The loud chime of the doorbell jolted Sophie from her peaceful slumber.
She groaned, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. Who the hell was disturbing her on a Sunday morning?
Then it hit her—Benita.
That woman had promised to drag her out shopping today, but she had said noon, and it was still way too early.
Grumbling under her breath, Sophie threw off the covers and shuffled toward the door. She didn’t bother checking the mirror or fixing her hair—if Benita wanted to show up unannounced, she deserved to see the disaster that was Sunday morning Sophie.
With a tired sigh, she pulled the door open, already prepared to whine about the ungodly hour.
But her words died in her throat.
Because it wasn’t Benita standing there.
It was Alex.
Dressed casually in jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, looking effortlessly attractive as always.
Sophie’s sleepiness evaporated in an instant.
“Alex?” she blurted out, eyes widening.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped past her, moving into her apartment like he owned the place.
Sophie turned, still stunned, watching as he surveyed the room with an unreadable expression.
Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest when she remembered the mess.
Her unmade bed. Her clothes strewn everywhere from yesterday’s frantic search for something decent to wear. Her shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door.
Oh God.
She followed his gaze as it moved from the chaos to her. She suddenly became very aware of what she was wearing—a loose, oversized t-shirt barely covering her upper thighs.
And nothing else.
Heat flared up her neck.
“I—uh—what are you doing here?” she stammered, stepping back slightly.
Alex raised a brow at her, then at the disaster that was her apartment.
“Nice place,” he said, amusement lacing his tone.
Sophie’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I—I was going to clean up.”
“Really?” He smirked. “Because it looks like a crime scene.”
She shot him a glare before scrambling to pick up the scattered clothes, stuffing them into her wardrobe without a second glance. God, this was embarrassing.
Alex just stood there, arms crossed, clearly entertained.
Once she was done with her rushed attempt at tidying up, she grabbed a towel and practically ran into the bathroom.
She closed the door, pressing her back against it, breathing heavily.
What is he even doing here?!
The last time he was at her place was last night when he dropped her off after a very eventful evening of paperwork and… other activities. She had been too exhausted to question why he had asked for her apartment number.
Clearly, this was why.
Taking a deep breath, she turned on the shower, letting the cool water wake her up completely.
By the time she stepped out, towel wrapped securely around her body, she couldn't find Alex in the room anymore.
Frowning, she padded toward the living room, only to pause when she heard sounds from the kitchen.
Was he… cooking?
Curiosity piqued, Sophie walked into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks.
There he was.
Alex Donald—CEO, billionaire, ruthless businessman—standing by her stove, flipping eggs like he did this every day.
For a moment, she just stared.
He moved with ease, like he belonged there, completely at home in her space.
Finally finding her voice, she cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He glanced at her, smirking. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Sophie crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Like what?”
Alex set a plate in front of her—toasted bread, baked beans, sunny-side-up eggs, and coffee.
“Like the fact that I make a damn good breakfast,” he said, handing her a fork.
She stared at the food, then at him. “Why are you really here, Alex?”
He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. “Eat first.”
Sophie sighed but took a bite anyway.
It was delicious.
They ate in silence, but she kept glancing at him, still trying to process the situation.
This was weird.
Alex Donald, sitting at her tiny kitchen table, eating breakfast like this was normal.
Finally, when she was done, she pushed her plate aside and stood up.
“I should get dressed,” she said, turning toward her room.
Before she could take a step, his voice stopped her.
“You’re not going to ask why I’m here again?”
Sophie hesitated, then turned back around. “Fine. Why are you here?”
Alex set his coffee down and slowly stood up.
“I was hungry.”
Sophie frowned. “For breakfast?”
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
“No,” he said, taking a step closer. “Hungry for you.”
Her breath hitched.
Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him.
A gasp left her lips, but he didn’t give her time to process anything before his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was demanding, consuming, desperate.
Sophie’s fingers dug into his shirt as she melted against him.
Her towel slipped slightly, but neither of them seemed to care.
Alex’s hands roamed her body, tracing every curve, igniting every nerve.
He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against her ear.
“Lose the towel,” he murmured.
Sophie shivered.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she let it drop to the floor.
His eyes darkened with something primal.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
And then, he devoured her.