I struggled for a lie, any lie, praying my brain will work faster than my dick.

"Sorry, I'm... it's not you. I was texting with Nancy earlier and..." The words tumbled out awkwardly. "It's just, you know, been a while."

Lena stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides. Her expression shifted from confusion to... disappointment? Relief?

"Right. Nancy." She tucked a loose strand behind her ear, not meeting my eyes. "Tell her I said hi."

The space between us felt loaded with something unsaid. She knew I was lying. I should leave now, but my feet won't move.

"Lock the door behind me," I managed to say. "And text me when you go to bed so I know you're safe."

"Night, Alexi." There's that smile again, the one that's gotten us through ten years of friendship. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, making her breasts push up against the thin fabric of her crop top.

I forced myself to look away, nodding goodbye as I stepped into the hallway. The door closed, and I heard the lock click.

I pressed my palm to the door. Her coconut scent lingered, and knew I’d fucked up a decade of friendship. Would she lock me out for good?

My phone buzzed and Nancy's face lit up the screen, her blonde hair and sweet smile a stark reminder of the promises I've made. Of the man I'm supposed to be.

I turned away from Lena's door, from the temptation behind it, and head for the elevator. The whole ride down, all I can think about is coconut scent, plump lips, tiny shorts... and how fucked I truly am.

~ ~ ~

The elevator ride up my penthouse was a special kind of hell—thirty floors to get myself under control.

When I walked in, the bedroom light was on.

"Where have you been?" Nancy sat up in bed, her silk nightgown sliding off one shoulder. Her blonde hair was perfectly tousled, her eyes narrowed. "You left me for three hours."

"Lena had an emergency." I kicked off my shoes, trying to sound casual. "Someone broke into her place."

"At two in the morning?" Nancy crossed her arms. "And she called you?"

I walked to her side of the bed, my fingers finding the bare skin of her shoulder. "I know, right? Why should Lena call me in the middle of the night?" I brushed my lips against her neck, feeling her tension. "We should get her a boyfriend, someone else she can call for these things."

Nancy's frown didn't budge. "Alex, this isn't the first time she's interrupted us. I'm serious—"

"Or maybe," I murmured, my fingers tracing down her arm, "we should hurry up with the wedding and move to another country." I gently pulled at the strap of her nightgown, exposing more skin. "That way she won't call me for emergencies."

Her breath caught as I kissed along her collarbone, my hands sliding the silk down further.

"You'd leave it all for me, Alex?" she asked.

“For you? I will, so we focus on us.” I slid the silk off, tracing her collarbone. My fingers trembled as Nancy sighed. Her skin was soft, but all I smelled was coconut, my pulse hammering as I fought Lena’s image.

“Ohh… yes,” she gasped, arching as my hand slipped between her legs, circling her wetness.

I was already hard—had been since leaving Lena's apartment. I tried my best to focus on Nancy's skin against the dark sheets.

"So, what city are we doing?" I continued as my pants dropped to the floor. She tried putting my cock in her mouth, but instead, I eased her back against the pillows.

"I want Paris…" she moaned into my hair while I lavished her breast.

"Paris is beautiful in spring." I trickled my fingers down her stomach, between her legs and circled it against her entrance.

"Paris…" Nancy gasped as I slipped a finger inside her. "Paris... Paris is good."

I added another finger, working them slowly. "What about Rome? Or maybe Barcelona?"

Her back arched off the bed, her words broken by small pants. "No... I want... Paris."

She spread her legs wider and I added a third finger, watching her eyes flutter closed. "What about the guest list? Still thinking five hundred?" I moved my fingers in and out, my thumb rubbing her clit. Her anger was long forgotten.

She gripped my shoulders, her hips rising to meet my hand. "Baby, please—"

"Turn over," I whispered against her ear, withdrawing my fingers. "Show me how much you want Paris."

Nancy rolled onto her stomach, rising to her hands and knees. I stood to remove the last of my clothes, my cock springing free and leaking at the tip. But as I positioned myself behind her, all I could see was Lena—Lena bent over, Lena in those sexy booty shorts.

I closed my eyes, gripping Nancy's hips. Maybe I should buy Nancy some shorts like that. Something tight. That should keep my thoughts in check, keep me from fantasizing about someone I couldn't have.

"So, Paris?" Nancy asked, looking back over her shoulder, her body waiting for my cock.

"Paris," I agreed, lining myself up and thrusting forward into her needy core.

Nancy moaned, pushing back against me. Even with Nancy clearly enjoying my cock, I could still see Lena

I moved faster, harder, wanting to finish, to end this betrayal of my thoughts. Nancy clutched the sheets, her sounds of pleasure filling the room. After a nice spank to her ass, she tensed and cried out. I followed moments later, my release more relief than pleasure.

When it was over, Nancy curled against my chest, satisfied and sleepy. "I love you," she murmured, already drifting off.

"Love you too," I replied.

The sex had done nothing to clear my head. If anything, I felt worse—guilty for using Nancy. This wasn't me. I didn't betray people. I didn't lust after my best friend.

I needed to fix this, to apologize to Lena for my inappropriate behavior, maybe even confess about these thoughts. She'd laugh, make a joke, and we'd move past it. That's what we always did.

"Tomorrow," I decided. I'd go to her department first thing, pull her aside, and clear the air.

But when I walked into the marketing floor the next morning, coffee in hand as a peace offering, Lena's cubicle was empty. No colorful Post-its covering her monitor. No jacket hanging on her chair.

"Where's Lena?" I asked Nina, who sat at the desk beside hers.

She looked up, surprised. "You don't know? She called HR first thing this morning. Said she needs a personal day."

"A personal day?" In ten years, Lena had never taken an unplanned day off. Not even when she had the flu and I had to practically force her to go home.

"Yeah, something about her apartment," Nina shrugged. "Security issue, I think."

A shadow crossed Nina’s face, and I wondered if Lena’s “security issue” hid more. I nodded, trying to hide my concern. This wasn't like her. The break-in must have shaken her more than she let on.

Or maybe it was me. The way I had gotten hard for my innocent best friend and even made her feel it.

I pulled out my phone, typing a quick message.

"Hey, heard you took the day off. Everything okay?"

I waited, watching the screen. The message showed as delivered, but no response came. No typing indicator appeared.

After a minute, I added: If you need anything, I'm here.

Still nothing.

Fuck.

I'd messed up worse than I thought. Lena never ignored my texts, not even when we argued.

I pocketed my phone and headed to my office.

She knew.

She'd felt my lie last night.

My best friend sensed my hunger… and now she was gone.

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.