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!"