Page 176 of Cruel When He Smiles
“Last night didn’t break you, it rewired you,” I say, dragging my nose down the side of his neck, letting my teeth graze above his pulse. “And now you don’t get to play the brat who’s pretending nothing’s changed.”
He shifts beneath me, hands lifting automatically to my hips under the blanket. There’s tension in his grip, a tightness he’s not even trying to mask.
“You always do that voice,” he mumbles, breath shaky. “The soft one that makes me—fuck—you know what it does.”
“Mm.” I press a kiss to the spot behind his ear. “You mean the one that makes you behave, Pup?”
He growls under his breath and claws at my hips, but his mouth twitches before he can help it, betraying the hint of a smile. “Don’t call me that in bed.”
“Why not?” I ask, voice dropping further. “You beg for it when I have you pinned.”
His face flushes beautifully, his fingers curling into my skin like he wants to claw me open and crawl inside. He exhales hard, then locks his gaze on mine. “I don’t want to be fixed,” he says suddenly, his tone cutting through the quiet with sharp clarity. “And I don’t want you to be, either.”
My smirk fades at that. “Yeah?” I murmur, my voice barely audible now. “You like me toxic, baby?”
“Ineedyou toxic,” he says, voice bordering on a moan as he arches into me. “Fucked-up and obsessive and dangerous.”
His honesty splinters through my calm. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Not because I’m shocked, but because I’ve never been given permission to want someone the way I want him. Not without shame. Not without being told I’m cruel, wrong, and too much.
But he wants it; he wants me like this. I reach for his face, threading my fingers through his thick hair and cupping the back of his skull. I bring him close, just enough that our noses brush, and I exhale against his mouth.
“Will you live for me, Pup?”
His whole body stills for a beat, the question settling heavy between us. I don’t let him look away. I keep my eyes on his, making sure he knows exactly what I’m asking. This isn’t about breathing in the literal sense; it’s about existing for me. About the kind of loyalty that doesn’t bend or break. About never leaving.
His breath shudders out slowly, lips brushing against my skin when he answers. “I already do.”
The words settle deep in my chest, and I know I’ve been waiting to hear them without realizing it. It’s a vow and a fucking claim.
My hand tightens in his hair, my other hand sliding down to grip his side, nails digging in. I want it burned into him, a reminder of exactly who he belongs to. There’s a deep, satisfiedthrum low in my chest as I take him in, every detail mine to memorize.
“You were made for me, Nathaniel,” I say, holding his eyes. “You were put on this earth to be mine, and I was made to ruin anyone who tries to take you from me.”
His body loosens under my hands, his fingers sliding into my hair, curling at the nape of my neck. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “Liam.”
Just my name. But the way he says it—like it’s a plea and a promise all at once—does something to me I can’t put into words. “Tell me, Pup,” I murmur. “Say what you are to me.”
His jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he won’t. But then his eyes drag back to mine, and submission crawls its way back to the surface, willingly this time. “I’m your fucking mess.”
The sound of it slams into me, heavy and satisfying, and I let my smirk turn sharp. “You ruin me,” I growl softly, “and I fucking love it.”
I slam my mouth to his and, and he lets me in, his hands fisting the hem of my shirt. I roll my hips once, slow and controlled, just to remind him what we are beneath all this pretending.
That’s the thing about Nate—he can mouth off, spit venom, bare his teeth all he wants. But he always ends up curled around me by the end of it, dragging my shirts out of my drawer, pressing his face into my neck when he thinks I’m asleep.
He needs to push because he knows I’ll never move, that I’ll always push back just enough to make him feel it, then pull him right into the gravity he craves.
And heiscute. So cute it drives me half-mad.
I lay down next to him and brush his hair back gently, thumb stroking his temple, and he lets out a soft sigh, eyes slipping closed. “Are we skipping class?” he mutters.
“Absolutely.”
“Are you gonna make me eat something?”
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna keep looking at me like that?”
