AN: Each of these chapters is meant as a stand-alone, one-shot. AU.

I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.

ten·sion
noun

the state of being stretched tight.
synonyms:tightness, tautness, rigidity

mental or emotional strain.
synonyms: strain, stress, pressure

Fitz was rock hard.

Her hips were now moving in slow circles, a contrast to the rough grinding of a few moments before. Her slow movements brought some relief to his aching cock, but soon another type of pain took over.

He needed her to move. He needed her to pull off his jeans and remove her tiny g-string and allow him to bury himself inside her warmth. But she wouldn't. Not yet anyway.

Her back was pressed against his front as he sat in the chair. Her quick instructions at the start had him keeping his hands to his side. This was her show. Her legs were on either side of his as she leaned forward, allowing him to look down and watch as her plump ass in her flimsy thong rotated on him.

Fuck she's going to make me cum in my jeans again.

Abruptly she stood up, turning around, and he could see her puckered nipples on the tips of her breasts. This turns her on, he thought.

A smirk settled on his face, knowing he hadn't even touched her and she was probably soaking her pretty panties. He wanted that wet warmth around his cock, on his face, anywhere and any how she would feed him. He wanted to feast.

She kneeled before him, spreading his legs to give her access to his cock, straining hard against the material of his jeans.

She looked up at him, fingers ghosting over the huge outline and she ducked her head and nuzzled him there. Her nose, her lips, moving over him, pantomiming what she would do if he were in her mouth.

Her body began to move up his, her breasts brushing several times against his cock. His head went back against the chair. He ached to hold her breasts, fingers pinching and pulled at her peaked nipples, tongue circling until it found its home, suckling from her.

In the best way, she'll be the death of me.

Olivia was aching. Her soaked g-string was sticking to her body, her arousal evident.

Fuck he's going to make me cum and he hasn't even touched me.

She rubbed her breasts up his body, his tight t-shirt allowing her to feel more of him.

Thank god he thinks this is his shirt size.

As her breasts reached his face, she allowed him a moment to bury his head there, before pulling back. Keeping his legs spread, she turned around, settling her ass on top of his hardness. His moans and twitching hands told her he wouldn't last long. But she wanted him to. She lived for these moments – turning him on, feeling connecting to him, knowing that she was making him sweat and pulse with need. For her.

She began to move again, her hips moving to the beat of the music. Her upper body fell back against his, her head resting on his shoulder. She turned her face into his neck as her hips picked up speed.

He was babbling now, moaning like they were actually having sex, instead of her grinding her ass on his cock, hidden beneath a layer of jeans and boxer briefs.

"Fuck, you are gonna make me cum, pretty girl," he said.

She smiled then, and thinking he'd been a good boy, moved his hands to her hips. She sat up and looked back at him, a look of surprise on his face. His fingers gripped her hips, his thumbs caressing what he could reach of her ass.

"Show me what you want," she said.

He began to move her. He was President of the fucking United States and this woman in front of him, Olivia, held all the power.

He was hers. She owned him. She was all he could think about. And right now all he could think about was fucking her, making love to her, having babies with her, and seeing his cum on her lips.

He wanted more. He wanted to see her come undone in his arms. He turned her around, bringing his legs together and putting hers around his waist. He sat up, hugging her to him, as her hips moved and he nuzzled her collarbone.

They found a rhythm that soon had them both panting. She was soaking the front of his jeans. Her flimsy thong nestled within her swollen lips, was pulling against her clit, providing a delicious friction.

Faster.

Harder.

More.

Fuck yes.

They were both speaking single words, panting between grunts and moans, and trying to catch their breath, as they rode one another, seeking relief that only the other could provide. Their questing hips straining under the tension so thick.

He was fucking her. He didn't care that he wasn't inside her, he was making her feel so good, the way her head was thrown back and the scent of her arousal in the air. He bucked up against her, his cock and his heart seeking its home in her.

"I'm gonna…oh, uh…I'm gonna cum…" she panted in his year.

"Let go Olivia," he said. "I've got you."

Watching her fall apart in his arms was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her body went stiff, her face frozen as she looked into his eyes, and then fell forward, her scream buried by the biting of his neck.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

His cock exploded, thick cum covering his boxer briefs, as he held onto her hips and pounded erratically against her.

Fuck, he loved this woman.

She stood up, peeling off her stained panties as she grabbed a robe. She looked at him, as the mess they'd both made.

"I'm so sor-" she started.

"Stop," he said.

She started giggling then, until she was laughing so hard that tears were forming. He stood up, chuckling as he took her in his arms.

She stiffened.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

"Next Tuesday? Same time?" he said, as Tony the bouncer signaled from the corner that time was up.

"Sure. I'm on the schedule, that's fine, see you then" she said as she moved away from him, and followed Tony out of the room.

His secret service agents led him out the back door, into the waiting car. He thought about the headlines if the press ever got wind of what he did every Tuesday at The Pussycat Club. But he didn't care. He was in love with a stripper.