I glanced at my watch, barely noon, and I’d done nothing since Lena vanished. Half-finished emails glared from my monitor, quarterly reports sat untouched, her silence eating at me.

"Mr. Voss, you have a call on line two." My assistant's voice sounded through the intercom.

"Take a message," I snapped, then immediately regretted my tone. I pressed the button again. "Sorry, Megan. Just... take a message."

I checked my phone again. No reply from Lena. I'd sent three more texts since this morning. Each showed as delivered, none as read. I even tried calling twice, but it went straight to voicemail.

My office door opened without a knock, and Sam Carter strolled in with his usual casual confidence.

"Hey, boss, got a minute? I need to discuss the Morrison account—"

"Do you know how to knock?" I cut him off. I never socialize with my employees, but because I have one as my best friend, I allow her "work friends" drop formalities. Right now, Sam was just crossing a line. Even Lena knocks before entering.

He blinked, surprised. "Sorry, I thought—"

"You thought wrong." I stood, straightening papers I hadn't even looked at. "If it's not urgent, it can wait until tomorrow."

"It's just that the deadline is—"

"I said tomorrow." My voice rose, and I noticed Megan peering through the glass walls, concern written across her face.

Sam's expression shifted to wariness. "Sure thing. Tomorrow." He backed toward the door. "By the way, you seen Lena today? She was supposed to help with the client presentation, and—"

"Get out!" The words came out as a growl.

Sam raised his hands in surrender and quickly exited. I sank back onto my chair, dragging my hands down my face.

At one o'clock, I grabbed my coat.

"Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day," I told Megan on my way out. "Family emergency."

I drove to Lena's apartment first. Her building was quiet since most residents were at work. I pressed the buzzer for her unit repeatedly.

No answer.

I tried calling her cell phone again while standing there, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Sir, can I help you?" The doorman approached, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I'm here for Lena Martinez. I'm her friend, Alex Voss."

"Ms. Martinez left this morning and said she might be gone a few days."

My stomach dropped. "Did she say where she was going?"

He shook his head. "Not my business to ask, sir."

I tried Bean & Brew next, her favorite coffee shop where she claimed to do her best thinking. The barista recognized me—I've met Lena here countless times—but shook her head after I ask.

"Haven't seen her today, Mr. Voss."

I searched the park bench where she sketches when stressed, the bookstore where she browses for hours, the gym where she boxes out her frustrations… all empty.

By seven, I was seething. How can she just vanish? I'd left more messages, each progressively less composed. The last one was particularly pathetic:

"Lena, what the hell? Ten years and you can't even text back? What did I do that was so terrible? Call me."

I ended up at The Anchor, a bar not far from my penthouse. It was upscale enough to keep the college crowd away but casual enough that I don't look out of place in my rumpled work clothes.

"Whiskey. Neat." I told the bartender, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair.

He slid the drink across to me, and I downed it in one go, gesturing for another.

"Rough day?" he asked, pouring my second.

"You could say that." I took a smaller sip this time.

Three drinks in, my filter dissolved completely.

"You know what's bullshit?" I was quite louder than necessary, but who cares? "Friendship. Total bullshit."

The bartender raised an eyebrow but kept wiping glasses.

"Ten years. Ten fucking years I've been there for her. And now, what? She's ghosting me because I got a little hard? Just a little, I swear. Is that a crime?" My heart was pounding and I ran wobbly fingers through my hair.

"Maybe you should slow down on the—"

"It's not like I acted on it! I walked away! I did the right thing!" I slammed my glass down. "It's not my fault she looked good in those tiny shorts. It's not my fault my body reacted. I'm a man, for Christ's sake!"

Few patrons nearby glanced over. The bartender leaned in with a low voice. "Sir, I'm going to need you to keep it down."

"Keep it down? Sure. That's what I've been doing for years! Keeping it down. Keeping it friendly. And this is what I get?"

"Last warning before I cut you off."

I glared at him, but my rage deflated slightly. "Another," I muttered, pushing my glass forward.

"I think you've had enough," a silky voice said beside me.

A woman slid onto the stool next to mine. She was stunning—tall, with long black hair and glossy black eyes that seemed to be checking me out. Her dress clung to curves that would command any man's full attention.

