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It may or may not happen the night after she kisses Frank for the first time.
His kiss. His touch. His smell. All of him. Her whole body reacts so violently, so suddenly, that familiar, insistent warmth brewing like a storm between her legs. Part of her wants nothing more than to cave and go home with him, but she doesn’t. Instead:
“I have a boyfriend,” she makes herself mutter, only half-convincingly.
Laurel tries to forget about it as she storms out the door, but every time she makes a conscious effort to do that, that deep, desperate wanting just grows ten times worse. She squeezes her thighs together as she drives, and curses herself when she realizes just how ridiculously wet she is.
He shouldn’t have been able to do that to her with only one kiss. She must be a slut for real.
She goes to Kan, all but yanks his pants off and pounces on him right in the middle of legal aid. She needs to get off – that’s all she knows. She needs to come over and over, until she can’t think, until that dirty hunger between her thighs is sated.
And she does. She comes when she squeezes her eyes closed and imagines Frank instead, panting and struggling not to scream his name instead of Kan’s.
She gets off, but there’s no real satisfaction, no real release of that pressure that just keeps building. She goes home – alone, because Kan still has work to do – feeling just as hot and bothered as she had earlier.
And when she lays down to sleep, she may or may not have a sex dream. Involving Frank.
He’s kissing her, rough and deep like he had at the office. His hand is in her panties, yanking them down and hiking up her skirt and bending her over what is probably Annalise’s desk. It’s impersonal, that position; she can’t see his face, but when he enters her in one merciless stroke, so deep that she can feel every single enormous inch of him, she knows that that’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make.
She’s moaning helplessly, clinging to the sides of the desk until her knuckles pale. It doesn’t take her long to reach the edge, and she’s so close, so close, any second and-
Laurel wakes up just then, soaked in sweat and flushed and – oh, God.
She’s officially screwed. There’s no way around it now.
–
She goes to the office on Monday, praying she can avoid Frank for at least a few hours. Long enough to collect her thoughts and calm herself down.
She’s never had a sex dream before. She’d thought those only happened to guys – not to her, and besides, she’s not a nymphomaniac. She doesn’t need to have sex, despite the throbbing she can feel between her legs that still hasn’t subsided since last night.
But then Frank walks in, in one of those immaculately tailored three-piece suits that gives her a pretty good idea of what kind of body is underneath, makes eye contact with her, and smirks. And yeah, she realizes.
She does need to have sex. With Frank.
Just her luck, she gets sent to follow up on a lead on a witness with him on the other side of town. Laurel settles herself in the passenger seat of his car and crosses her legs as tightly as she can, praying he won’t be able to tell how flustered she is.
Halfway through the drive, he looks over at her, notices her very obviously flushed cheeks, and raises an eyebrow.
“You okay?”
Caught off guard, Laurel shifts in her seat. “Yeah. I’m, uh, just kinda hot.”
That’s a lie. It’s freezing cold outside, and Frank is only barely running the heat in his car. He seems to be thinking something along those lines too.
“You sure it’s not just me?” he jokes.
She panics. Oh, no. He knows. He must know, know somehow that she’d dreamed about him, in that way. It’s all she’s been able to think about all day; the desire is probably written all over her face.
“It was a joke,” Frank tells her, after he sees her eyes widen in shock. “I was kidding. Lighten up.”
It takes her a moment to snap out of it, and Laurel laughs awkwardly, lowering her eyes.
“Yeah. Right. I knew that. Hah.”
Frank furrows his brow at that and turns his eyes back to the road. Laurel leans her head back against the headrest, holding in a sigh.
–
It doesn’t get any better.
If anything, her… predicament just gets worse and worse as the day goes on. She’s not exactly sure how to deal with this. Actually having sex with Frank is out of the question, obviously. She already feels shitty enough for kissing him. Having sex with Kan hadn’t worked, and she’s not about to touch herself to try to get some kind of release. Knowing she’d done that while thinking of Frank would only make her feel a thousand times more awkward around him than she already does.
She wishes she’d never had this stupid fucking dream to begin with, honestly. It’s all Frank’s fault – and, well, her subconscious’ too. But mostly Frank’s.
Laurel manages to avoid him for the rest of the day, and it’s only when she retreats into the kitchen to get a glass of cold water around midnight that Frank finally succeeds in getting her alone.
“You sure you’re okay?” that all-too-familiar voices asks, just as she’s taking the last few sips of water.
She turns and finds Frank standing by the counter, an amused look on his face in place of actual concern. Laurel gulps and looks away quickly, shifting her weight from leg to leg.
