Sophia's POV

"It's a guest bedroom." He says, rolling the strap of my purse in his grip.

I stare at my purse, mouth open. I don't know if it's shock from learning that I'm spending the night in his bedroom or from having my purse snatched from me. My phone, my money, all I have left are inside the purse.

"Sophia?"

My eyes lift to his. I close my mouth quickly and hold his dark gaze. It softens, confusing me.

"You can use the bathroom here. It has everything you'll need for a bath..."

"A bath?"

"Or a shower..." He adds, letting go, and walks into the closet.

I scan the room. A neatly laid bed-white sheets, a vanity desk, and a sofa.

He returns with white towels rolled in his hand and places them on the bed.

"They're fresh... I'll get you something to wear."

I nod, raking a trembling hand through my hair.

When he gets to the door, I call, "Alexander?"

He turns around.

"Um... why are you holding on to my purse?"

He exhales, eyes darting as if he's thinking. But I know he's not.

"For precautionary measures." He says, deadpan.

"I'm-I'm not going to run away."

"I know... You can't."

I swallow my next words, my neck tightening.

He walks out and closes the door.

"Oh, God," I palm my face with both hands.

What have I gotten myself into? What have my parents done?!

"Think, Sophia. Think, think..." I chant under my breath, clasping my fingers. Yet nothing comes to mind.

His bedroom? Is he going to sleep with me?

Oh my god.

There's a knock on the door.

I jump, my head snapping in that direction. It's pushed open, and Alexander walks in.

Beige and blue striped Polo shirt in hand, and something else.

I put my hands together, playing calm, while my head is in disarray.

"Garvey will get you some clothes. You can just wear this for now. This..." he holds something else to me. "I don't have women's underwear. But these are fresh and unworn."

Boxer shorts?

My lips fall apart.

"I can take it back if you don't want it."

"No, I-"

I pause to take a deep breath.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking them from him without meeting his gaze.

"You can lock the door if it'll make you feel at ease. Come to the living room when you're done."

I give him a nod.

The minute he leaves, I rush to lock the door.

In the shower, I'm painfully reminded of the cuts and scrapes my escape cost me.

One particular cut-long and reddened-curves from the middle of my thigh to the back. A branch from the tree sliced through.

Wait! What if Alexander comes inside?

My eyes widen as I go still in the shower. I turn it off, listening for any sound while my heart drums.

I locked the door, but this is his house.

Only quietness meets my ears.

Sighing in relief, I turn the shower on again. I'll worry about my parents and everything else later. I just need to survive the next thing tonight brings.

Now cleaned, I put on the boxer shorts first, then my bra, and his shirt. It swallows me whole, becoming a short dress. Next, I carefully wear my contact lenses. I'm hyperopic and not allowed to talk about it.

I grab my dirty clothes and exit the room.

The living room is empty. I stroll in, giving myself a little tour with my eyes.

Everywhere looks like him-clean, tasteful. Expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, an immaculate view of the city, diamonds; I'm almost swallowed up in the midst of it all.

"Took you long enough..."

I turn around sharply to see him coming from a hallway.

My heart softly ripples as I stare.

His dark hair is damp, beautifully falling over his eyes. He's clothed in all black-a loose buttoned-up shirt and matching pants. My purse is still in his grip.

He drops it on the coffee table.

"Sit. Let me treat your wounds."

My eyes fall to the first-aid box sitting on the arm of a sofa.

When he comes close, I inhale his fresh scent-a mixture of amberwood, cocoa, and the ocean. I almost swoon.

"Put your clothes in that bag."

My eyes stay on him as I reach for the plastic bag.

He pulls up his sleeve, absentmindedly, then grabs the first-aid box, but I catch a glimpse of a red tattoo just before his sleeve falls.

My eyes spread.

"Sit, Soph," he repeats, dark eyes tracking back to mine.

He has a tattoo?

Slowly, I sit on the ivory sofa, noting how my pulse beats faster.

He lowers himself before my knees, dropping the first-aid kit on the floor. His eyes are on the ground as he takes things out of the box.

He lifts his head now, eyes on my legs.