"I haven't even started," I replied, but my anger softened despite myself.

She smiled, placing a hand on my forearm. "Whoever she is, she's not worth this much angst."

"You don't know her."

"No, but I know that look." Her fingers traced small circles on my skin. "The 'someone-got-under-my-skin' look."

I should've shaken her off, told her to mind her business. Instead, I found myself turning toward her. "And what's your professional recommendation, Doctor...?"

"Just call me your fairy godmother for the night." She leaned closer, her perfume enveloping me. "I recommend a proper distraction."

The bartender set down another whiskey, giving me a warning look.

"What kind of distraction did you have in mind?" I asked, taking a sip.

She got on her feet, smoothing her dress. "Something more interesting than drowning your sorrows in mediocre whiskey."

Her hand extended in an invitation. I hesitated only briefly before taking it. Maybe I needed this. Something or someone to purge Lena from my system.

We left the bar, but instead of heading toward the street, she tugged me toward a narrow alley.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere special." She glanced back with a smile that promised all sorts of sinful delights.

The alcohol clouded my judgment just enough to follow without protest. We navigated through the alley, then down a set of stairs I never would have noticed.

"Wait." I pulled back as we reach a nondescript door. "If you're looking for a one-night stand—"

She laughed, the sound quite musical to my ears.

"Oh, you stupid man." Her tone made it sound like an endearment. "I'm not taking you to bed. I'm taking you somewhere much more interesting."

"Which is...?"

"A place for people like you." She ran a finger down my chest. "People looking for something new. A proper distraction."

I was tipsy, angry, and following a stranger into what could be a dangerous situation. I thought of leaving, but curiosity and the need to forget Lena for just one night, overrode my better judgment.

The woman approached a solid metal door at the end of the alley where a large man in black stood guard, his expression hard and unwelcoming. She flashed what looked like a black card with gold trim, then pointed at me, signifying we were together.

The bouncer nodded and let us step in.

Inside, I was instantly struck by the dramatic transformation. A luxurious corridor bathed in warm amber light, air smelling faintly of jasmine and something more exotic.

Music pulsed ahead, low and sensual. Not the thumping bass of a typical club, but something that seems to vibrate through the body.

"What is this place?" I asked, taking in the plush carpeting and carved wooden panels.

She smiled and stretched a hand forward. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

The corridor opened into a vast, dimly lit space that made my pulse kick up. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood, sweat, leather, the musk of arousal, all in one. My guide’s fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me forward as my eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before me.

A woman was sprawled across a velvet chaise, her wrists bound above her head with silk ropes, her back arched as another woman—masked in black lace—traced a feather along the inside of her thigh. The bound woman gasped, her hips jerking upward, begging for more. Nearby, a man knelt between a woman’s legs, his tongue working in slow strokes while onlookers murmured approval. Another couple was pressed against a mirrored wall, the man’s hand fisted in the woman’s hair as she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

I swallowed hard. My cock twitched from the sheer rawness of it all.

"My God," I breathed.

The woman beside me chuckled, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Impressive, isn’t it?"

"A sex club," I muttered, though that didn’t begin to cover it. This wasn’t some seedy backroom. It was decadent, the kind of place where fantasies were crafted.

She leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Not just a sex club." Her voice was a purr. "This is Zentharis. A place for those who crave more than just fucking."

My gaze flicked to a man tied to a St. Andrew’s cross, his chest heaving as a woman in a latex dress dragged a flogger down his spine. He groaned, his cock straining against his leather pants.

"And what exactly is more?" I asked, though I already knew. The air hummed with it. The thrill of control, of surrender.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she tugged me deeper into the lounge, past the voyeuristic crowds, toward a section partitioned by heavy velvet curtains. The energy here was darker. The music was even lower, and the lighting more intimate, casting long shadows over the scenes playing out in the semi-private alcoves.

Then I saw her.

A woman in a black corset, the lace hugging her waist exactly, her hips encased in leather panties that left little to the imagination. A mask obscured her face, but her confident and commanding posture drew my eye. She stood over a bound woman, her fingers tangled in the submissive’s hair as she guided the other’s mouth onto her thigh.

My breath hitched.

