wished the man would leave him in piece. He was having quite the daydream about a certain stunning woman he had met a week ago. He still felt bad about leaving her bright and early, sneaking out the door and into the arms of his ever watching security. But he hadn't wanted her to know who he was. For just one night, he had wanted to be someone other than the president.

"Yes, Cyrus?"

"Olivia Pope called. She wants to discuss working with the administration."

"The Olivia Pope?" Well that changed his mood. He had been trying to get Olivia Pope since he had first entered the White House. She was phenomenal from everything he had heard. Could tackle anything and come out on top. She had been steadily turning them down for two years now.

Cyrus slowly nodded, a grin on his face. Fitz shook his head, impressed. "Get her here as soon as you can. I'd like to meet with her before she has the chance to change her mind."

"I'm on it sir."

/

Olivia walked through the halls of the White House, Cyrus by her side. She tried to steady her breathing as she clutched the straps of her red Prada bag in her hands, knuckles turning white. She wasn't just meeting the President. She was meeting the only man in six years she had felt any connection to and the best damn lay she had ever experienced. Outside the door to the Oval Office, she took a deep breath. Waving Cyrus aside, she entered the office by herself.

Closing the door behind her, her breath caught in her throat when he turned to face her. His blue eyes showed an immense amount of shock before warming, fixing her with a mixture of shock, desire...and love? With shaky hands, she dropped her bag to the floor. Barely able to control her voice, she greeted him, using his given name for the first time. She had to smile at the way it rolled off her tongue. It just felt right.

"Fitz."

"Olivia."