I stare at the little, red cuts on my thighs, wondering if they'll sting or if I'll feel something else.

He slowly presses an antibiotic ointment on his finger and brings it to my leg.

I wince, folding my fists on the sofa.

He rubs gently, taking his time on each cut. "They won't leave scars."

"Thank you," I mutter and stare at his head, his sharp nose, his small lips, his long lashes, his large, veiny hand. How is he so perfect?

"Let me see the other one."

My skin starts to tingle. I hesitate, yet I pull my thighs apart by only a few inches, showing him just the beginning of the long cut.

"You're lucky it's not deep."

He picks up the ointment again and presses it onto two fingers.

A voice whispers in my head to stop him. To do it myself. Instead, I shut it down quickly, focusing on his hand.

The second they touch my skin, heat sparks. It stings so much, but I feel other sensations.

I tighten my fists and shut my eyes.

Fingers slide down my right thigh, over the cut. When he lifts my leg, a tiny sound comes out of me. One he doesn't acknowledge.

I find myself reclining into the sofa, allowing my head to swim, allowing the heat to gather low. My body reacts before my mind can agree. Exactly how it happened on New Year's Eve.

We were seated at the same table in that hall, in the Belcroft estate, joyous and celebrating a tycoon turning 61-Dimitri's father.

I'd been stealing glances at Alexander the whole night. He started reciprocating and flirting. I had so much champagne and freedom. It was the first time my parents let me stay out late.

Only a seat separated us, but it was empty. Alexander crossed it and brushed my thigh to get my attention. I turned to him with a soft sigh. Sparkling eyes were already on me, hands still caressing. He wrote his number on a paper towel, passed it to me, and I almost risked it all.

It was a moment that altered everything I knew about love and desire. For the first time in my life, I imagined following a man home. Whatever the consequence, I was ready to suffer it. But the night took a different turn.

"This cut needs a bandage..."

My eyes open to see him still meticulously attending to my wound, unaware that he's driving me nuts.

He takes out adhesive bandages. I watch him stick one first. The second one, he waits for me to lift my leg.

I hesitate, but lift my thigh to give him room. And something else happens.

He sticks it on, then caresses it with a thumb.

I sit up to stare, wondering if he's just trying to make it stick, and I'm the one imagining things. But he does it again-slower, with more pressure.

My pulse skitters.

He lifts his eyes to mine, dark and brooding.

And it hits me-he knows what he's doing to me. I stiffen. Goosebumps form on my skin.

He rises slowly.

"Lean against the sofa, Beautiful..." his mouth drips honey.

He leans down, takes my chin, and lifts it.

I stare into charming eyes as my fingers dig into the sofa, and my chest drums in alarm. I should stop this. My dad would kill me if he knew this is what my running away led me to, yet I slowly sit back and shut my eyes.

The heat from his breath hits my face, and a yearn awakens in me, mixing with the ache of fear.

His lips touch mine, and the world tilts.

He's slow, tentative. Melding our lips together as if teasing.

My nails press deeper into the sofa, my body getting weightless.

He seals my lips, shifting his hand behind my head. Pressing. My insides tumble down.

Soft lips coax mine open. I taste him-he lets me. He claims, unrestrained yet skilled.

He shifts a hand to my right bosom.

A gasp slips out of me, but he swallows it, teeth scraping my lip.

I let out a soft sound, reaching for him because I begin trembling. I grab his collar with both hands, pulling him close without meaning to.

He trails his kisses to my jaw, still working his hand.

I sigh, arching naturally, curling my fingers tight around the fabric of his shirt.

He drops onto the sofa beside me.

His right hand leaves the back of my head, lifting me off the sofa. In a flash, I'm pulled up into his lap.

Breathless, I stare at him, body shaking. I stare into those eyes that started this inexplicable madness I feel.

But he's also breathing hard in my face, wide-eyed. His brows crinkle like he's trying to decipher something in my head.

I gawk at his lips, reality creeping in slowly.

He hesitates, seeming unsure of himself, but he brings his head close, taking my lips again.

A sudden blaze ignites in my chest. It consumes me when his tongue brushes mine.

