Ray Maddox's POV
She storms off like she owns the world and just remembered I don't belong in it.
Bathroom.
Right.
I wait ten seconds—long enough for her to think I might've grown a conscience. Then I follow, hands in pockets, steps lazy but eyes locked on the trail of vanilla oat and fury she leaves in her wake.
Girls' bathroom? Sure. But this is Valen-Maddox territory. There's no line I haven't already crossed.
The hallway's empty. Class is still in session. Good.
The door's cracked just enough. The smell of cherry perfume hits me first—hers. That and frustration.
She's muttering something inside. Swearing.
"…fucking asshole thinks he can just sit there like—fuck."
I step in. Quiet. Controlled.
She doesn't hear me at first. She's facing the mirror, lipstick halfway on, hair flipped over one shoulder like a black silk curtain. Her skirt's riding up from where she must've leaned against the sink.
She looks like temptation put in detention.
And when her eyes meet mine through the mirror?
She freezes.
"You've got balls, Maddox," she says slowly, spinning around. "I'll give you that."
I grin, locking the door behind me.
"Why, thank you. I'm also charming, witty, and deeply offended you left me alone with a half-empty seat and a hard-on."
Her jaw drops. "You are such a fucking pig."
"I prefer predator."
She tries to push past me, but I'm already there—blocking her, looming, smirking. My fingers brush her waist, and she sucks in a breath like the air suddenly turned too hot to breathe.
"I'm not kidding," she says, voice dangerously low. "You keep touching me like that and I swear—"
"You'll what?" I whisper, crowding her against the cold tiled wall. "Get addicted?"
She glares. "You know my dad will bury you alive if he finds out."
I lean in, voice brushing her neck. "Then maybe you shouldn't keep moaning my name like you want him to."
That's it.
Her hands shove at my chest, but her eyes are wildfire, and her mouth—fuck—her mouth is already parted like she wants me to shut her up the way I did last night.
"I hate you."
"You kissed me."
She pushes again.
"You let me touch you."
Another push. We're chest-to-chest.
"You begged me not to stop."
I trap her wrists. Gently. Firm. And then I tilt my head.
"You didn't say no once, Sky."
She exhales a shaky breath. "You're not supposed to be in here."
"And yet," I murmur, "you haven't told me to leave."
Her silence is answer enough.
So I kiss her.
Hard.
Messy.
Feral.
She melts into it for exactly one heartbeat—and then claws her fingers into my hair like she wants to hurt me for it.
Good.
Let her hurt me.
Our mouths crash and tangle like war and poetry, hands grabbing, tugging, needing. My jacket slips off. Her blouse rides up.
She tastes like coffee and revenge.
My hand finds her bare thigh, and she gasps against my lips. I press her against the sink this time—silver and sterile, but she's heat incarnate.
"You're crazy," she breathes. "Fucking unhinged."
"You started it."
"You're going to get us expelled."
"I'm going to get us off first."
Her breath hitches. Her legs wrap around my waist.
And then—her phone buzzes.
Reality slaps us.
We freeze.
She swears under her breath, forehead pressed to mine.
"I have a moot court prep in ten minutes," she mutters.
I grin. "Ten minutes is generous."
She slaps my chest. I laugh.
We don't move.
I rest my hand lightly on her jaw and pull back just enough to look at her.
"You going to tell Daddy Valen about this?"
She smirks, fixing her lipstick in the mirror with one hand while her other slides deliberately slow down my chest.
"Only if you want your pretty face rearranged."
I catch her wrist before she walks out.
"You'll come back."
She scoffs, eyes trailing me like a dare.
"I always do."