Page 93 of Cruel When He Smiles
The sick feeling in my stomach pauses, like someone just reached inside and flicked a fucking switch. I barely register my mother’s voice on the other end before I end the call.
Just like that.
Gone.
Silence.
I blink, my head still foggy, my pulse still too fast, and then I feel him standing in front of me, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, head tilted just slightly, his gaze locked on mine like he already knows every single fucking thing I’m trying to hide.
“Who was that?” he asks quietly.
I can’t speak with her voice still clinging to my ears. Not with the way I can feel Liam reading me—every tick, every breath, every fucking flinch. He doesn’t press, but he steps closer instead, brushing his knuckles along my cheek. He tilts my chin up, the same way he did when he had me pinned and pliant and begging for more.
“Why won’t you look at me properly, Pup?”
My breath shakes, and I do everything I can to avoid his eyes. His thumb drags lightly over my bottom lip, his gaze focused and knowing. “Is it because you’re still sore from the way I fucked you last night?”
My entire body locks up.
It’s whiplash—a fucking collision of something dark and filthy and possessive, so blatant and so casual in his mouth, like he isn’t saying something that should make me snap. But I don’t. I just sit there, stunned, heat rushing to my face, my breath hitching even as I try to mask it.
Liam smirks, satisfied. “Is that it?” He leans in, breath warm against my skin. “You feel me every time you move, don’t you?”
I don’t do anything but breathe too hard, but stare too much, but let him fucking touch me. “Bet you woke up and felt empty without me there. You wanted my hands on you again, didn’t you?” His fingers press a little harder. “Say it, Pup. Say you missed me.”
That snaps me out of it. I jerk away from his touch, get to my feet, shove my phone into my pocket, and push him back with a scowl. “You’re so fucking full of yourself, Callahan.”
His smirk flickers, but not into amusement. It shifts into something else, something colder. Something that makes my stomach drop.
Disappointment.
“I thought we were past this,” he says, and it’s that tone that gets me. That quiet disappointment, like I failed him. Like I let him down. “You were doing so well, Nate.”
I wish I didn’t feel it. Wish it didn’t hit me in that stupid, aching part that still wants someone not to give up on me. But it does. And it makes me want to fix it, which is fucked on every level I know. I shouldn’t want to make anything better. Not with him. Not with this.
God, I hate myself.
I exhale shakily and reach for him. “Liam… I didn’t—” I swallow, my voice cracking. “I didn’t hate it.”
He doesn’t move and says nothing. He just watches me with that too-quiet expression that makes me feel exposed.
I’m still trembling, even though I’m pretending not to be, even though I keep telling myself I can control this, can keep him out. But I can’t, not right now. Not when my chest still feels tight and my throat feels raw, and I still hear her voice like it left teeth marks in my fucking skull.
“I didn’t mean to snap,” I mutter, my voice barely audible, like I’m ashamed of it. “I just…I couldn’t—”
He takes one slow step forward.
And then another.
There’s no threat in his movements. No smirk. No challenge. Just that heavy, suffocating calm that only Liam can pull off—that quiet control he wears like a second skin. I expect a sharp comment or a smug quip. I expect him to weaponize the moment like he always does, twist it into something else, something messy. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts one hand again and cups the back of my neck, warm and steady, his thumb brushing gently against the spot just under my ear.
“Hey,” he says, and it’s not soft like most people do soft. It’s quiet the way a knife is quiet before it cuts. “You don’t have to explain anything to me right now.”
I flinch at the tenderness and restraint in his voice. The lack of smugness… I don’t know what to do with that. He watches me for a second longer, then slides his other arm around my back and gently pulls me into him.
My breath hitches. I’m still holding onto everything too tightly—my tension, the panic in my chest—but his arms tighten just enough to tell me I’m not getting away from this. Not yet. Not until he says I can.