His hands roam, one pulling me close, the other finding the softness of my chest.

"A-alex-xander..." I spiral on a wave of pleasure, eliciting soft, breathless sounds.

I touch him.

"Arms around my neck." He urges.

My hands lift, curving behind his neck. At the same time, strong arms pull me even closer.

I feel something against me. No. Two things. One is hard, pushing heat straight to my face. The other is... sharp?

His teeth drag my top lip, and his tongue slithers back into my mouth, distracting me. He pulls my lips, kissing me full and hard. No air.

Everything blurs.

I feel his hands on my thighs, caressing, inching closer until they slip under my shorts.

My senses fly awake before I lose myself.

I gasp, grabbing his wrists.

Sophia’s POV

He breaks our kiss, hands stilling on my thighs. 

I lock gaze with him, seeing how dark and dilated his pupils have turned. 

He’s panting just as I am. His face is frozen—an expression of shock I don’t miss.

My body trembles, but I shake my head weakly, letting him know I can’t. 

He withdraws his hands quickly.

But as my arms go around his neck, he grips my waist, lifting me suddenly.

“I don’t…”

His lips press against the soft swell of my chest. My heart kicks hard, my words melting into an inhale.

I coil in pleasure, releasing a deep breath as my head drops.

“You’re a fantastic kisser.” He murmurs, breathy, hands shaking on my waist.

The compliment sends a curl up my stomach. But it’s the kisses he keeps pressing that steal my brain cells. They’re soft, intentional—like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

“A-Alexander…” My voice is barely mine, thin and trembling.

His grip at my waist firms, his breathing settles, and he gently sits me back in his lap. 

“Let’s take our time getting used to each other,” he says as he pulls me close, voice deep and uneven.

My eyes stay closed, my chest pounds. Strength eludes me.

“You good?” He questions while stroking my back with gentleness. 

But my head is blank. I drag in his scent, letting it permeate my senses. 

Minutes pass.

And by the time my body calms, I’m still in Alexander Thorne’s arms, on his lap, in his penthouse.

The realization that I’ve just kissed the man who’s been passing through my mind from January up until last week starts to sink in. It’s heart fluttering.

I’ve never been kissed so recklessly. So beautifully.

He’s calm. Too calm, still stroking my back. His breath moves softly against my hair.

My mind drifts to my parents, and guilt settles in my chest, squeezing. If they were to find out what I’ve just done, my punishment would be worse than getting grounded for weeks.

But it’s been eight long months. 

Since I got back from London last month, I’ve been hoping to run into him at least once, been looking forward to next week when I will see him again, unfailingly. 

Shy, I fold my lips and shift in his embrace. 

And there it is again—sharp. Firm.

His chest jerks. A controlled, involuntary twitch.

I slowly peel myself off him.

“What is it?” He asks, calm as ever.

I just stare, unable to utter what I felt.

“Do you find them uncomfortable?”

Them?

I search his eyes. “W-what’s that?” 

“What’s what?” A teasing smirk curves on his lips, left brow lifted.

“On your…” 

The words die in my throat.

He raises his brow higher, waiting, knowing.

Then, “What do they feel like?” His hands slide to the small of my back in slow warmth.

My cheeks flame.

And he lets out a soft chuckle. “You know what they are, Soph. That’s why you’re turning all red.”

I drop my gaze because he’s staring too intensely. But then I see it—the faint raised outlines under his shirt. Impossible to unsee.

“They’re my nipple rings.”

My breath fractures. My eyes lock on his chest, refusing to move.

Silence. Thick and stuffy.

Suddenly, the bell chimes. 

But I’m paralyzed in place, glued to him, eyes fastened where metal should not be. Outlines I didn’t notice earlier. Outlines I couldn’t possibly have noticed, because he’s a man I’ve only ever seen in suits. 

“That must be Garvey with your clothes and dinner,” he murmurs.

His nipples are pierced?! Pierced!

And my boobs kept brushing against… them?!

My imagination goes feral immediately. My heart trembles.

“Your father is calling, Sophia.”