“I’m fine,” she answers with a noticeable bite in her tone, in the hopes he’ll just do what’s best for both of them and leave her alone.
“You’re not fine,” Frank says, coming to stand just a tad too close for comfort. “What’s goin’ on?”
“What makes you think something’s going on?” she snaps. “Just because we kissed once doesn’t mean you get to psycho-analyze me now.”
Frank blinks. Dammit. She’d come across sounding exactly as defensive as she feels.
“What makes me think something’s going on?” he repeats as he moves closer still. His voice is low, enticing, almost like a purr. “For starters, you’ve been avoiding me all day. You won’t look me in the eyes. You can’t sit still, and you’re as red as a damn tomato.”
“Nothing,” she asserts, as she tries to step past him and he moves in her way. “I’m a little under the weather, I guess. Fever. Now let me-”
Before she can even blink, he has moved forward, pushed her backward, and pinned her up against the wall with almost no effort at all. Her breath catches in her throat when he presses himself up against her, her mind wandering into territory she’s been trying to keep it out of all day. Just being so close to him is making her skin prickle.
“I’m gonna ask you again,” he undertones. “Is there something going on I should know about?”
Laurel goes even redder. Normally, she hates being bossed around, but by Frank… It’s so incredibly hot she almost can’t stand it.
“Fine,” she finally hisses, squirming. “Yes. Okay. I had a dream about you – and now? Now you’re… all I can think about.”
“A dream?” he repeats, eye alight with mischief. “What kinda dream?”
“What kind of dream do you think?”
Frank doesn’t answer. Instead, he just slips his hand up her skirt and between her legs in one swift motion, his fingers brushing against the crotch of her lace panties – which are almost embarrassingly wet. She isn’t stupid enough to believe that he won’t notice. It’s mortifying how bad she wants him.
He gives a low groan. “Shit, Laurel, you’re fucking drenched.”
She whimpers when his fingers brush her clit over her panties, the sensitive little nub aching with want. It drives her crazy, the feeling of his fingers being on her but not on her, the barrier of thin fabric still in their way. The contact and simultaneous lack of it is maddening.
In the back of her mind, she knows that anyone could wander in at any second and catch them like this, with his hand up her skirt. She’d get screamed at, fired – but when he starts stroking her back and forth, his fingers rough and tender all at once, she decides that she can’t honestly bring herself to care.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, kissing at her neck. “What I did to make you like this.”
“I…” she breaks off into a whine when he nips at her throat. “We were… on Annalise’s desk. Y-you bent me over it and-”
“Took you? Right there, where anyone could walk in and see? Jesus, you were like this all day, weren’t you? For me. So wet you couldn’t stand it.”
She’s so close. Teetering on the brink already, and it’s barely been two minutes. But the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his fingers rubbing her through her sopping panties… it’s almost enough to bring her off just like that, humiliatingly quickly.
Every nerve ending in her body is standing on edge, but the pleasure has assumed a frustrating rhythm: building, then plateauing, then building a little more, but always stopping just shy of climax. She wants to scream and beg Frank just to drop his pants and stop his teasing and have her right here. And she’s about to do just that when-
Suddenly, he leans in and kisses her – hard. And that, for some reason, does it.
She comes with a high-pitched little cry, the sound muffled by his mouth. She doesn’t know how. He hasn’t even really touched her, but his kiss sends her reeling anyway, her thighs quivering around his hand.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling back to look at her in disbelief. “You were that close?”
She can’t answer. She just bites her lip to keep quiet as the waves of her orgasm crest and ebb away, leaving her weak in the aftermath.
It’s only after Laurel comes down that she realizes what’s just happened. She’d come – from his kiss. Just his kiss. Stunned, she opens her eyes, taking in the sight of him and struggling to catch her breath.
“S-sorry,” she pants, lowering her eyes. “I didn’t know I… I wasn’t-”
He frowns and tilts her chin back up. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Ever. You have any idea how fucking hot that was? You were made for that.” He presses a kiss to her jawline, giving a low grunt of satisfaction. “Made for me.”
Her mind still foggy, Laurel doesn’t know quite what to say to that. But… wow. Made for me. She’s surprised by how much she likes the sound of that.
“So,” Frank asks. “How do I compare to dream-me?”
She can’t help but give a breathless laugh, relaxing somewhat. “I… don’t know if I have enough points of comparison, yet.”
He chuckles. “Come home with me then. Think I can give you a few more.”
Laurel doesn’t even hesitate. Before she knows it she’s collecting up her things, throwing on her coat, and following him giddily out to his car.