The corseted woman’s free hand trailed down her own body, her nails scraping over the leather between her legs before she pressed two fingers against the bound woman’s lips.

"Open," she ordered, her voice low and velvety.

The submissive obeyed, her tongue darting out to lick the offered fingers. A shudder ran through me. My cock was iron now, straining against my slacks.

I felt the corseted woman smirk even through the mask, and then she slid those glistening fingers into the submissive’s mouth, fucking her throat in shallow thrusts. The bound woman gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. She took it.

A groan tore from my throat.

Beside me, my guide let out a light chuckle. "She’s something, isn’t she?"

I couldn’t look away. The corseted woman released the submissive’s hair, then traced her nails down the other woman’s chest, over her stomach, before dipping beneath the waistband of her panties. The submissive whimpered, her hips lifting off the bench.

"She’s been with us over a year," my guide murmured. "Learned the ropes quickly. Though she’s still... selective."

I dragged my gaze from the scene long enough to glance at her. "Selective how?"

"She only plays with women." Her lips curved into a slight frown. "Most of the regulars would kill for a night with her. One even offered me a hundred grand under the table." She tilted her head. "But she has rules. Very specific rules."

I swallowed. "Like what?"

"Like no touching unless she says so." My guide’s fingers tightened around my wrist. "Like only dominating someone she trusts implicitly." She paused.

My eyes snapped back to the corseted woman just as she pulled her hand free of the submissive’s panties, her fingers slick. She brought them to her own lips, tasting the other woman before leaning down to kiss her possessively.

Fuck.

I imagined Lena like that—bound, trembling, her lips parted as I fed her my cock. The thought made my head spin. I could almost taste her, feel the heat of her cunt clenching around me, her nails digging into my skin as I—

"Have you ever been to a place like this?"

The voice snapped me back. I blinked, realizing I’d been staring, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"No," I admitted with a rough voice.

She hummed, her thumb tracing circles on the inside of my wrist. "Do you like it?"

Yes. Fuck, yes. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I watched as the corseted woman straightened, her fingers trailing over the submissive’s collarbone before she stepped back, leaving the other woman panting.

The crowd around them erupted in an appreciative clap. The corseted woman bowed her head slightly, then reached up to unhook her mask.

My breath stalled as the mask fell away. For a single, heart-stopping second, the world narrowed to her.

Lena. My Lena.

Her dark hair was swept up, her lips parted, still glistening from the kiss. She looked fucking edible—flushed, powerful, her brown eyes scanning the crowd with a smirk that promised sin.

Then her gaze landed on me... and she froze.

Lena's POV

The door slammed shut behind us, swallowing the noise of the club, the music, the world. The room I dragged Alex into was small, suffocating, the air thick with jasmine and the scent of sweat and something his. Alex’s cologne wrapped around me, intoxicating, making my head spin as I pressed my back against the door, my pulse roaring in my ears.

His chest heaved, his eyes wild, blazing with a mix of shock, fury, hunger. The same hunger that had burned in his gaze when he’d lied to me, when he’d told me his hardness was for her.

I should’ve turned away and bolted the second I saw him standing there, frozen. But I didn’t.

Because this was the moment I’d fantasized about for years. The moment he’d see me. The real me I’d buried under friendship and laughter and late-night gaming sessions, the me I’d only ever let loose in the dark, with strangers who didn’t matter.

And now he knew.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the mask still dangling from my hand, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. The cool air kissed my skin, my nipples tightening under his gaze, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

"You shouldn’t be here," I whispered, but my voice didn’t sound like mine. It was raw, broken, desperate.

"Neither should you."

A laugh clawed its way up my throat. "Oh, Alex. I’ve always been here." I stepped closer, the heat of him sizzling through the thin layer of leather still clinging to my hips. "You just never looked."

His hands fisted at his sides, his knuckles white. "Lena—"

"Tell me you didn’t like what you saw out there." My voice dropped, a purr, a challenge. "Tell me you didn’t imagine it was you on that bench. You bound, at my mercy."

His breath hitched.

I didn’t wait for an answer. The words were ripping out of me now, years of longing, of frustration, of wanting him so badly it hurt.