But all I hear is: Nipple rings. danger. And who the heck is this freak I’ve just let kiss me?!

“Sophia?” He calls.

I snap out of my daze. My eyes lift from his chest, away from those outlines. 

“Your father?”

“What?!” I jolt, already crawling off him. 

“Come here,” he drags me back fast. 

I lose half a second of air as I’m forced back in his lap.

“Don’t go until I say so.” He says, tone hoarse, eyes darkening. 

My body stills. I stare, swallowing hard without knowing why.

“It’s just you and me here…” He takes my chin, teasing a sinful smile as he leans in. “Where are you running off to?”

I shut my eyes, folding, only for him to kiss my nose. It tickles.

The bell rings again.

I open my eyes to see how calm he remains, holding his phone.

My father’s name floats on the screen. 

“Should I answer it? Your call.”

I stare at it until it stops ringing. Heat knots in my chest. The heat of guilt.

My eyes shift to his. They’re filled with delicious rebellion.

The bell rings longer this time. 

And in a few seconds, the door clicks open and slams shut.

“Alexander, I should get up,” I murmur, not liking the idea of being seen like this—in his lap, wearing his clothes, and probably looking disheveled. Even if it’s just his chauffeur, whom I don’t know.

He releases his grip on me.

“Alex?!” A voice suddenly echoes. A familiar voice.

I wheeze, locking my eyes back with Alexander’s.

“Dimitri.” He voices my thought, eyes rounding for a second.

Oh my god.

I fly off him in a flash, rolling onto the floor.

Why is Dimitri here?

“Alex?! Where are you, Man?” Dimitri yells, getting close.

I scramble to my feet, grabbing my slippers, trembling with fear.

“In there.” Alexander hisses, pointing to a dark space. 

I run on the tips of my toes.

“Hey,”

I look over my shoulder to see him throwing my purse.

I catch it surprisingly and keep running for my life and sanity.

My clothes! 

But it’s too late.

I catch a glimpse of Dimitri before I slip into the dark room.

My chest thuds rapidly as I lean against the wall. I press a hand over my mouth, stifling my quick breaths.

“I keep forgetting to change my passcode,” Alexander greets.

“Hey, Man! Why didn’t you come get the door?”

It grows silent for a moment, then Dimitri speaks:

“I’m interrupting something. Am I not?”

No response.

“I saw a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels at the door… are those her clothes?”

I palm my eyes, praying silently.

“You’re being nosy, Man,” Alexander responds dryly.

“Because you’ve never brought a woman into your penthouse.”

What?

“And it looks like you’ve been up to no good,” Dimitri adds.

“I’m always up to no good.”

I hear them slap their hands together.

“You didn’t inform me of your coming,”

“I did. You were probably busy getting all… Wow! Is she someone we know? I’m so curious—”

“Don’t you have a wedding to plan, Dimitri?”

“You invited her into your space? God, Alex… this is - this is new. Is she in here somewhere?”

The bell chimes.

“Is that her?” Dimitri is unrelenting.

My eyes roam in the dark, sweat prickling my skin. I listen to their slippers hitting the ground.

“That’s Garvey.”

“That means she’s here!”

“Why are you so nosy? You’re not drunk.” Alexander evades confirming anything.

“Being mysterious again, huh?” Dimitri murmurs. 

He says nothing.

I hear their retreating footsteps. Then Dimitri continues,

“I’m marrying Lena next week—”

“For the THIRD time. Don’t tell me you’re nervous?”

“You swore never to get married, so you’ll never know how it feels…”

I slowly slide down the wall to crouch, releasing my mouth and a long breath. Their voices get muffled and fade.

Alexander swore never to get married?

My heart races. My mind is processing a lot at the same time. A lot about Alexander and how pathetic I feel hiding in here. 

I recall the call I had with Dimitri in January, after he sent me a cropped photo of Alexander and me from the party on New Year’s Eve.

He’d asked if something was going on between us. I’d said no. Next, he asked if I liked Alexander. 

I’d barely answered when he said, “Alexander is not the type of man you’d want. Stay away, Sophia.” 

Alexander Thorne's POV

Phone in hand, I tap on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the line-up of cars in my private garage. My mind is elsewhere.

