Summary: Laurel is bored at a function, and Grayson has missed her all day.
Laurel doesn’t normally mind attending dinners and functions with Grayson, but this one has her nearly bored to tears. She tries to look engaged, knowing it won’t look good if Grayson Prescott’s wife is yawning at such a prestigious event. She circulates the room with him, smiling and shaking hands as he introduces her to several of the business owners and politicians in attendance, who greet her politely and then go back to arguing amongst themselves.
Grayson manages to extricate himself from the conversation after a while, much to her relief.
“Please tell me it’s time to leave,” she says jokingly as they settle at a table near the back of the room, sipping on glasses of champagne.
Grayson smiles apologetically. “Not quite. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Laurel says, nudging his side and sipping on the bubbly drink. “At least we’re bored together.”
Grayson looks at her in dismay. “Bored? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is the highlight of my weekend.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Sure it is.”
Laurel leans back in her chair, crossing her legs and surveying the room. Everyone is engaged in animated conversations near the front of the room, and dinner isn’t for another hour. She’s just about to teasingly suggest to Grayson that they sneak out for a few minutes, when she feels him gently squeeze her knee under the tablecloth.
Before she can say anything, his fingers are tracing random patterns on her skin, gradually skating higher. High enough to tease her, to make her fight not to whimper. He squeezes her knee again, tugging at her leg slightly until she uncrosses them.
“Grayson,” she says in a strangled voice.
“Hmm?” he says casually.
She bites her lip as his fingers glide over her thigh and wonders what’s gotten into him. He’s never been one for even being overly affectionate in public, and neither has she (though she’s managed to convince him to sneak out of a few functions when he’s looked particularly irresistible or he’s been stuck in meetings for hours).
“What are you doing?” she manages to gasp quietly.
He stops momentarily, looking at her with a heated gaze, though he slides his hand back down to her knee. “I’ve been in meetings all day, thinking about you,” he murmurs, “and this evening is going to drag on.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks hoarsely, his fingers digging into her skin.
She glances around the room again. No one is even paying attention to them, everyone absorbed in heated discussions about things she really doesn’t care about at the moment, and now she’s so flushed and aroused that if he stops she’ll never make it through this evening.
“No,” she admits, scooting her chair closer to the table, the starch white fabric of the tablecloth brushing over her skin as she adjusts it to cover her legs.
Her hand tightens around her champagne glass as Grayson pushes the skirt of her dress up, his fingers running over the damp center of her underwear. She hears him groan quietly and bites her lip.
“You gotta have a better poker face than that, baby,” he says quietly, stilling his hand.
Laurel sucks in a shaky breath, relaxing her grip on the glass and forcing herself to smile sweetly at Grayson. As if they’re having a perfectly polite, normal conversation, and Grayson isn’t rubbing his fingers over her underwear and then slipping them underneath the fabric.
“Oh,” she can’t help but whimper, trying desperately not to rock against his hand when he slips a finger inside her, moving in and out tortuously slowly.
“Grayson,” she pleads, unable to stop herself from squirming, needing more.
“Mmm,” he rumbles, pushing her underwear aside and adding a second finger, increasing his pace gradually.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her free hand gripping the edge of her chair, her hips rolling in gentle circles.
She’s close, so close, when Grayson leans in and brushes an innocent kiss over her lips, moving his hand faster and curling his fingers. She nearly jumps out of her chair, her breathing ragged and panting.
“Please,” she moans quietly.
Grayson kisses her again, his breath warm against her, then brings his thumb up to press against her clit. Laurel bites her lip hard to keep from groaning out his name, grabbing his wrist. Her fingernails dig into his skin as she comes, her eyes drifting closed briefly.
She swallows hard as she comes down and Grayson slips his fingers out. Readjusting her dress, she focuses on mundane things to calm her breathing. The dress she needs to get back from Poppy. Her broken coffee maker needing to be replaced. Dishes. When her breathing is back to normal, she glances up at Grayson, and a smirk spreads across her face.
“Someone looks pleased with himself,” she says.
Grayson chuckles, taking a sip of champagne. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Laurel shrugs, then smiles at him slowly. “We could find out. Our hotel room is right upstairs,” she points out, resting her hand on his thigh.
Grayson grabs her hand and she frowns.
“We have company,” he murmurs, tilting his head, and Laurel glances over to see a couple whose name she can’t remember making their way toward them.
“Hmm. I’ll have to make it up to you later then,” she says teasingly, squeezing his leg briefly, and she can’t help but grin when he sucks in a breath and grips her hand tighter.