The fluorescent hum of the office was a sound Lena had long since learned to tune out. It was the white noise beneath the click of keyboards, the murmur of distant phone calls, and the occasional burst of laughter from the break room. But today, it was different. Today, the hum seemed to vibrate in her very bones, a low-frequency tension that had everything to do with the man currently leaning over her cubicle wall.
“You’re still staring at that spreadsheet like it owes you money,” Ben said, his voice a warm, low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.
Lena didn’t look up, her fingers tightening around her mouse. She could smell him—a clean, sharp scent of soap and something woodsy, a scent that had been driving her quietly insane for the past three years. “It’s a quarterly report, Ben. It’s not going to reconcile itself.”
“True,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “But you’ve been at it for six hours. Time for a coffee break. My treat.”
Finally, she looked up. It was a mistake. Ben was her best friend. He was the guy she grabbed lunch with, the one who sent her ridiculous memes during meetings, the one who’d held her hand at her grandmother’s funeral a year ago. He was also, objectively and subjectively, the most attractive man she’d ever known. His dark hair was perpetually a little too long, falling across his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back. His eyes were a deep, warm brown, crinkled at the corners with laugh lines. He had a jaw that could cut glass and a smile that could sell sand in a desert. And he was wearing a light blue button-down shirt today, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms dusted with dark hair.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice a little too breathless. “I have to get this done.”
Ben didn’t move. He just watched her, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly my best friend, you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”
“You didn’t come to happy hour on Tuesday. You said you had a headache. You didn’t answer my text last night. You said you were asleep. It’s Wednesday, Lena. You’re a terrible liar.”
She felt a flush creep up her neck. He was right, of course. She had been avoiding him. Because the closer she got to Ben, the harder it was to pretend. The harder it was to ignore the way her body reacted every time he was near. The way her nipples tightened under her silk blouse when he stood too close. The way her thighs would press together under her desk, a dull, persistent ache building low in her belly.
“I’m just… stressed,” she mumbled, turning back to her screen.
Ben sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “Okay. Coffee is a lost cause. But I’m not leaving until you look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her chair to face him. He had moved, now leaning against the entrance to her cubicle, his arms crossed over his chest. The movement pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders. He was strong, not in a bulky, gym-rat way, but in a way that suggested he spent his weekends hiking or playing soccer. He was solid. Dependable. And she wanted him with a desperation that scared her.
“What?” she asked, her voice sharp with a defensiveness she didn’t feel.
“I miss you,” he said simply. “I miss my friend. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know why.”
The raw honesty in his voice was like a punch to the gut. Guilt warred with the fierce, physical longing that was her constant companion. She was losing him. She was pushing him away because she didn’t know how to be just friends with him anymore.
“You’re not losing me,” she whispered, but the words felt hollow.
He pushed off the cubicle wall and took two steps into her space. The air grew thick, charged. He was so close now that she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. He crouched down so his face was level with hers, his hands resting on the arms of her office chair. She was trapped, but she didn’t want to escape.
“Then tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can tell me anything, Lena. You know that.”
She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her breath hitched. This was it. The moment of truth. She could lie again, make up some excuse, and retreat back into her safe, lonely shell. Or she could tell him the truth and risk everything.
“Ben,” she started, her voice trembling. “I…”
Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. His lips were slightly parted, and she had the sudden, overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. To see if he tasted as good as he smelled. To feel those lips against hers, against her neck, against her—
“Lena,” he breathed, and his name on her lips was a plea.
She looked back up at him, and what she saw in his eyes made her breath catch. It wasn’t just friendly concern. It was heat. A dark, possessive hunger that mirrored her own. He’d been hiding it too.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, and then she closed the small distance between them and kissed him.
It wasn’t a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a frantic, starving collision of mouths. He tasted of coffee and mint, and his lips were softer than she’d imagined. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and his hands moved from the chair to her face, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head back to deepen the kiss.
His tongue swept into her mouth, and she welcomed it with a moan of her own, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt. Three years of repressed desire, of stolen glances and torturous fantasies, came pouring out in that one, desperate kiss. It was messy and perfect.
He broke the kiss first, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing as ragged as her own. “Lena,” he said again, and this time it was a prayer. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.
“I was scared,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to lose my best friend.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” she said, echoing his words from moments ago. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “But I need more, Ben. I can’t just be your friend anymore.”
His answer was to stand up, pulling her to her feet with him. He took her hand and led her out of her cubicle, past the empty desks of their colleagues, and down the hall toward the elevator bank. His grip was firm, possessive. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. The silence was heavy with promise.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. He pulled her inside and punched the button for the top floor, a floor that was currently under construction and completely empty. As the doors slid shut, sealing them in a private, mirrored box, he turned to her, his eyes dark with intent.
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving her one last chance to back out.
Her answer was to press the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched gently and came to a halt. Then she was in his arms again.
This kiss was different. It was slower, deeper, a thorough exploration. His hands roamed her back, her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard length of his erection pressing against her stomach, and a wave of pure, liquid lust washed over her. She moaned into his mouth, pressing her hips forward, wanting more friction, more contact.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her jaw to her neck. He nipped at her earlobe, then sucked on the sensitive skin below her ear, and she gasped, her head falling back against the mirrored wall. “Ben,” she panted, her hands fisting in his hair.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured against her skin. “All of you.”
His hands found the buttons of her silk blouse and made quick work of them. He pushed the fabric apart, revealing the simple black lace of her bra. He looked at her like she was a masterpiece. “Beautiful,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on her skin.
He kissed a path down her chest, his tongue tracing the lace edge of her bra. Her nipples were hard, aching peaks, and when his mouth closed over one, even through the lace, she cried out, her back arching. He sucked and licked, the damp fabric adding a delicious friction that made her knees weak.
He unfastened her bra with a skill that made her want to ask questions later, and then his mouth was on her bare flesh. The feel of his tongue swirling around her nipple was electric. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the cotton of his shirt. “Please,” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for.
He understood. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding up her skirt to hook his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He pulled them down her legs, and she stepped out of them, her body trembling with anticipation. She was completely exposed to him, and she had never felt more desired.
He guided her to sit on the floor of the elevator, the cool linoleum a shock against her heated skin. He knelt between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She shook her head, unable to form words.
He lowered his head, and she felt the first, gentle touch of his tongue against her clitoris. The sensation was so intense, so perfect, that she sobbed with pleasure. He licked and teased, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, before dipping lower to taste her opening. She was wet, slick with the evidence of her desire, and he groaned against her, the vibration sending shudders of pleasure through her entire body.
His tongue worked its magic, lapping at her, exploring every fold and crevice. He brought her to the edge and then pulled back, drawing out her pleasure until she was a writhing, desperate mess. “Please, Ben, please,” she begged, her hands tangled in his hair.
He slid one long, thick finger inside her, and she gasped. He pumped it slowly, in and out, his thumb rubbing her clitoris as his tongue continued its assault. “Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips moving in time with his hand.
*One finger, then two, stretching her, filling her. His mouth was relentless, and she could feel the pressure building, a tidal wave of pleasure that was about to crash over her. * “Ben, I’m going to…”
“Come for me, Lena,” he growled against her. “Come on my tongue.”
And she did. Her orgasm was a shattering, white-hot explosion of sensation that ripped through her body. She screamed his name, her body convulsing, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers. He didn’t stop until she was completely spent, trembling and breathless, her body limp on the elevator floor.
When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her, a satisfied, tender smile