Dimitri left thirty-five minutes ago. I sent Garvey home, too, but I've been seated inside this car, waiting.

Dinner for Sophia and her new dress sits on the passenger seat beside me.

My fist clenches tight around my phone. My patience is wearing thin, but I don't have a choice.

I unlock my phone and stare at the text I was forced to send because this inattentive Psycho wouldn't pick up my calls. I delete the text after some seconds.

My phone vibrates all of a sudden.

Caller ID: Psycho

I immediately pick up. "Why didn't you answer your phone? Is what I pay you not enough?"

"My apologies, Mr. Thorne. Was at a seminar. No phones were allowed."

Exhaling deeply, I put a hand on my head.

She's silent. It tells me she's read the text.

"Have you deleted it?"

"Of course."

I nod, dropping my eyes to the luxury shopping bag containing Sophia's clothes. I replay what happened between us on my sofa. I replay when I lost control. How I did, I'm not sure.

Keeping her close and occupied was the only way I could contain whatever happened to me.

"How did you stop?" Psycho asks.

"She stopped me," I answer, tasting the bitterness of a bruised ego on my tongue.

"Isn't that a good sign?"

"It's not."

"Do you wanna come in tomorrow? I can fix an appointment for eight."

"Make it one P.M.. I have somewhere to be in the morning..."

"All right. See you tomorrow, Mr. Thorne."

I hang up and take the things from the passenger's seat, then exit the car.

The penthouse is quiet when I get inside.

"Sophia?" I call.

There's no response.

Slowly, I drop the bags on the coffee table.

The plastic bag containing her dirty clothes is still on the floor, where she left it. It's giving me a headache.

I slip my phone inside my pocket, making my way to the dark room she ran into when Dimitri arrived.

"Soph?"

Still no answer.

I enter and stop, staring at her still, small silhouette, curled up on the floor.

Brave of her to fall asleep in a man's house.

I drop to my knees to wake her.

"Sophia-"

A phone buzzes. It's not mine.

A light appears, and I see her phone in her grip. Turned on. Not off like I told her to do earlier.

I take the phone out of her grip. She doesn't even budge. After all her adventures tonight, passing out must have been inevitable.

But I know her parents. Sophia is their world, and they'll stop at nothing to find their daughter, including tracking her down.

Quickly, I enter the passcode and unlock her phone. Overstepping? Yes. But I happen to know her passcode. And just as I guessed, her location is turned on. I turn it off.

There's a chat message from 'Layla's friend': {You can just pay me for gas. Don't bother about the full payment.}

A call comes in.

Caller ID: Love of my life.

Her boyfriend? I can't tell; there's no picture.

I let it ring. Just as I'm about to turn off her phone, it vibrates again. It's the same caller.

Exhaling in irritation, I answer it.

"Sophia?!" Mr. Rose's distressed voice scrapes my ear. "Where are you, my love? How are you?"

I take the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen.

Her father is the love of her life? Interesting.

"Is this Sophia's boyfriend?!" He barks suddenly, tone switching. "Did you run off with my daughter?"

Boyfriend?

"I'll find you, and when I-"

I hang up and turn her phone off, then return it to her purse that's spilling out dollar bills.

I take out my phone, opening the chatting app.

There's a message from Mr. Rose: {We caught someone who saw a man help Sophia get down from the wall. He said the man was her boyfriend. I'm really sorry for the trouble, Son. I'll teach her better.}

I type my reply: {It's not a problem, Father-in-law. We'll all have breakfast together tomorrow. I assure you, she'll be found soon.}

I return my phone to my pocket, take her purse, and scoop her into my arms.

Face plain and peaceful, she remains sleeping, unaware of all that's happening as I carry her to my bedroom.

******

- - - -

Sophia's POV

My body aches as if I've been climbed and hit. My injuries sting softly. I let out a breath, turning on the comfortable bed. Pillows so soft and clean. Fresh, amberwood, cocoa...

I blink my eyes open.

