Bound by Her Best Friend (A Club Smex Story) (5 page)

Chapter Six

Freya was nervous, and how ridiculous was that? Nervous about Zak coming around just like he had every other Thursday for the last gazillion years! She stood in her bedroom looking over her clothes, freezing cold as always, and wondered what the hell she was going to do.

Answers were not forthcoming.

Because everything is different.

Freya sighed, as much as she tried to deny it to herself, she knew that the niggling little voice in the back of her brain was right. She could give herself pep talks—as she had all week—convince herself that all was well, even try to rationalize that maybe sex clubs were perfectly normal. After all, what did she know? However, none of it was working. 

“Because you realized Zak is
actually
a man,” she muttered to herself, “An overly-sexed man!” She sighed some more, because that was unfair. Freya’s let’s-pretend-Saturday-never-happened plan had lasted a whole day before she’d booted her laptop up and gone searching. She couldn’t help herself, no matter how much she wanted to forget what she’d read, it was impossible.

The search results had been…illuminating.

She let out a deep breath and picked up a tee shirt from the pile of clean laundry on her bed. Zak’s M.I.T top was buried under them, but Freya would not be wearing it tonight. She should, she knew that, it would be the normal thing to do, but normal seemed to have gotten lost somewhere this week. Lost in-between their texts, which Freya knew were strained. She’d gone completely overboard in her attempts to pretend all was well, sending increasingly ridiculous emails, and super cheerful texts. Zak was bound to have noticed because his messages back had become almost monosyllabic.

“Maybe he won’t even show today,” she said aloud. “Probably went to
the club
.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed a plain black tee from the pile and shrugged it on. Google had not been particularly illuminating where Zak’s club was concerned, just one webpage with some contact details, but Freya had gotten creative and searched for similar sites, and on one had managed to find a chat room. Someone in there called GigglyGal27 had auditioned for Club Smex but had not managed to get in. Freya had private messaged her for more details—because why on earth would anyone want to audition for a freaking sex club? The answer she received had been completely unexpected.

The women who attended that club went there because they wanted to mix with, and get laid by, powerful men who knew exactly what they were doing. It was as simple as that. They weren’t paid. It was not a brothel. Places were highly sought after…and there was even a whisper that the owner was a woman herself…

Freya recalled the excruciating detail GigglyGal27 had provided as she shrugged on her sweats, followed by some socks. It occurred to her that Zak only ever saw her in sweats and a tee. She scowled, because why on earth should she be worrying about what Zak saw her dressed in? They were
friends
.

Only everything has changed.

She growled slightly as she pulled her hair into a braid and stomped through to the sitting room. The apartment might be cold but for once it smelled nice, because Freya had decided to cook. Why, she wasn’t sure.  It probably had something to do with Zak calling her rigid, coupled with the fact that she did not want to order in more take out that Zak would pay for. It was silly she knew, because if anything she should be trying to keep things as normal as possible, not mixing them up, only nothing had felt normal all week.

She bent down to check the oven, happy to see the lasagna she’d bought readymade bubbling away. Some bread and salad were already sliced and prepared. Zak would bring the wine of course, assuming he came.

“Zak, Zak, Zak,” she whispered. “What are we going to do? How am I supposed to act normal around you now I know what you get up to in your spare time?”

A key turned in the lock, the sound stark in the quiet of the kitchen. Freya felt her heart begin to race and cursed herself the moment it did. This is Zak, she reminded herself. What he does in his spare time can’t change years and years of friendship.

Could it?

“Hey.”

Freya swiveled on the spot, pasting the brightest smile possible on her face as she did so. “Hey, Zak.”

He stepped forward, wine in hand, dressed in the usual jeans and sweater. Freya eyed him from top to bottom, desperately trying to see her Zak in the man now standing in front of her, but it was difficult.
More difficult than she could have imagined. Those damn images that had flooded her as she read the letter came back full force. She gritted her teeth under the smile, trying desperately not to think about it. She wanted to see her friend again, not Zak the freaking sex beast!

“How are you doing, Sparks?”

Freya took the wine and turned to grab some glasses.
Deep breath!
“I’m good. Fine. Yes, this week has been fine.”

“No more problems at the school?”

“No. Nothing to worry about there.”

“Excellent. I thought you might have said if there had been, but your messages and texts have been…cheerful.”

“I’m in a good mood,” she said, wincing a little as she poured the wine. “Everything is fine.”

