Page 124 of Cruel When He Smiles
No possessive remarks, no twisted games, just care—and that’s what fucks me up.
The first night, I think maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to snap. That he’s letting me get comfortable before pulling the rug out. But the moment never comes.
The second night, I wait for the tension. The teasing. The kind of manipulative back-and-forth that usually ends with himfucking me into submission. But instead, I wake up to him watching a movie on mute while I sleep. Checking my forehead in the middle of the night when I’m too restless. Telling me to go back to sleep in that quiet voice that used to send chills down my spine for a whole different reason.
By the end of the week, I can’t take it anymore and throw the glass of water he brought me. It doesn’t shatter, but it hits the wall with a thud, water splashing across the paint.
Liam doesn’t flinch.
“What the fuck is this, Callahan?”
He blinks at me. “You need to stay hydrated.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” I sit up fast, wincing as the movement sends another wave of dizziness crashing through me. “Fuck. Shit, that hurt—You’re treating me like I’m going to break.”
He tilts his head and has the audacity to look confused. “And that bothers you?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks. “Because that’s not what this is.”
He crouches in front me and his eyes don’t leave mine. “Then tell me, Nathaniel. What is this?”
My fists clench against the blanket. “You don’t do shit like this. You don’t play nursemaid. You don’t tuck people in and make sure they’ve had enough fluids. You’re not—”
“Not what?” He interjects, hazel eyes burning. “Not someone who gives a shit?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
I need him to do something. Push me. Break me. Take me apart and put me back together the way he wants.
Because this?
This is worse. This I can’t fucking handle because I keep bracing for the hit that always comes after the caress.
Liam gets to his feet and leans in close, and grips my chin, but there’s no pain in his touch. “You belong to me, and whensomething’s mine, I take care of it. Even when it doesn’t know what to do with that care,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “So, you’ll take what I give you, Pup.”
My throat dries out again as I stare at him. Every bratty remark dying on my tongue when I see that look in his eye again—the one that promises either pain or care, depending on my actions.
“You think I want you fragile? Weak? That I like you this way?” His eyes darken, and his hold tightens. “No, baby boy. I do like you ruined, but only when I’m the one doing the ruining.”
There it is—the truth buried beneath the stillness. He isn’t trying to be good, and he isn’t trying to change; he’s just waiting for me to be whole again so he can break me all over.
And for the first time in days, I breathe. Becausethatis something I understand;thatversion of Liam I can take and handle. This soft, quiet, caretaker shit? That’s what scares me.
My eyes stay locked on his when I ask, “You gonna break me again, Lover?”
He gets fully on the bed and straddles my hips, and when he leans in, I feel his lips brushing my ear. His breath is warm when it ghosts over my skin, as if he wants the anticipation to settle in my bones before the words hit.
“When you’re mine again in every way that counts,” he murmurs, his tone low enough that it feels meant for my blood instead of my ears, “I’ll break you so thoroughly you’ll forget there was ever a time you weren’t mine. But for now, youwillaccept my softness.”
The shiver that runs through me is immediate, uninvited, and impossible to hide. I feel his mouth curve in that infuriating half-smile against my skin, the one that says he’s reading me perfectly. There’s no point pretending the heat in my chest is anger and nothing else. He knows better, and I hate that he knows better.
All the frustration, all the waiting, and all the confusion burns away in an instant.
I let out a slow, shaky breath.
And I submit.
Liam
