Page 95 of Cruel When He Smiles
And I don’t care if it’s him. I don’t care if this is a mistake.
Because right now, I need it. I need him.
And maybe that’s the worst part of all this.
Liam
Nateismine.
I feel it now, in the way his body stills and his breath stutters, in the way his fingers twitch against my chest as if he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do next. I tilt his chin up a little more, watching his pupils dilate, his lips slightly part, his whole fucking body responding to me without him even realizing it.
I press a slow kiss to his forehead, feeling the tension in his body coil and then melt away. He doesn’t even realize what’s happening; I’ve already trained him to give in. When I pull back, my lips barely ghost over his temple, my voice soft, meant only for him. “Come to my house tonight.”
A flicker of hesitation and resistance crosses his expression, but it disappears almost as quickly as it comes. So, I press. “Don’t let Sage know.”
His throat moves as he swallows, and I wait, watching, feeling the slow shift, the final surrender in the way his shoulders drop. “Okay.”
Satisfaction settles deep inside me. I drag my thumb over his bottom lip one last time, smirking when his breath catches, when he doesn’t pull away, when he lets me take this moment for myself.
“Good boy,” I murmur, dragging my knuckles down his jaw, savoring how his body reacts to the praise and how he leans into me.
I smile, pleased with my Pup, then I walk away without looking back, because I already have him. I step into the flow of students moving between buildings, ignoring the noise, ignoring the world around me, my mind already moving forward. Already focused on what tonight is going to bring.
I’m going to find out why one specific phone call always sends him spiraling. I know there’s something else inside him that makes him have night terrors—the reason for the fury under his skin.
Someone else has a piece of Nate Carter, and I want it back.
I don’t know how I’m going to pull it out of him, but I will; I need to. The look on his face—the sheer horror, the way his skin went pale, the way his fingers shook around his phone, the way his entire body locked up like he was bracing for impact—that look has been fucking burned into my mind ever since.
And I hate it. I hate that someone has the power to make my Pup look helpless. Because Nate isn’t helpless. He’s fire and fight, he’s sharp edges and stubborn fucking pride, he’s a brat with a mouth that never fucking quits, he’s—
Mine. He’s fucking mine.
I drag my tongue over my teeth, exhaling slowly and forcing myself to focus. I don’t care how long it takes; I don’t care how deep I have to dig. I will find out who the fuck made him look like that today. And when I do, I’ll burn them out of him piece by fucking piece.
Tonight isn’t about dragging him down further. Tonight is about finding out who the fuck thinks they ownmyPup.
My jaw clenches.
I don’t know why this feeling is crawling under my skin like this. I don’t know why my stomach turned at the sight of him sitting there, barely breathing, his body language screaming fear, revulsion, submission—but not the kind that belongs to me.
It was different. It waswrong,and I fucking hated it.
I roll my shoulders back, flexing my hands, trying to put a name to whatever the fuck is boiling in my chest, but the only thing that fits is obsession.
That’s what this is, right? That’s what Nate is to me: an obsession. A challenge. Something I need to own, to keep, to bend until he’s exactly the way I want him to be.
That’s all this is, nothing more.
It can’t be anything more.
I don’t do emotions, not like this. Not the sick, twisting thing that cracked down my spine when I saw him on that bench. I don’t do the kind of ache that lingers long after I’ve walked away from someone. I don’t do guilt or concern, and I sure as hell don’t care. Not in the way people mean when they say that word.
What I feel is ownership. It’s the rush of watching him unravel because I told him to. It’s the way his breath catches when I call him Pup, how his body curls toward mine even when he hates himself for it. It’s the satisfaction of knowing I can ruin him with a whisper and rebuild him with a touch.
That’s all it is.
That’s all it’s ever fucking been.