Zak took a glass, the familiar smirk playing on his lips. Freya couldn’t help but wonder if he was smirking because he knew just how uncomfortable she was. If he was aware of what she was thinking. That she’d gone Googling and was now filled with far too much information.

But, no, surely if he knew exactly what was going through her mind, he’d be gaping in shock? Freya was shocked by it herself. For ten long years in the city, and all the years before when they were kids, she’d never imagined Zak naked. Never imagined exactly what he might be doing when he wasn’t with her.

And yet now…seemed like it was
all
she could think about.

“Wine smells great,” he said, taking a sip from his glass then licking his lips. Freya was sure he must have done that a million times before in front of her, but she felt her chest tighten in an odd sort of way.

“So what are we eating tonight?”

She gave him another ‘everything is fine’ smile and took a great gulp of her own wine. It did smell great, tasted great, but did nothing to help ease the tightness in between her breasts. “Actually I cooked something.”

Zak’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I thought…well…” She shrugged. “It would make a nice change.”

“I smelled something good,” he said slowly, “but it never occurred to me it was actual, real food.”

“You said I was too rigid. That I needed to be less structured. Well here we go.”

“Freya…”

“I didn’t make it from scratch,” she added, feeling almost like she was babbling. “I bought it, but I made the salad and the bread has seeds in, so it looks really nice.”

“You didn’t need to do this,” he said.

“I wanted to.”

“Then I’ll sit down—at the table?—and let you serve me as you desire.”

Freya paused, because those words could have come straight out of that letter. Abruptly, she imagined Zak reclining on his too-hard bed, being served by various scantily- clad women. Was that what he liked? To be waited on? To have desires fulfilled? And God, why was she thinking this way? When would these torturous, inappropriate thoughts stop?

“Yes, sit,” she said quickly. “I’ll be in with the food in a sec.”

“Okay. You need me to do anything?”

“No.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “I’m good.”

Zak grinned as he ambled off into the sitting room, maybe if Freya had looked a little closer she would have realized his grin was strained, not like the usual Zak at all, but she was far too busy trying to sort through her own tangled  thoughts. She’d known it was going to be difficult to see him. Knew that things might be a bit awkward, a bit weird, but she had not expected it to feel this bad.

She bent down and opened the oven door before pulling the lasagna out. The top was nice and crisp, which she was sure it was supposed to be like, and it smelled good. Zak was bound to like it. And it was ridiculously important to her right now that he did, almost like she had to make everything okay between them again.

Only everything has changed.

Freya frowned, scooped up the oven pot and pasted another shaky smile on her face. This was Zak! Her best friend! Things would be fine between them again if it killed her!

She walked carefully into the sitting room where Zak waited at the table. He had one arm slung over the back of the chair next to him, and his long legs stretched out. That hair of his was falling across his brow again and his large, capable hands were wrapped around his wine glass—though she noted that the drink remained pretty much untouched.

The moment she arrived—it wasn’t exactly a long walk—he looked up. For a brief flash there was something in his gaze that Freya didn’t understand. She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but as quickly as it had come, whatever it was disappeared, her Zak was back, smirking and sweeping a hand across the table.

“Waiting and ready to be served.”

She stumbled slightly. The pot slipped. Zak’s free hand reached out to steady it, and by default her. “Careful, Sparks,” he said, “don’t want béchamel sauce all over my pants. I’ll have to strip otherwise and eat dinner in my boxers.”

“That would be—”

“Different?”

He was smirking still, his eyes twinkling. He looked like her Zak, but—and it was obvious to her now—in another way, like someone else completely. Freya’s chest tightened once more at that thought, and in an instant, she realized, with something that felt almost like horror, that her nipples had hardened. Worse, the tightening in her chest was not nerves anymore. It wasn’t even worry. It was something that felt suspiciously like want.

The oven pot slipped through suddenly nerveless fingers. Zak reached out and grabbed it with the edge of the oven gloves.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “I got it, Frey, don’t worry.”

“I’ll…erm…okay…I’ll get the salad.”

Quickly, she dashed back into the kitchen. Once there Freya gulped down the entire glass of wine and willed her nipples to shrink to their original size, not to mention the painful ache in her chest to fuck the hell off.

She rubbed her suddenly clammy hands down her sweats. Desperately tried to suck in calming gasps of air. And all the while all she could think was:
Oh Christ, no, you
cannot
be thinking of Zak in that way. You can’t.

