The Sentinels conference room was filled with the usual tension that came with long-winded mission briefings. Grant stood at the front, arms crossed as he listened to Knox outline the latest intel, while Adrian leaned back in his chair, already looking bored. Katya and Sam exchanged knowing glances, clearly unamused by whatever bureaucratic nonsense was being thrown their way. (©TRS2024CAI)

You, however, were barely paying attention.

Beneath the table, your fingers traced slow, teasing patterns over Griffin’s thigh, just out of view of the others. The fabric of his jeans was warm beneath your touch, his muscles rigid. He sat unnaturally still beside you, pretending—quite poorly—not to react.

Across the table, Clint drummed his fingers against the surface, looking as disinterested as you felt. You nodded along, feigning interest, but your attention was entirely on the way Griffin's hand gripped his knee, his fingers twitching as if warring with the urge to grab your hand and put a stop to your antics.

Your phone vibrated in your lap. A text from Griffin.

Stop. Now.

You bit your lip, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, pretending not to notice the way his jaw was clenched. Instead of listening, you let your fingers drift higher, brushing the inseam of his jeans in the lightest of touches.

Another buzz.

Don’t play dumb. Stop.

You smirked, thumbs flying over your screen.

Stop what? I’m just sitting here, paying attention. You should try it.

His metal hand gripped the edge of the table so hard it creaked, but he didn’t dare look at you. Another buzz.

Bathroom. Now.