For a few seconds, I keep my gaze on the white ceiling, struggling to arrange my fuzzy thoughts and see clearly. Nothing registers yet. Until-

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,"

My whole body tightens with awareness. It's immediate.

I turn my head sharply. Dark eyes are already locked on me. My vision blurs, but I see. And everything comes rushing back-my failed escape, his penthouse, treating my wounds, our hot kiss, Dimitri.

Now, I'm waking up beside him?

What is going on?! Why are we in bed together? Under the same sheet.

The same sheet?!

An alarm goes off in my head.

I grab the sheet, about to lift it to see if I'm undressed. But he's faster. He grips it from underneath, stopping me.

My pulse stumbles into a fast rhythm.

"I'm naked." He utters.

What?!

"Oh my god!" I plaster my eyes with both hands, shrinking away from him in panic.

He moves toward me, and I feel the heat from his body.

Oh, God.

My eyes open to see him rising. The sheet falls.

I turn away quickly, eyes closed, squeezing the sheet. But without failing to glimpse black clothes.

He breaks into a short chortle. Nothing else. And slowly, I turn my head, opening my eyes halfway.

He's seated, looking over me.

I stare now, only to see he's fully clothed, not naked, not smiling either.

I should punch him in the face, but he looks sinfully gorgeous and dangerous; I might regret my action.

"Can't take a joke, hm... thought you were about to cry." He says softly, lifting his hand to my face. He brushes hair from it, and I shiver.

"Did the thought of being naked with me scare you?"

I swallow hard, heart racing, brain booting like Windows 7 on a bad day.

"You fell asleep in that room... so I brought you to my bedroom." He slowly leans toward me.

I blink, determined to keep my eyes open.

"You're the first woman." He whispers in my ear, then locks his gaze on mine. "I wouldn't have sex with you without your consent."

My stomach dips, heat spreading within me.

"And just so you know," he lifts himself above me, under the sheet, eyes not moving from mine. "No sex until we get married."

He doesn't drop his weight on me, but he plants his legs between mine, hovering above.

The heat slides up my neck now as I struggle to keep still.

"We're not kissing again, too." He announces, his small, pink lips forming a beautiful pout when he says 'too'. "But we'll do other things..."

He inches close, face above mine, body above mine. However, he keeps his weight suspended.

"Other things you're not ready to handle yet..." His voice is barely a whisper-sultry, low, dark.

I feel his knee brush my thigh, where he bandaged, and my eyes close finally with a sigh. I turn my head away, suddenly wanting to feel his weight on me as I'm hypnotized.

Soft lips press under my left eye, kissing my mole.

"You've got beautiful, hazel eyes... can I see them?"

I oblige him, slowly opening my eyes. His face blurs, but I know he's staring-into my soul, my mind-a mind I might be losing soon.

"Want a teaser?"

My pulse slams hard, aching with desires I didn't know I possessed.

He waits.

After a long pause, I give him a slow nod, because it seems like the only option. My fingers curl tight around the sheet.

He adjusts. Then I feel his hands gently part my legs, spreading.

I gasp, shutting my eyes.

"Open your eyes," he commands softly.

I open them, trembling, breath rapid in his face. My chest swells.

Then,

"That's all for today, Love." He slowly withdraws his hands. "We've got breakfast at your house."

"Breakfast?" I whisper, still swimming in what he's just made me feel.

He replies with a nod, then withdraws completely.

I watch him roll off the bed. He stands tall and huge, moving around freely like he owns the place. He does.

"Your phone was turned on." He mutters, calm and controlled, walking away. "The love of your life called. Thought it was your boyfriend. Was going to tell him you're engaged... turned out to be your father."

"What?"

"Your father believes you spent the night at your boyfriend's. That's the story we're going with."

"W-what? H-how?" I sit up in shock.

"We leave in thirty minutes. Your clothes are in the guest bedroom." He says and opens a door. He slips in.

As if on cue, his shirt falls off his back. And so does my mouth-to the ground.

Just before the door shuts, I glimpse a back so broad and toned. A masterpiece of ink and muscle.

'He's not the type of man you'd want...' Dimitri's words echo in this moment.

But why do I still want him... even after eight months of staying away?