Only she was.

Truth was, this
wasn’t
just Zak her best friend anymore. The letter, or invitation, or whatever you wanted to call it, had changed something inside of her, or maybe awoke it. Where before she’d never thought of Zak in that light, never even entertained the possibility that she might be attracted to him, it was now
all
she could think about.

It was like she realized, suddenly, that Zak
was
a man. A real life, super freaking attractive man, who, it seemed, had a hot, heavy, kinky sex life.

She couldn’t go back to seeing him the same way. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

Everything has changed.

Chapter Seven

Zak forked another spoonful of lasagna into his mouth. It was surprisingly good, maybe because of the shock factor more than anything else. Freya, cooking? Who’d have thought it?

Another forkful followed. He misjudged a little and felt the pasta burn his tongue, leaving him no choice but to grab his water and down a significant gulp of it. It smarted slightly, but no way was Zak going to say anything. This felt…momentous in some way. Just a little change, hardly anything really, and yet Freya had done it. She’d broken out of their rigid structure, and he couldn’t help but think there
were
other ways she could be encouraged to break out, like this was the sign he had been waiting for.

“Zak?”

He looked up from his meal. Freya’s fork was hovering in mid- air and her lips curved into a slight frown. Christ, those lips. Zak tightened his grip on his own utensil and had to give himself an inward shake. But then, how many years had he spent fantasizing over them? Imagining them, kissing their way down his body, wrapped round the head of his cock, and those thoughts were uppermost on his mind now because of everything that had happened this past week.

He just could not shake them off.

Hell, he didn’t want to.

“Is the meal okay?”

He shot her a tight smile, his mind filled with images of exactly what he’d like to be doing with her right now, and how best he could steer the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go, because he
was
going to have to do that. Zak realized that now, realized and accepted it with something that felt suspiciously like relief.

At last. It was time.

The home- cooked meal was the finally nail in the coffin—and how ridiculous was that? A decade of wanting and lasagna was the thing that tipped him over the edge! He almost wanted to laugh.

“Of course.”

“You were shaking your head.”

Zak placed his fork on the table and leaned back in his chair—trying to look as natural as possible—despite his racing. “I didn’t realize I was,” he said. “But maybe it’s because I’m surprised. Didn’t I say last week that I had no chance of ever getting a hot meal out of you?”

“You did.”

He shrugged. “And yet here we are.”

Freya tucked a strand of hair behind one of her ears. It was an unusual gesture for her, almost self-conscious. In one way, it pained Zak to see her act like that around him, they had been close for so long, so natural and easy with one another for the most part. But the other side of him, the part that
yearned
so fucking bad, saw it as a good sign. That maybe she was starting to realize he wasn’t just Zak anymore. Wishful thinking maybe? Did it even matter?

“I wanted to try something different,” she said after a moment.

“Why?”

“I just did.”

“Because I called you rigid, right?”

“Not just that.”

Deep breath, here we go
, Zak thought, then he said the words that he
knew
were going to put her on the defensive, but had to be said anyway.“And because of Saturday.”

Her hands were instantly back on the table, and Zak actually saw her suck in a sharp breath. Red spots appeared high on her cheekbones. She fidgeted a little, opened her mouth, closed it, then, almost imperceptibly, Freya shook her head.

“Zak, don’t.”

The whispered words would have been enough to make him stop last week. Hell, they might even have been up until the moment his key had turned in the lock tonight, but not anymore. Zak felt it deep within his bones. The line had been crossed. There was no going back.

He reached out and took a long swig of his wine—Dutch fucking courage—and said the next words quickly. “Are we going to talk about it at all tonight? Or are we going to pretend like we have all week?”

Freya shifted in her chair again. “We haven’t been pretending.”

“Really?” Zak asked. “Then what would you call the texts and messages you’ve been sending me?”

“I’m trying to get things back to normal.”

“Things won’t be normal until we talk them over.”

“What is there to talk about?”

“Freya,” he chided. “Stop it. Don’t make things worse by lying to me. Let’s just get everything out in the open. For the first time in our relationship let’s be completely fucking open and honest with each other.”

“I thought we were always honest with each other,” she said.

“You know we’re not.”

He said the words almost like he was daring her to disagree, and she responded exactly how he hoped. Her eyes narrowed. She dropped her fork. It hit the table with a clang. “Okay, fine. Then let’s talk. I have a question, Zak, oh, just one that happened to pop into my head…what the hell are you doing going to skeevy sex clubs?”