"I’ve been giving you signs for years, Alex. The outfits, the touches, the way I’d lean into you when we’d watch movies, my leg pressed against yours, aching for you to just—" My voice cracked. "To just fucking notice."

His eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back up, like he was fighting himself. "You’re my best friend."

"And you’re mine." I closed the distance between us, my fingers curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. "Which is why it killed me when you lied last night."

His chest rose sharply, his breath hot against my face. "It was for Nancy."

"I saw you, Alex." My nails dug in. "I felt you. And then you lied."

"I didn’t-"

"You did." I released him suddenly, stepping back, my hands going to the laces of my corset. His eyes followed, his breath stuttering as I undid the first knot, then the second. The leather parted, the cool air hitting my bare skin, my already pebbled nipples. "And I skipped work today just to drive you crazy. Just to make sure you couldn’t stop thinking about me."

The corset hit the floor.

His eyes traced the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, the leather panties hugging my hips. His hands twitched. He was seriously fighting the urge to reach for me.

"Tell me you don’t want this," I whispered, stepping forward again, my bare chest brushing against his suit. His cock jerked against his zipper, straining toward me. "Tell me you don’t want to touch and taste me."

His hands came up, gripping my shoulders, pushing me back. But his eyes—fuck, his beautiful eyes—were glued to my body, devouring me.

"This isn’t you."

"This is me, Alex. This is the me I’ve been hiding from you. The me who fantasizes about you bending me over your desk, your hands on my hips, your cock buried so deep I can’t breathe." My voice dropped to a whisper. "The me who wishes I was Nancy every time you touch her. Who hates that she gets to have you when I’ve wanted you for years."

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. "Stop."

"No." I reached up, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against my fingertips. "Tell me what you’re feeling right now. Tell me what you think about my nipples, Alex. Tell me how badly you want to bite them."

His breath came faster, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. "This isn’t happening."

"It is." I pressed closer, my lips brushing his ear. "And you want it."

His hands dropped to my wrists, yanking me back. "I have a fiancée."

I smirked, even as my heart cracked. "Then why are you hard for me?"

His eyes shut, his jaw clenching. My fingers trailed down his chest, over the rigid outline of his cock straining against his slacks. He hissed, his hips jerking back, but I followed, my palm pressing against him, feeling the thick, throbbing length of him. "Feels pretty real to me."

His eyes flew open, desperate. "Lena—"

I surged forward before he could finish, my lips crashing against his, my teeth sinking into his lower lip. He groaned, his hands flying to my hips, gripping me so tight it should’ve hurt. But it burned, instead. It made my core ache even more. And for one perfect, heart-stopping second, he kissed me back, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.

Then he shoved me away, growling "this is wrong."

I straightened up, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. "Then why are you still hard?"

"I’m engaged."

"And yet," I stepped forward again, my voice a taunt, "you can’t stop looking at me."

His gaze dropped to my breasts, my aching nipples.

"Tell me you don’t dream about fucking me."

"I don’t."

"Liar."

He flinched, his eyes snapping up to mine, "You don’t know what you’re asking for."

I stepped closer, my bare chest brushing against his suit again. "I do. I want you to pin me down. To own me. To make me beg for that cock. Or… are you scared?"

I felt him tremble under my touch. Why the fuck was he holding back, playing innocent like this isn't what he wants?

"And if you keep being a coward, then I’ll find someone who will take me like a real man."

"Don’t you dare." Something wild flashed in the depths of his eyes.

I smirked, even as my heart pounded, even as my body ached for him more. "Then stop me."

He didn’t move. In that moment, I hated him.

Because he wanted me. I knew he did, but he wouldn’t take me.

I reached down, my fingers hooking into the waistband of my leather panties. His breath stalled as I dragged them down, stepping out of them, leaving me completely bare before him.

His gaze dropped, his eyes darkening as they traced down my waist, the glisten of my cunt, the way my thighs trembled.

"Last chance, Alex. Tell me to stop."

He didn’t.

So I turned, my hands pressing against the door, my ass arched toward him, my body aching for him to finally, finally give in. I muttered a curse under my breath when he looked away from me.

"Fuck you, Alex. Fuck you and your sexy body! I am gonna make you regret this, and when you come back for it, you'd beg like you've never begged before!"