Sky's POV
It starts after class.
I'm storming down the law corridor, heels unforgiving against the marble. My skin still buzzes where his hand sat like it owned me. That smug bastard. He just kept touching me like we weren't in a lecture. Like my father hadn't screamed down the house last night about the Maddoxes. Like I wasn't trying so fucking hard to be good.
My white dress still clings. Still smells like someone else's expectations.
I need to breathe.
So I take the corner to the moot court prep room—big, empty, usually locked but open today—and slam the door shut behind me.
"Running from me, angel?"
His voice is velvet and ash.
I turn—and there he is.
Ray fucking Maddox. Leaning against the door like he knew I'd come here. Like he waited.
He pushes off and clicks the lock behind him.
"Are you insane? You can't be in here—"
"I can be wherever you are," he says low, stalking forward.
"Do you ever listen when people say no?" I snap.
He grins. "Your mouth says no, but your eyes beg."
"I will actually kill—"
He corners me against the table before I finish. One hand braced beside my hip. The other gently ghosts down my arm, slow. Too slow.
"You wore that dress," he says. "For Daddy, sure. But you didn't change."
I stare at him. "I didn't have time."
"No." His fingers slip under the hem, barely there. "You didn't want to."
I hate how my breath catches. I hate how he knows it.
"Say it," he murmurs. "You want me to stop."
My mouth parts.
He steps even closer.
"Say it, Sky."
But I can't.
Because I don't want him to stop.
And he knows it.
His hand slides up, slow as death. Heat licks across my skin.
I grab his collar instead of pushing him away. My nails dig in.
"Do it or don't," I say, breathless. "But stop pretending you're not about to ruin me."
His eyes flash.
And then he kisses me—kisses like possession, like punishment, like he's furious at me for being this addicting. Like I'm furious at him for being right.
My back hits the desk. His teeth drag down my throat. I moan against his mouth and hate how good it feels.
His voice is sandpaper and smoke, right at my ear:
"Tonight, you're mine. Not daddy's doll. Mine."
And I let him have me.
In the dark.
In secret.
Like it was always meant to be.