Zak laughed. He couldn’t help it. She’d avoided the topic, but the moment he confronted her she got straight to the point. Typical Sparks.

“Skeevy?”

“I looked them up online,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I know what happens in these places.”

“So tell me.”

“Pardon?”

He took another sip of his wine and watched her over the top of his glass. “Tell me what happens,” he prompted. “You’ve looked it up? Researched it? So what have you read?”

She narrowed her eyes some more and to Zak, in that moment, she had never looked more beautiful. Her face was flushed, her lips pursed like she was trying to be stern, but really, it just made her look ridiculously cute. It was all he could do to not simply reach over the table and scoop her up into his arms. He thought then, of all the times he’d been in a similar position thinking the
exact
same thing. How hard it had been. How much he had ached.

It was no wonder he’d reached the tipping point

“They’re kinky,” she said.

“Kinky meaning?”

“Like…chains…and whips…and…” she waved her hands around, “weird…goings on. Sexual things.”

Zak hardened in an instant. And it wasn’t that he was surprised. Many a night when they’d watched a movie or sat too close he’d had to adjust his position before she realized he was throbbing, but this? The way she said the words, the look in her eyes, it captivated and intrigued him. They never talked sex. It was one of the few topics off limits between them by some sort of unspoken agreement.

“I’m not a prude,” she added. “I understand people like to use toys. You want the truth of it, then fine. I have a rabbit for Christ’s sake.”

Zak shifted again. Dear lord…the image of Freya pleasuring herself hit and hit hard and all of sudden Zak began to wonder if maybe this was such a good idea after all. How much was he supposed to be able to take? It had been so long coming, the anticipation almost more unbearable than the longing.

“But having sex with random people?” She shook her head. “People who are there purely for that? It’s weird. I don’t care what you say.”

“People have one night stands all the time,” he grated.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But it’s sort of organic. This is…”

“Fun,” Zak said. “It’s fun, Sparks. For some people chains and whips are not weird, they’re
fun
.” He shrugged. “But then some people prefer regular, vanilla sex.”

“Normal sex you mean.”

Normal?
Zak shook his head. “No, there’s no such thing as normal. What’s normal is whatever feels good between two consenting adults, and that’s what the club is all about. You meet someone you’re attracted to and you please each other. That might include whips and chains or it might not. Simple.”

“That simple huh? Well, tell me this, Zak, why would you go there? What’s the point?”

The point? He shuddered slightly.
Because I can’t have you? Because it’s the only way I can stop myself going crazy with frustration? Because it’s meaningless, simple, easy?
How he wanted to say those things, but it wasn’t time yet, wasn’t the right moment at all. “My reasons are none of your concern,” he said instead.

“Really? You’ve told me pretty much everything else, and didn’t you say open and honest?”

“I think this is more honesty than you could handle right now, Frey. But believe me when I say you would be surprised.”

“I’m not sure you’d be able to surprise me with anything right now, Zak.”

He clenched his fists to the point where the muscles ached. “I’m fairly fucking sure I could.”

“What? More kinky stuff?”

He sighed. “It’s not all about the kink. Not really. You’d know that if you ever actually went to the club.” And suddenly, as he said those words, Zak realized exactly how he was going to get Freya to see the truth. The idea hit him out of nowhere, but made perfect sense the moment it did.

He needed to take Freya out of her comfort zone, and he needed to seduce her once he had her there. Because trying to confess his feelings to her in her apartment—or even his, for that matter—would not work. Too many memories surrounded them. It was all too familiar. He would have to take her somewhere completely different. A place she could let her guard down and take the final step she would need in order to see past their friendship.

She was already halfway there, the blushes and babbling suggested as much. Then there was her insistence that the club was skeezy. Zak knew his best friend well enough to tell that in reality she was a little bit intrigued. 

Okay, so perhaps she didn’t want him yet, but she wasn’t seeing him as just Zak anymore. She was seeing something else entirely, and that thought excited him almost past the point of endurance.

He just needed to push her a little but more.

To put her somewhere that was designed for one thing and one thing only.

Sex.

Then, once he pleasured her to the point that she could never imagine anyone else ever doing so again, he would tell her the truth. Put all his cards on the table and let the chips fall.
It was the only way now. His very last chance. And there was only one place he could think of that was designed for that very purpose. The one place he knew that spoke of nothing but pleasure and lust. 

Club Smex.