Page 130 of Cruel When He Smiles
When the lecture ends, I shove my things into my bag and head out, not stopping to talk to anyone, not looking at anyone. I need space. I need to be alone. I need to breathe without feeling like my own skin is trying to suffocate me.
“Liam.”
One word spoken by one voice, and it cuts straight through everything.
It’s not the kind of interruption that makes me tense, it’s the opposite. The static in my head starts to fade before I even turn around. My chest loosens like someone’s just cut me free from goddamn anchor chains. My hands, which were fisted in my pockets, uncurl on instinct. I turn my head because I have to, because not looking would feel wrong.
And there he is, walking toward me. Pretty green eyes flick over my face, taking me in, his brows pulling together in the smallest frown.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how the fuck one person can do this. How does he strip the chaos right out of me without lifting a finger? How does he quiet something in me that I’ve spent years mastering and still can’t control? How does he calm me when nothing else can?
I hate it.
I need it.
His eyes don’t leave mine, not until his hand comes up, fingers brushing against my wrist with a touch so light it barely registers as contact. Then he tilts his head, his lips parting slightly before he leans down.
The kiss lands on the skin just above my pulse, his mouth warm against the thrum of my heartbeat and my breath stutters. No one touches me like this. Touch, for me, is usually a transaction of power and control.
But this isn’t that—it’s Nate, and he’s looking at me like he knows.
“What’s wrong, Lover?” he murmurs against my skin.
And fuck, I don’t know how to answer because suddenly, nothing feels wrong at all.
Nate
I’veseenLiamirritated.I’ve seen him calculated and cold. I’ve seen him take someone apart without ever raising his voice. He doesn’t just walk into a room—he occupies it. He wears control like it’s armor, keeps people exactly where he wants them, twists situations into the shape of his will without anyone even realizing he’s doing it. That’s the Liam I know.
Today, that Liam is gone.
I don’t know how to approach him when he’s like this. The wrong word might set him off. The wrong touch could make him burn hotter. But doing nothing feels worse. So, I say the one thing I know can cut through.
“Do you want to take it out on me?”
His head jerks slightly, eyes narrowing at me like I’ve spoken in another language. “What?”
“Your anger,” I clarify, my voice steady even though my pulse has picked up. “Do you want to take it out on my body, Lover?”
Usually, that’s enough to change his posture. To pull the predator out in him—the one that thrives on control, on using me to burn through whatever mood he’s in. Usually, I’d get the flicker of a smirk when I’ve given him permission.
But now, there’s nothing. Just confusion in his eyes, and it’s wrong. It’s Liam, but it’s not.
He shakes his head slowly, and for a second, he almost looks… lost. “No,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
My heart leaps into my throat. Liam isn’t used to not knowing what he wants. That uncertainty is foreign to him, and I know it’s making him furious in ways he doesn’t even want to admit.
“Come with me,” I tell him.
His brows draw together. “Where?”
“Somewhere quiet.” I don’t give him a chance to argue. My hand closes around his wrist, and I start walking. He doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t even question it. He just falls into step beside me, letting me lead.
The next surprise comes when we reach the parking lot. His car is parked in the usual spot, sleek and gleaming, a possession he guards as tightly as anything in his life. I expect him to walk to the driver’s side without a word. But instead, he digs into his pocket, pulls out the keys, and tosses them to me.
I catch them, staring down at the key in my palm like it’s a weapon. “You want me to drive?”
“Yeah.” He slides into the passenger seat without hesitation, shutting the door with a quiet finality that makes my stomach twist.
