Page 73 of Cruel When He Smiles
I throw the pasta in the microwave and lean against the counter, watching him as he sits in one of the chairs, then stretches his arms over his head and lets out a soft groan, back arching just enough to remind me what I did to him less than ten minutes ago.
He catches me watching and grins.Grins. “Fuck me senseless, now you’re gonna feed me too?” he asks, teasing, the bite in his tone softened by the faint blush still lingering along his throat.
“If you want me to,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll have to ask nicely.”
“Don’t push it, Callahan.”
But he’s smiling, and it isn’t forced. It’s crooked and tired, but real—that’s what gets to me. He’d usually be spiraling, lashing out, or shutting down. That’s what happens when you fuck someone so deep, they forget how to breathe.
But Nate’s doing the opposite. He’s softer, warmer, and… worse—he’s obedient. Not in a hollow way, but in a way that makes my chest itch.
The microwave beeps, and I pull the container out, tossing two forks into it before walking over and placing it in front of him. I sit beside him and watch as he starts eating without hesitation.
A few bites in, he glances at me sideways. “Is this your version of aftercare?”
“No, Pup. This is maintenance. You get aftercare when you earn it.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue as he keeps eating. A moment later, Killian walks in, shirtless and damp from the pool, hair pushed back from his forehead. He raises a brow when he sees us at the table, then saunters toward the fridge.
“Look at this domestic shit,” Killian drawls. “Should I be worried you’re going to move him in?”
“Fuck off, King,” Nate mumbles through a mouthful of pasta, and it makes my brother pause mid-grab.
He straightens, stares at Nate like he’s just sprouted a second head, then glances at me. I don’t say a word. I just keep chewing. “Did he just joke with me?” Killian asks, eyes narrowing like he’s genuinely confused.
“Sounds like it.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He grabs a bottle of water and pops the cap, tilting it toward Nate. “That smile suits you better than your attitude did earlier.”
Nate flips him off. “Maybe you bring out the worst in me.”
Killian huffs, not quite a laugh, but close. “You should see what I bring out in Liam.”
Nate’s head whips toward me in alarm, a spark of jealousy rising fast before he realizes Killian’s just being a shit. His whole face twists. “Gross.”
My brother smirks. “You asked.”
And fuck me, the grin Killian throws my way could cut glass. He takes a long drink, salutes us with the bottle, and heads out to the patio again.
I stay silent, watching the residual glow on Nate’s face, the lightness in his expression. He looks good. A little wrecked, sure, but calm. Clear. And I know it’s because I gave him exactlywhat he asked for. I gave him something solid to cling to when everything else was slipping away.
Then the back sliding door to the patio opens again, and Roman’s voice cuts across the noise, too loud and too casual. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
Eli’s laugh follows. “Could you have been a bit louder? We couldn’t hear you over the music.”
Nate goes still, and my gaze swings to the door, where Luca Devereaux is looking far too fucking pleased with himself.
I barely hear Nate inhale, but I feel it. His presence shifts again—air sucked out of the room in an instant. His knuckles go white around the fork before it clatters against the plastic container.
Nate’s already pushing his chair back, standing too fast. His face has gone pale, throat working around something he can’t seem to swallow.
“I need to go,” he says, voice tight. “I can’t stay here.”
“No.”
“I can’t—”
“Nate. Eyes on me.” My voice cuts clean through his rising panic. He stops, eyes wide, the flush from earlier draining fast. “You can’t run every time someone reminds you you’re not the center of their world.”
