You were curled up on your bed, phone in hand, annoyed. He’d ignored you all day.

Or so you thought.

What you didn’t know was that he hadn’t been ignoring you on purpose. He’d spent the entire day at band practice—back-to-back rehearsals, new choreography, rough takes until his voice was raw. His phone had buzzed in his pocket over and over, and every time, it was your name lighting up the screen.

So when he finally texted, you didn’t bother with pleasantries.

"Go eat," you sent, short and sharp.

The three dots appeared almost instantly, and your heart skipped despite yourself. You hated how quickly he could get under your skin.

His reply was instant. "Spread them legs then."

Your breath hitched. That cocky bastard.

Before you could even form a reply, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call. His name lit up your screen, and your thumb hovered over the answer button, pulse racing.

You picked up.

"Say it again," his voice rasped, low and dangerous in your ear. "Tell me to go eat."

You swallowed. "Go eat."

He chuckled, dark and amused. "I told you. Only if it’s you I’m feasting on."

Your stomach flipped. “You’re ridiculous.”

"But you’re blushing, aren’t you?" His voice was a tease, but there was that edge underneath it—the one that made your thighs unconsciously press together.

"Shut up," you muttered.

"Make me," he murmured, and you could hear the smirk in his tone. "Or better yet... open the door. I’m outside."

You froze.

He wasn’t serious.

You scrambled to the window—and there he was. Hoodie, hands in his pockets, smirk lifted just enough to melt your resolve.

You ran to the door.

The second it opened, he was inside—crowding you against the wall, hand sliding up your waist like he owned every inch of you.

"I said I was hungry, didn’t I?" he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. Your breath hitched, heart hammering. "And I don’t plan on leaving until I’m full."