Sky's POV
"You're a fucking menace," I hiss the second I open the door. He's barely taken a step inside, and I'm already on a tirade. "What the hell was that stunt at lunch?"
Ray just smiles. That slow, lazy, I-know-exactly-what-I'm-doing smile. "Which one, baby? The texts? Or when you moaned my name loud enough to echo?"
I slam the door shut behind him, arms crossed. "You don't text filth while I'm sitting next to my father, Maddox. That's a death wish."
He steps closer. Close enough to make me lean back on instinct. But my spine hits the wall, and he doesn't stop until he's towering over me—black hoodie, ripped jeans, and zero remorse.
"Then maybe don't wear that innocent little dress while squeezing my thigh under the table," he murmurs, hands caging me in.
"I wasn't—"
"You were." His voice drops. "And you know it."
His palm grazes my hip. I slap it away. "Not tonight. You're in time out."
He chuckles, low and dark. "You're adorable when you try to boss me around."
"Maddox, I swear to—"
He kisses me mid-sentence.
It's all teeth and heat and too much tongue. My knees buckle, and I grab his hoodie for balance because if I fall, I'm dragging him with me. His hand is already under my shirt before I remember I'm supposed to be mad.
"I hate you," I breathe against his lips.
"Liar," he whispers back, picking me up effortlessly like I'm weightless, like I'm his.
He walks us to the bed, drops me onto it, and hovers over me like a storm.
"You wore my bruises to lunch today," he says, lifting my shirt and pressing his mouth to my side. "Don't pretend you didn't want everyone to know."
"I wore a cardigan—"
"Yeah. And took it off when you saw me."
My breath catches as he bites just above my waistband. I yank his hoodie over his head. His hands are already pulling my shorts down, rough and hungry.
"I was supposed to yell at you," I gasp, arching when he trails kisses up my thigh.
He smirks against my skin. "And now you're spread out for me again."
"I really hate you."
"Good." His mouth finds me. "Hate me harder, baby."
And I do.
Louder. Wilder. Fingernails raking his back, thighs shaking around his shoulders, breathless gasps and that fucking smirk never leaving his face.
Later, I'm face-down on the mattress, sore in places I didn't know could be sore. Ray's lying next to me, tracing lazy lines along the bruises he left with his teeth.
"You're not mad anymore?" he asks.
"I'm still gonna kill you if you ever text me like that during lunch again."
He grins and kisses my shoulder. "Noted."
Then again, I don't delete the texts either.