"You're the president."
"You're the only woman who has ever told me no." His blue eyes twinkled, hand tucked away inside the blue pants of his suit and other resting on his thigh. One lock of curly brown hair hung over his eye, giving him just the hint of the disheveled playboy the media liked to paint him as. His white shirt, tucked into his pants, was unbuttoned enough to show just the tiniest bit of his dark chest hair. If at all possible, he looked even better this way than he had when she had first met him. The jeans and flannel were nice, but didn't do near the justice this suit was doing. Fighting the urge to squeeze her thighs together, who would have thought that after six years of celibacy, one week without sex would have her in such a wanton state, she licked her ruby red lips.
"I didn't tell you no a week ago," her low, seductive voice echoed throughout the room. She noted, with satisfaction, the growing bulge in his pants. Chest heaving and breathing becoming erratic, she crossed her legs in front of herself, digging the heels of her Louboutins into the carpeted floor. Her words had affected her almost as much as him. The feel of her cotton dress rubbing against her breasts through her white, lace lingerie had her almost panting as she imagined his hands and mouth replacing the fabric. She pulled at the Beijing printed bows on her sleeves, anything to distract her from the desire slowly pooling in her stomach and coating her thighs.
His deep chuckle emanated from his chest as his eyes travelled her body, noting the way she tried to discreetly rub her thighs together under the pleated, printed skirt she wore. Treading slowly across the carpeted room, like a predator stalking his prey, he stopped in front of her, invading her personal space. She breathed in the scent of his cologne - the scent that was so distinctly him and tilted her head back, dark eyes searching his bright baby blues. Crow lines formed around his eyes, he laughed a lot she was sure. Had been sure since their one evening and night together a week ago. Placing a hand on her upper arm, he stroked her skin through the fabric of her white sleeves, bending his head to hers, lips hovering just above hers as he asked, "Are you here to accept my offer. Or was I right about those stalker tendencies?"
She giggled, shuddering when his hand moved to her hip, bunching her colourful skirt as he gripped her, pulling her closer still to him. They were close enough that she could feel his ever growing erection, rubbing against his length. He fought the urge to allow his eyes to flutter shut at the feelings of pleasure he was getting from her actions. Olivia moved her well-manicured hands to the waistband of his trousers, fingers gripping his belt loops.
"I thought about accepting your offer. You made a very convincing speech today." Slowly releasing his belt loop, she moved her hand around to the front of his pants. Boldness was new on her. Sure she could command a room just as well as any man, but to be so open in her touch? Her feelings? That just wasn't the Olivia Pope she used to be. But she was sick of ruined relationships and looking at a very real future of being left alone. This time, she would take what was hers at all costs.
"I had a friend outline all her ideas for me to steal," he chuckled, eyes clouding as her hand made contact with the bulge in his pants, gripping his straining dick. She began moving her hand over the fabric of his pants, dark eyes clouded with desire as he grew in her hand.
"I knew you were trying to steal my ideas."
His hands moved to the collar of her dress, nimble fingers slowly pushing the pearl button through the tiny hole at the base of her throat. She inhaled sharply while his hands inched slowly down the front of her dress, undoing the small, off-white buttons as he went, leaving her standing before him with the front of her dress open. The tiniest hint of white lace showed through her open dress before he moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing at the material until it was sliding down her arms, over her hands, and falling at her waist. Never did she think she would be standing in the Oval Office, in front of the president she loathed, wearing a thin, white lace bra that showed the smallest bit of her straining, hardened nipples. Or that she would be so turned on in this moment.
